When he returned, Brendan was in the process of injecting an anesthetic at the site of the wound. Tuck winced as the needle slipped below the skin, his face still very pale. Brendan had removed the bloody bandage, revealing a gash about an inch long on Tuck's forehead.
"Let me know if it hurts. That injection should numb you up pretty good.” In addition to fitness and stamina training, as well as altitude training, Jamie had also taken an extensive first-aid course in preparation for this assignment. Still, he was relieved Brendan had stepped forward with confidence for this particular job. Stitching moleskin in a classroom setting was a far cry from the real thing.
Brendan pulled on surgical gloves and prepared the needle and thread. Jamie watched, fascinated and a little sick at the sight of the needle being drawn through Tuck's skin. Tuck's eyes were closed but he didn't seem to be in any pain from the sharp needle, thank goodness. Brendan worked carefully, producing small even stitches. When he was done, he tied a knot and snipped off the thread. After applying an antiseptic ointment, he put a fresh bandage over the wound.
Jamie moved forward, securing the facemask over Tuck's nose and mouth. “This should ease the nausea and the headache as it counteracts the CO. Let me know when you're feeling better."
He knelt beside the bed, monitoring Tuck as Brendan moved about, putting away the first-aid supplies. Brendan returned. “Here. Have some water."
Gratefully Jamie took the glass. He hadn't realized he was parched until that moment. He drank deeply, finishing the glass. Brendan took it and went back into the kitchen, returning with a fresh glass.
Tuck stirred and opened his eyes. “I'm feeling better, I think.” His voice was muffled beneath the facemask. Jamie released the straps, careful not to touch the bandage.
Brendan nudged Jamie aside, his focus on Tuck. “You should rehydrate.” He cradled Tuck's head, holding it as Tuck sipped. Jamie turned away.
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Chapter Seven
"I wonder how long he was out before we got to him.” Jamie lay sprawled across the couch, a cup of tea rapidly cooling in his mug.
Brendan sat at the card table, his laptop in front of him. He looked up sharply at the question. “What's that supposed to mean?"
Jamie was startled by the vehemence in Brendan's tone. He felt himself getting defensive. “It means we were sitting around on our asses catching our breath after we climbed back through the window, while Tuck was lying there unconscious in a pool of his own blood."
Tuck was sleeping, his forehead swathed in bandages. The horrifying memory of him lying crumpled and bleeding in the generator shed lingered in Jamie's mind, and he suppressed a shudder.
"You're right.” Brendan's tone became conciliatory. “I'm sorry I snapped. I was just sitting here feeling guilty about Tuck. I should have paid more attention when he didn't immediately respond to my all-clear signal."
"You mean with the walkie-talkies? You signaled when we were done and heading back, right?"
"Yeah, and he didn't answer. I just figured he was distracted with whatever he was doing. In retrospect, though, he could have already been unconscious at that point. My failure to react could have killed him."
Brendan looked so stricken Jamie opened his mouth to assure Brendan it wasn't his fault. Then the image of Brendan pushing him away so he could hold Tuck's head, lifting the glass of water to his lips like a lover, reared itself in his mind. His generous impulse dried up like water vapor in the dry Antarctic air.
He knew he wasn't being fair. Brendan had taken good care of Tuck, far better than Jamie could have done on his own. Calling on his better nature, Jamie attempted some reassurance. “He was pretty lucid after regaining consciousness so the odds are the blow wasn't too severe. You did a great job on the stitches, by the way. Maybe you missed your calling."
"Wait until it heals and he sees the scar that's left before deciding.” Brendan snorted and tossed his head. He glanced at his laptop screen, his eyes widening.
"What? What is it?"
"It's working. I reinstalled the communication software to see if I could get the satellite connection running again and we've got Internet. We're connected again. Oh, thank God."
Jamie leaped from the sofa and hurried over to see. He watched as Brendan scrolled through the main email account. He saw over a dozen emails, many marked urgent, from headquarters at the National Science Foundation.
Tears of relief sprang to his eyes. Now that the worst of the storm seemed to have passed and communication was restored, surely it was only a matter of hours before they were rescued.
Brendan turned to him, excitement raw in his voice. “Get my cell phone, will you? It's next to my cot. See if we have service."
Jamie retrieved the phone and flipped it open. As if on cue, it began to ring. “Hello? This is Jamie Hunter at the West Antarctic Lab.” There was static on the line. “Can you hear me?"
After a pause and some clicking sounds, a deep voice boomed over the line. “Hello. We can hear you. Thank goodness you're back online. We've all been worried sick about you. How is everything?"
He recognized the voice of Hank Shafer, one of the senior primary investigators on the project. Jamie was grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. Brendan had jumped from his chair and stood close by, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Jamie half expected him to grab the phone. He turned away, too eager for a voice from the outside world to relinquish the phone just yet.
"We're okay. Tuck took a fall while repairing one of the generators but nothing life threatening. We managed to get outside this morning for the first time and reposition the satellite dish. It had been blown off its coordinates by the high winds. When can you get us out of here?"
Jamie tried not to interpret the long pause that followed as ominous. His palms were sweating, making the small phone slippery in his grip. His heart tapped painfully against his sternum.
"Is Brendan there, Jamie?"
Wordlessly, Jamie held out the phone to Brendan, trying not to sink under the weight of foreboding settling over him. “Aaronson, here.” Brendan's dark blond eyebrows formed a V, his mouth turning down at the corners.
"Right. No. We hadn't had a chance to check the weather forecasts yet. We only just managed to reconnect when you called.” Another pause while Brendan listened, his eyes on the floor, his free hand clenching into a fist.
Fuck, Jamie thought. Whatever they're saying, it's not good. Anxiously he watched Brendan's face, trying desperately not to leap to conclusions. Brendan wasn't saying much, merely grunting and nodding. Finally he made his goodbyes and hung up.
He turned to Jamie with a shrug. “There's another storm right behind this one. They're predicting it will hit by midafternoon. There's no way they can risk sending a plane or helicopter into it. We're going to have to sit tight another day or two. Maybe longer."
Jamie nodded, swallowing his disappointment like the bitter pill it was. Are we going to die here? He squelched the question before it even had a chance to fully form in his mind.
Instead he focused on his frustration. Here he was twenty-five years old, but all he felt like doing at the moment was demanding with a stamp of his feet that Brendan make those bastards come get them. Now. He was dismayed to realize hot tears had sprung unwelcome into his eyes. He needed to get away from Brendan's pitying look, but where the hell could he go?
Remembering the blood in the generator shed, he spoke without looking at Brendan, not wanting him to see the tears of disappointment and fear. “I'm going to clean that mess out in the shed. Tuck doesn't need to see that when we go back out to work on the generator."
"Good idea. Be mindful it might still be toxic in there. Only stay as long as you need.” Brendan walked back to the table and picked up one of the walkie-talkie units. He handed it to Jamie. “Put this on and signal me, okay? I'll stay with Tuck."
Jamie kept his face impassive. He pressed the talk button on the unit, causing the other unit, which sat on the tab
le, to beep. Satisfied, he hooked it onto his belt. Taking a mop and bucket from the kitchen supply closet, he added water and bleach to the bucket. He further armed himself with a roll of paper towels and some strong disinfectant spray.
Putting on his parka and a pair of gloves, he left the warmth of their living quarters and ventured down the frigid hallway toward the shed. The working generator's engine rumbled, the sound echoing against the bare walls of the room. The ventilator fans were whirring, a good sign the room was probably safe for breathing once again.
Nevertheless, Jamie was determined to get in and out as quickly as he could. He drew in his breath as he stared at the bright red blood splattered and smeared over the floor. It seemed too red to be real, obscene against the pale gray linoleum.
Poor Tuck. Jamie's heart contracted with pity at the thought of him lying there alone. Setting down his bucket, he went to work cleaning the mess. His mind wandered back to Brendan's words.
I'll stay with Tuck.
"Yeah, I bet you will,” he muttered aloud. Life was so fucking unfair. He'd probably die here, stranded with two gorgeous guys, watching from the sidelines while the two of them made secret love in the dark, spurred on by their mingled lust and desperation...
Jamie was distracted from his fanciful, dark thoughts by the beep of the walkie-talkie at his belt. He depressed the button. “Yeah?"
"Just checking. You okay in there?"
"I'm fine, thanks. Nearly done.” When Jamie finished, a pale pink stain remained on the light green linoleum, but at least it looked a good deal better than it had before. With a last look around the shed, he pulled the door shut and walked back to the living quarters, the bucket of pink water sloshing at his side.
He returned to find Tuck propped against his pillows, Brendan seated close beside him. Tuck was spooning soup from a mug. Jamie stifled a strong urge to race to his side and fling his arms around him.
"You're looking much better,” he said instead. “How's your head?"
"It's okay, actually, thanks.” He smiled, warming Jamie to his toes. “There's some pain where Dr. Aaronson stitched me up but the mean ol’ doc won't give me any pain meds.” He grinned at Brendan, who smiled back and patted his arm.
"You know we can't risk that with the possibility of a concussion. That's all we need, to have you slip into a coma on our watch, right, Jamie?"
Surprised to be included in the equation he thought only equaled two, Jamie forgot for a second to be jealous. “Yeah. Not on our watch."
Tuck handed the mug to Brendan and settled back against his pillows. “I'm so tired. I think I'll just take a little nap.” He closed his eyes, his dark lashes brushing his still-pale cheeks, and crossed his arms over his chest.
Jesus, was Tuck worse than he'd thought? Was there trauma to his brain? He hadn't seemed disoriented or confused, but he certainly was sleepy. Brendan hadn't moved from his seat by the bed. Did he plan to keep vigil for the rest of the day?
Jamie moved closer and sat on the edge of the cot. He touched Tuck's shoulder, wishing he could lie beside him. A spasm of pain washed over Tuck's face, though he didn't open his eyes.
"Don't touch him,” Brendan barked. “You're bothering him."
Stung, Jamie stood abruptly and turned away. Who died and elected Brendan head of the fucking world? He walked over to the sofa and slumped down on it. He just wanted to get out, to get away.
What if they never did? What if the winter winds had come early, and the snow and ice sealed them in like a tomb for the duration?
He'd barely begun to live. He'd never even been in love. Not the kind of heart-stopping, gut-wrenching love he'd read about and dreamed about and yearned for. Was this how it was going to end? With him watching while Brendan nursed Tuck back to health, so they could go have furtive sex beneath the covers while he drank himself into a coma?
He dropped his head into his hands. Tears wet his face and seeped through his fingers. Fuck. He did not want to cry, and certainly not in front of stoic, calm Brendan. But he was tired—exhausted. And scared. He took a breath and hiccupped, a sob escaping from his lips.
He felt rather than saw Brendan sit beside him. Brendan dropped a heavy, comforting arm over Jamie's shoulders. He held himself stiff, jerking away from the offered embrace without removing his head from his hands. This unexpected tenderness was going to be his undoing. He refused to give Brendan the satisfaction of seeing him cry.
The arm around him tightened and despite himself, Jamie leaned into it. He was so lonely, so frightened, so tired of keeping up the brave front. A second arm came around him, pulling him toward the other man. “Hey, shh, it's okay, Jamie. It's okay. It's all going to be okay."
Brendan's voice stripped his last defenses and Jamie began to cry in earnest. He buried his head against Brendan's chest and sobbed, great, gulping sobs. He cried as he hadn't since he was a child, his shoulders shaking, barely able to catch his breath through the gasping sobs that rose from deep inside.
Brendan held him tight, rocking him gently. Jamie kept his head hidden in the folds of Brendan's flannel shirt, comforted by the soothing motion even as he cried.
Eventually he quieted, resting his wet cheek against the warmth of Brendan's chest, lulled by the slow, steady beat of Brendan's heart. He wished he could just stay there until the rescue plane arrived.
But no, soon Brendan would realize he'd stopped crying. His altruistic impulse to comfort Jamie would be overwhelmed by his realization he was hugging a guy, or at least the wrong guy, and he would pull away. Why put off the inevitable?
Jamie pulled back, expecting Brendan to loosen his embrace. To his surprise, Brendan held him tight, if anything tighter than the moment before. Confused but grateful, Jamie remained as he was, wrapped in Brendan's strong arms. Tentatively, he brought his own arms around Brendan's waist as he nestled against his chest.
He was getting a hard-on. Jesus, Brendan was going to feel his erection and freak out. Jamie dropped his arms and again pulled back, and this time Brendan let him go.
They locked eyes and Jamie couldn't look away. Brendan's pupils were dilated, deep black orbs rimmed with clear gray green glass. He brushed Jamie's wet cheek with his fingers. Without thinking, Jamie put his hand over Brendan's.
Neither moved for several seconds. Jamie became aware of the ticking of the wall clock. They stared at one another, their hearts keeping time—tick, tock, tick, tock...
Brendan was leaning forward, his eyes closing, his lips parting. He wants me to kiss him. Jamie shook his head. This couldn't be happening. And yet it was. Jamie didn't move, frozen with indecision and confusion.
Brendan looked so hot, with his blond hair flopping over his forehead and the sexy three-day stubble over his firm jaw. His lips were lush and inviting, but surely Jamie was misreading his cues? If Brendan was in the midst of discovering his bi side, he was doing it with Tuck, right?
Brendan's eyes opened and he pulled his hand from beneath Jamie's. Still neither spoke. Jamie's lips tingled with lost opportunity and he was suddenly desperate for that missed kiss. He leaned forward, parting his own lips and closing his eyes, praying Brendan still wanted him, that it hadn't been a moment's fluke, already regretted.
He felt the lightest brush of skin on skin, Brendan's lips touching his. He moved a fraction forward, just enough to acknowledge the press of flesh without frightening Brendan away.
Again they remained still, statues caught in a chaste kiss, though Jamie felt like anything but stone. Hot blood rushed through his veins, making his cock throb. Of the two men, Tuck had always seemed so much more accessible on every level. Jamie never would have dreamed of approaching Brendan like this, nor would he have in normal circumstances.
But these were hardly normal circumstances. Even if this was just Brendan reacting off his own fear at their situation, and his own unrequited lusts, who was Jamie to stand in his way? He dared to place a hand on the back of Brendan's neck to pull him closer.
Brendan di
dn't resist him. Instead his lips parted and Jamie darted his tongue past them, his heart slamming. He felt more like fifteen than twenty-five, certain at any second Brendan would pull away with outrage and disgust.
But Brendan didn't pull away. His tongue touched Jamie's, sending tremors of desire through Jamie's body. Emboldened, he brought his other arm around Brendan and leaned back, pulling Brendan on top of him.
Brendan seemed willing enough. His mouth remained locked on Jamie's as he allowed himself to be dragged forward. Jamie could feel Brendan's erection against his hip. This was no fluke. Brendan was turned on too.
Jamie didn't dare act on this knowledge. For now it was enough just to feel Brendan's strong, hard body over his and taste the sweetness of his kiss. Brendan's cock felt like a steel pole. Unable to resist, Jamie moved beneath him until steel met iron. What he wouldn't have given to feel Brendan's hand on him at that moment, slipping past the waist of his jeans to clutch his aching, throbbing shaft.
He prayed he wouldn't come in his pants, as he had with Tuck. With this thought in mind, he shifted beneath Brendan to get away from Brendan's erection, but the friction only made him harder.
Brendan lifted his head, withdrawing his warm velvet tongue from Jamie's mouth. Jamie opened his eyes, waiting for Brendan to come to his senses and pull away in horror.
He didn't move from on top of Jamie, however. Instead, he leaned down and whispered raggedly, “I don't know what I'm doing."
There was such an appeal in his voice, as if Jamie would enlighten him. Jamie didn't know what the hell he was doing either, but he knew it felt good. He knew it felt better than anything had over the past two days, save for the few minutes with Tuck, which had been stolen bits of heaven.
Whatever was happening, it was better than focusing on the thick sheet of ice on which this building sat, buffeted by snow that was again whipping in a rising howl of wind just beyond these walls. It was better than remembering Brendan's true object of desire lay asleep a few feet away. It was better than being alone.
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