He needed a bed, a bathtub, and some goddamn help. He needed physical therapy, and despite his distaste for talking over his problems, he probably needed emotional support too. His dad, Clara, even the dude who’d bought his dad’s place could see it.
Why was he fighting this?
He couldn’t do this—couldn’t come back from the breakup, losing Ford, nearly dying himself—on his own.
Again, he felt his face crumple. He had no control over crying anymore. No shame. When emotions grew too much for him, tears simply gathered and fell.
“Oh, Healey. I’m so sorry, son.” Pop’s words dropped like summer rain on a graveside service.
Clara put her hand on his shoulder, and gently, she pried the phone from his hands. “Hello, Ace. I’ve arranged for Healey to stay at the Burnt Toast B&B for a while. Derrick is expecting him.”
They spoke awhile longer, and then she left to give him some privacy while he finished up with his pop. Or rather, his father tried to reassure him, while Fjóla broke in every so often with loving platitudes.
Oh, how fervently he wished a hole would open up—the hell mouth they’d all postulated spawned Clara Underhill—to swallow him.
But alas. There was no rip in the continuum he could slip through—no convenient wormhole.
When he hung up the phone, there was only the silence and the regulator clock on the wall, a reminder that despite his inactivity, his life was wasting away, tick, tick, tick.
Now, too, he had the added bonus of incontrovertible proof that each second truly could be his last.
Which wasn’t a problem, until he started to think about it.
Until he started to dwell on it.
Until he was aware of his mortality at the cellular level and it started closing in on him.
He didn’t have the constitution to sit there and wait for the other shoe to drop. Sheer fucking boredom was eating away at him, along with a new perspective—do I even have time to do anything worthwhile?
And some new worries—what if next time, I die and they find my body with one hand on my dick and the other up my ass? There had to be a way to reframe his thoughts, to make the situation less distressing, but fatigue and pessimism were all Healey had to work with.
He could save more trivial problems for a day with no broken bones, at least.
“You still listening in?” Healey asked Clara.
“Yes.” Without shame, Clara stepped out from where she’d been hiding, just inside the kitchen door. “Prepare to be treated to extra scrutiny until I know you’re on the mend emotionally.”
He nodded. “Did you really make arrangements with Derrick over at the Burnt Toast B&B?”
She nodded. “I called him. He and Gins talked things over, and they’ll be happy to help.”
Healey’s memory was no help. “Gins?”
“Derrick’s partner.”
Healey stood, hating the idea of being someone’s project. “I appreciate everything you’re trying to do for me.”
“And you despise it.” Her small smile was warm and full of pity. “We all hate needing help. But you have to eat and bathe. You’ll need rides to and from doctor appointments. Have you been cleared to drive?”
“I don’t have my bike with me—”
“Hahah. Yeah. Okay.” She took her purse and keys from the console by the door. “First things first. A bath, a bed, and a meal. Then we’ll talk about how ridiculous riding a motorcycle would be in your condition—from a purely scientific standpoint.”
“I ate.” Even though he was pretty sure snack cakes didn’t count for much with her, he had eaten. “But I could use a bath.”
A soft smile battled its way onto her lips. “I didn’t want to mention.”
Healey picked up his jacket and opened the door to leave. It’d be just as easy to walk. That’s how he’d got there, after all. He was so emotionally exploded, all he could think of was getting his rolling duffel from Diego’s place. “I’ll get my stuff. I can be back here in say—”
“Just a minute, mister. Jeepers, you’re a hard case. I’m driving you.” From behind him, she pushed the front door closed and locked it. “Come through the kitchen.”
Of course, Healey followed her.
The local B&B was the best choice for him.
He didn’t have to worry about money just then. Didn’t need the hassles of cooking or cleaning. Plus, no rational person with two bum arms agrees to pay three grand and move boxes so he can sleep in a squat.
At the same time, a flash of memory—Diego’s wariness, his lonely place, his smile, once he was sufficiently comfortable to offer it . . .
The B&B was the best choice for Healey, but it didn’t do anything for his belief he wasn’t the only one who needed . . . something.
What did they say: it takes one to know one?
Healey allowed Clara to settle him into her car, a silver Prius. She fastened his seat belt for him and smoothed the strap over his chest like a mom. It should have been weird, but it wasn’t.
He stared straight ahead, listening to the squelch-squelch of wipers as she drove through rain-spattered streets.
A bath sounded heavenly. A bath, and a meal he didn’t have to remove from protective plastic to cook.
When Clara turned on the radio, the noise startled him so hard he smacked his cheek against the window. That was going to leave another mark.
“Sorry.” Inexplicably, he blinked back a fresh wash of tears.
Clara pulled up in front of Healey’s—Diego’s—house. She put the Prius in park, pulled a John le Carré novel from the floor behind her seat.
“Get your things. I’ll wait.”
Diego’s tenant drove up with some lady Diego’d never met. Couldn’t be his mom—the realtor’d said his dad was a widower.
Heart heavier than it ought to be, he watched as Healey put his duffel bag into the back of the Prius parked in the driveway.
Guess Healey was taking Diego’s advice seriously, and moving out.
For a minute he thought that was going to be all, that Healey would get into the car and pull out of his life altogether, but instead, once his gear was stowed, Healey walked up the front steps.
Which meant he saw Diego watching him.
Smooth.
Healey waved and Diego waved back.
Watching isn’t weird.
But wait—
What if Healey wasn’t a decent guy? What if Healey was taking some of his mother’s shit? Diego wouldn’t even know. To be fair, he wouldn’t really care, either. He’d stashed all his mother’s things up there precisely because he didn’t care.
He didn’t.
But he opened the door before Healey could knock. “I take it you found a better place?”
Healey glanced behind him at the lady. “What can I say, she’s willing to pay me for sex.”
It took all Diego’s concentration to keep from laughing at that.
After a second, Healey shook his head. “You’re a tough audience, you know that?”
Yeah. Well. He did know that. But now that his unwanted tenant was safely moving on, it was probably all right to relax his guard a little. He stopped short of a smile.
“Maybe I was trying to remember how much I have in my checking account.”
“Yeah?” Healey’s smile fell off, replaced with an expression of pure masculine pride. “Snooze, you lose.”
“Fuck off.” Diego started to close the door, but Healey stopped him.
“Nah, wait. Thanks, man.” He held out his hand.
Diego eyed it. “For what?”
“For letting me crash here. Not calling the cops or whatever. I was pushy.”
“A’ight.” Diego grinned and they shook. “I’d say anytime, but I wouldn’t mean it.”
“So, I’ll see you around, okay?” Healey stepped back.
In spite of himself, Diego gave him a wry, squinted, come-hither look. “I wouldn’t say no to a beer sometime.”
“Sure.” Hea
ley lifted his chin to acknowledge the idea. After a few seconds, he must have realized it was up to him to leave. “Bye.”
On the way back to Clara’s car, Healey had an awful flashback moment. Probably some fucked-up high school memory, because that’s exactly how he felt. Like he was dropping off a date, and he wasn’t quite done yet. Like there was unfinished business and he—
Healey put a stop to his thoughts right there and glanced back.
For reasons entirely his own, Diego sat in the open doorway glowering at him.
He looked tired though. Healey was drawn to him, both physically and emotionally.
He approached the porch to offer, “When I’m better, I can still move your stuff if you need me to.”
“Nah, you don’t have to do that. But wait—” He rolled out of view and came back a couple of seconds later with a plastic-covered plate of cookies. “I baked a batch of cookies last night. Made a dozen for you.”
Diego held out the peace offering.
“Thank you. That’s really nice.” When Healey took it, their fingers brushed, sending crackles of energy flowing between them. Healey shivered before shrugging apologetically. “Sorry again for bothering you.”
“A’ight.” Eye’s lit with something like humor, Diego gave his neck a scratch. “In case anyone asks me, where will you be staying?”
“It’s called the Burnt Toast B&B, Ms. U says.” He lifted the cookies. “Thank you for these.”
Diego gave him a nod. “I’ll be seeing you.”
A brief stab of regret flared in Healey’s gut when Diego closed the door. It might have been fun getting to know him. Getting under his skin had certainly been amusing. He wished he could see if Diego’s hot sly glances meant something, or if his attitude was simply adjusted too tight.
After eating one of the cookies on the way to Clara’s car, he offered her one.
“Try this, it’s white chocolate macadamia.”
She hesitated before breaking one in half. “Looks excellent. That’s the young man who bought your father’s place?”
“Diego. Probably bought it for the ramps and lowered countertops, but Shelby’s room was the only bedroom downstairs, and it was kind of girly.”
“He’ll put his own stamp on it, I’m sure.”
“I guess.” He scooted his seat back, unable to bear the thought of being that close to the airbags. These days, he could barely open a pop can without his anxiety ratcheting up. That would pass right? It couldn’t last forever.
On the short ride to the B&B, he and Clara talked about all the things that had changed in Bluewater Bay since he’d left. Due to a relatively sunny weekend, tourists wandered the streets with printed trifold maps of Bluewater Bay clutched in their fists.
“The show can’t last forever.” Clara sounded hopeful.
“It’s made Bluewater Bay a boom town.” Before his pop got into inventing goofy gadgets, Holly’s Haus of Imports kept them all fed. Ironically, when he no longer needed income from the shop, the business had picked up because of the goddamn television show. Of course, it brought all the LA types. Things had been tense until the flannel-clad denizens of Bluewater Bay saw that LA money spent like any other kind and no one had to go out in the freezing cold to get it.
“Is this B&B new? I don’t remember anything called Burnt Toast back in the day.”
“The name is new. It was the Bayview. Derrick inherited the business when his parents passed away.” She pulled her car into the parking area designated for registering guests. It was obvious from the nearly full lot that the place was doing well.
While he was getting his duffel from the trunk, a furry tornado burst through the front door. Seconds later, a lumberjack in a pink apron ran out, chasing it.
By the time Healey got to the porch, the dude was trudging back with the dog under one arm. It snarled and tried to sink its vicious little teeth into his arm, but he stayed all smiles.
“Hey, Ms. U.”
“Hello, Derrick. What a pleasure to see you again.” She held out her hands for Derrick’s nasty little dog. It leaped from the lumberjack’s arms and turned into a kitten. “Hello, Ms. Victoria. And how are you today?”
“Every time.” Derrick jammed a finger in the dog’s face and growled. “I feed you. That’s the last straw. Fuck off.”
Healey simply waited.
“Okay, so.” The big man wrapped his hand around the back of his neck.
Somebody needs a blue ox.
“All we’ve got is a small room on the third floor. I usually keep that one open unless we’re full, because it’s not real awesome. You look pretty banged up. Can you make it up a couple flights of stairs?”
“It’ll be fine,” Healey assured him.
Derrick’s lips tilted into a faint grin. “Last guy who used that room had a broken arm too. How do you shower?”
“So far?” Healey flushed. “I’m ashamed to say I haven’t.”
Clara had a suggestion. “You ought to take him out back and scrub him down like a horse before you let him in your nice place.”
“Ms. U,” Healey whined.
“Call me Clara.” She put the dog down. “I’ll leave you to it. Healey. We can catch up once I know you’re being properly taken care of.”
“I got him, Ms. U.” Derrick opened the door and the little monster dog tore inside. Holding the door open for Healey, he waited.
For a single moment, Healey felt utterly bereft. In a strange place, unable to speak the language, no memory, no map. No family to guide him. No, that wasn’t fair. His family was still there. They loved him. They’d supported his every move since he was born. Plus he had the redoubtable Clara Underhill on his side.
People had built whole civilizations with less.
Nash had deliberately and selflessly given up his chance at college, at getting away from Bluewater Bay and following his own dreams for years to help take care of their sister, Shelby—all so Healey could see how far his gifts could take him. Whenever he felt low, whenever he felt like quitting—like anger and sorrow were the only things he had left—Healey reminded himself his family was there, if he’d just reach out.
They weren’t here, though, because . . . he wasn’t sure he was ready to face them.
With a last wave at Clara, he entered the bed-and-breakfast. Immediately, he was surrounded by kitsch mixed with memorabilia, along with a few modern masculine touches. Eclectic was too good a word for it, but it was warm and inviting. It wrung a sigh from him, almost as though he couldn’t help himself. An apron like the one Derrick was wearing hung in a shadow box in pride of place.
“My mother’s,” Derrick murmured, while they looked at it. “They passed in a car wreck three years ago and left me this place.”
“I barely remember my mother,” Healey admitted.
One of Derrick’s large hands fell on his shoulder. “Sorry.”
He winced. “It’s okay. My family’s awesome.”
Pop and Fjóla would no doubt show up when they could, now that they knew where he was. Insisting he was fine wasn’t going to keep them away. They’d want to see for themselves.
Derrick nodded. “Sure.”
“If you’ll just show me my room, I’ll get out of your hair and get cleaned up.”
“Yeah, well.” Derrick glanced toward the kitchen. “The shower in my room is probably the best one for you right now. It’s bigger. Or we have a tub you could soak in. Which sounds better?”
A tall kitchen trash bag, a whole lot of duct tape, and some trial and error later, Healey flopped down on the tiny bed in his room, clean and blissfully sleepy, for a change.
He’d no sooner drifted off to sleep, than a timid knock came at the door.
“Yeah?” he called.
A scrappy-looking dude peeked in through a crack. The dog, whose name he’d learned was Victoria Beckham, burst through, widening it substantially. His visitor followed the dog to stand by Healey’s feet holding a tray.
“Hungry?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwich. Smelled like whoever made it used real butter and sourdough bread. He was suddenly so hungry he felt inside out.
“Ginsberg.” He set the tray down and busied himself with a napkin and flatware.
Healey figured that was a name. “Healey.”
The smile he got was unsure. “I had a broken arm when I first got here too.”
“Yeah?” He sat up, arranged the sheets so Ginsberg could put down the tray. “This level of service is totally unnecessary. I can come down for food.”
“It’s fine. Jim thought you might be, in his words, peckish, but it’s after official breakfast.”
“Jim?”
“He’s our chef. Breakfast is already cleaned up, and he worried you wouldn’t be up to coming down for food later. But it’s fine if you want to.”
“This is perfect. I could sleep for a week.”
Ginsberg bit his lip. “No one will bother you if you don’t want them to.”
Healey glanced around the room. Filled with homey touches too old to be retro but not quite old enough to be antique, his little room was dated, but pleasant. Probably not their best, but way better than some of the student digs he’d lived in. His jaw cracked around a huge yawn. Ginsberg let out a surprisingly deep chortle he broke off with a cough.
“I’ll just tell everybody you’ll sleep until you’re done.”
Healey nodded gratefully. “Thank you.” He blinked down at the sandwich. “I know what hangry is. What’s hungry and exhausted?”
“Look in the mirror.” Ginsberg laughed. “Come down and say hello when you’re ready. Jim will want to get a good look at you.”
Victoria barked, dancing around his feet.
“What?” Ginsberg reached down and picked the little dog up. “We all know Jim is your favorite. Don’t rub it in. It’s only because he bakes you those dog treats.”
“Thanks, Ginsberg,” Healey offered. “Appreciate all this.”
Ginsberg hesitated at the door before he turned back. “You’re very welcome.”
The door closed softly between them.
Grilled cheese and tomato soup was Nash’s favorite comfort food, while Healey preferred Mi Goreng fried noodles with a cooked egg on top. GCTS came in a close second. Healey let his head fall back on the pillow. He missed his twin. There were times when knowing how it would affect Nash if anything happened to him was the only thing that kept him moving forward.
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