Olympic Cove 2-Breaker Zone

by Nicola Cameron

  But that was before Bythos and Aphros showed up. He knew he was going to have to introduce the two demigods to his friends and family eventually. But he was still working on a better introduction than, “Hi, yeah, this is Bythos and Aphros. Yes, they’re twins. Yes, as a matter of fact they are both men, at least when they’re not being demigod sea centaurs. It’s a long story. How about those Bears?”

  Yeah, no. Sighing, he went back into the kitchen to tell his fated mates and father-in-law that company was on the way.

  ****

  “Jesus.”

  The unshaven man standing in the doorway grimaced. “My beard’s not that long.”

  “No, just—come in.” Ian stepped back, watching as Nick Gardiner trudged into the living room. Once, back in Chicago, he’d seen the ER physician fresh off a triple shift that included treating patients from two fires and a multi-car pileup on Lake Shore Drive.

  It was nothing compared to the utter exhaustion he saw now. “You look like hammered shit. What’s wrong?”

  Before Nick could say anything, a small brown and white terrier scampered into the cottage. She danced around Ian before planting two paws on his thigh and giving him a lolling doggy smile.

  He crouched, scratching her head. “Hey, girl. Did you miss me?”

  “Of course she did,” Nick said wearily. “You’re the only one who feeds her bacon. I left my bag in the car. Is that all right around here?”

  Ian thought of the protective geas Aphros had put on the area. There was no way an enterprising thief could even find the cove, much less steal anything. “It’s fine. This area is really safe.”

  “Great. I—” The doctor trailed off, staring over Ian’s shoulder. “Oh. You’ve got guests. You should have said.”

  Ian stood, spotting Bythos and Aphros in the dining room doorway. “No, it’s fine,” he said quickly. “Nick, I’d like to introduce you to my boyfriends, By and Aph. Guys, this is Nick Gardiner, a friend of mine from Chicago.”

  Nick’s jaw dropped. “Boyfriends?”

  “Yes, it’s all rather new,” Bythos said, coming up and offering his hand. “But it’s nice to finally meet some of Ian’s friends.”

  The doctor stared blankly at the outstretched hand, then shook his head hard and took it. “Nice to meet you,” he said, blinking. “I’m sorry, I’m not usually this out of it. I’m not homophobic or anything. I mean, I can’t be. I’m gay, so it’s all good. I’m just surprised because Ian never told me he was bi. He was married, so I just assumed—” He stopped in mid-stream, weaving just a bit. “Um. I’m really tired.”

  “Yes, we can tell,” Aphros said, already in mother hen mode. “The other guest room is ready for you. Why don’t you go take a nap, and the two of you can catch up later?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, that’s good.” Nick blinked glazed eyes at Ian. “Could you take care of Norma? I let her go when I stopped to call you, but she really needs a walk. Her leash is in the car.”

  “No problem.” Ian bent down and petted the wriggling terrier again, watching in concern as Aphros guided the weary man towards the bedroom door. “What’s wrong with your dad, girl?” he said quietly.

  “Take a look at his aura,” Bythos said just as softly, bending down and offering his hand to Norma to smell. The terrier took a few sniffs, then licked his hand in approval.

  Warily, Ian focused his powers through the bedroom wall. What he saw bothered the hell out of him. The bioelectric field known as an aura was generated by all living creatures and had a dominant color overlaid with a shifting iridescence that reflected mood and health. His aura glowed butter yellow, Aphros’s light blue, and Bythos’s a deeper blue-green.

  But Nick’s aura was grey, a drained, sickly color that made the doctor look like he was surrounded by static. “That’s not good, is it?”

  “No, it isn’t,” Bythos agreed. “There’s something very wrong with your friend. You need to talk to him when he gets up.”

  “Definitely.” Ian looked down at the terrier, which was now nosing his sandals. “Unless you’ve got something you want to tell me, sweetie.”

  Bythos chuckled. “You’re a god, love, not Doctor Doolittle.” He gave Norma a last pat. “Why don’t you take her for a run on the beach? It should be safe enough there.”

  “Yeah, I’ll do that.” Ian clapped his thigh and whistled softly, leading the terrier to the back porch while his mind was on the exhausted man in his guest room.

  Nick, what the hell happened to you?

  ****

  That will look so lovely. Hold still, now. Just a little more.

  Nick struggled to sit up with a barking cry, legs tangled in the sheets. The wound on his chest burned from the sudden movement.

  Panting and disoriented, he stared around the dark room. For one terrible moment he thought he was back in Barnard’s bedroom.

  And then memory returned. I’m at Ian’s cottage. He can’t find me here. I’m okay.

  Rubbing his eyes, Nick glanced around the room again. A small digital alarm clock sat on a nightstand next to the bed. It read 3:12 A.M.

  He’d gotten to the cottage sometime around two in the afternoon, after throwing Norma and some clothes into the car and driving straight through from Chicago. Twenty hours on the road, then thirteen hours dead to the world. By now Barnard had to know he was gone.

  His chest throbbed in counterpoint to his thoughts. The pain had kept him awake on the road, bitterly welcome then but unwanted now. Gingerly he touched the square of gauze he’d taped over the incisions. The gauze felt dry, if a little stiff. Good. At least I’m not bleeding. That’s something.

  He kicked off the thin cotton blanket and sat on the edge of the bed, fumbling with the shape next to the alarm clock. It turned out to be a lamp, and turning a switch lit the small but pleasantly decorated room with a warm glow.

  Slowly, he got to his feet, wincing at the complaining muscles in his back and knees. A door across from the bed turned out to be a shared bathroom. He pissed for what felt like an eternity, then washed his hands and face, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

  What are you waiting for? You need to check it. Just do it.

  He stripped off the t-shirt he’d worn to bed and saw the taped square of gauze on the inside of his right pec. Hating the tremor in his fingers, he peeled off the tape and gauze, grimacing as strands of chest hair came with it.

  And stared at the letter carved into his skin. No, not carved—incised. An elegant little design, flourishes and swirls surrounding a cursive capital B.

  B for Barnard. It had been said with the gentlest smile.

  Nick’s stomach suddenly rebelled. He dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, retching. Bile, thin and yellowish-green, splattered against the white porcelain. He coughed and spat, then spat again, rolling to a seat on the clean linoleum floor and wiping at his mouth.

  You bastard. I said my safeword. I screamed it. And you cut me anyway.

  He dropped his head into his hands, and was startled when he heard himself sob. You bastard. You fucking bastard.

  The bathroom door opened. “Nick?”

  He hunched over more, automatically on the defensive. A warm hand tentatively touched his shoulder, and he flinched. “Nick, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head, wanting to hide. Wanting to go somewhere, anywhere, where nobody could see what had been done to him. What he’d let Barnard do to him.

  There was a movement of air, and then the toilet flushed. Something soft dropped around his shoulders. “Come on, you need something to settle your stomach. Can you stand up?”

  Sucking in a shuddering breath, he nodded. An arm slid around him then, helping him to his feet. He hunched inside the towel, pulling it around him. Covering that damned scarlet letter on his chest.

  “Are you cold?”

  He looked up, at the handsome bearded man currently holding him. Af-something — Aphros. Ian’s boyfriend. One of them.

  “No,” he said, a tin
y sound even in the tiled room.

  Aphros gave him a look that suggested he didn’t believe a word of it. “Would you like some tea? Or I can get ginger ale if that would be better.”

  “I—no, I’m fine. It was just … stress.” His now empty stomach rumbled, and Aphros’s eyes widened slightly at it. “Sorry,” Nick mumbled.

  Aphros laughed softly. “Don’t be. A rumbling stomach, I can fix.”

  He led Nick out of the bathroom. The doctor paused, hearing a soft grumbling snore coming from the living room. Moving quietly to the doorway, he saw Ian asleep on the couch.

  “He was worried about you, so he slept down here in case you needed something,” Aphros explained. “I was coming down to check on him when I heard you.”

  “Crap. He didn’t have to do that.” Nick now wished he’d gone to a motel instead of dragging his personal disaster to Ian’s door. “This isn’t his problem.”

  Aphros gave him a look that was sympathetic without being pitying. “Ian likes to think he can protect the world. Ga ... God knows he’s good at it.” He smiled oddly at his own statement. “Anyway—food.”

  Still feeling guilty, Nick followed the other man into a clean, slightly old-fashioned kitchen, blinking against the sudden light as Aphros hit the switch and went to the refrigerator.

  “Sit down, and I’ll make you a sandwich,” he said over his shoulder. “Or would you prefer soup?”

  “I, uh, I don’t know.”

  “How about I split the difference?” Two minutes later, a turkey sandwich with a light spread of mayo and a cup of chunky soup were delivered to the table. “Let’s start with that,” Aphros said, scraping a mayo-laden knife back into the jar. “If you want anything more, there’s plenty.”

  Nick nodded numbly and picked up the sandwich, taking a bite. “Thank you,” he mumbled through his mouthful.

  “You’re very welcome. Any friend of Ian’s is a friend of ours.”

  Ours. He tried to sneak looks through his lashes at his benefactor, who had taken a chair opposite him. Ian’s boyfriend appeared to be somewhere in his late twenties, with curly hair, bright blue eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard. He wore a loose pair of cargo shorts and nothing else, revealing a set of broad shoulders, a sleekly muscled chest, and long, sinewy arms. A glint of red-gold showed just above his waistband, hinting at the treasure trail that led downwards.

  Nick usually wasn’t attracted to redheads, but Aphros was giving him a whole new appreciation for the species. “So, uh, you and Ian,” he said, trailing off when he realized he had no idea how to end that sentence. “I didn’t expect that.”

  Aphros smiled. “It’s all fairly new. The three of us are still getting used to each other.”

  Three. So the other one—Boyfriends. Ian had said boyfriends, plural. “Wow.” He winced at that. “Sorry. It’s just—I had no idea Ian was bi.”

  A shrug. “I don’t think it was something he told many people. Don’t feel bad that you didn’t know.”

  “I just wish I’d known earlier. I would’ve—” He bit off that thought, covering his embarrassment with a quick spoonful of soup. He was pretty sure Ian knew he was attracted to him, and didn’t have a problem with it. Hell, Diana used to tease them both about celebrating with a threesome when Ian sold his first novel. “Never mind.”

  Aphros smiled at him. “You would’ve tried to get him in bed. I can’t blame you. He’s incredibly sexy.”

  “Uh, yeah. And this conversation is incredibly awkward.”

  “Let’s talk about something else, then.”

  “Good idea.” He looked around the kitchen. “Where’s Norma?”

  Aphros glanced at the ceiling. “Sleeping with my brother, I’m afraid. She seems rather taken with him.”

  “Oh. So, your brother is here, too?”

  “Yes, you saw him earlier.” He rubbed the back of his fingers along his beard. “No beard, looked very serious? Which is his default expression, by the way, so don’t be bothered by it.”

  Nick felt his jaw start to open, and closed it with a click. “Wait. You and your brother are Ian’s boyfriends? Both of you?”

  Aphros chuckled. “I know, it’s a bit unusual, but I assure you it works for us. We’ve managed to share him quite nicely so far.”

  Dimly, Nick wondered if he’d somehow wandered into a soft porn fantasy. Twins. That lucky bastard got twins. “Uh, okay. It’s cool,” he said, only slightly strangled.

  At which point said lucky bastard ambled into the kitchen, blinking sleepily and scratching his belly. “Thought I heard voices. Hey, angel.” He leaned down and gave Aphros a kiss, then wandered over to the refrigerator. “Nice to see you rejoined the land of the living, dude. I see Aph fed you.”

  “Yeah. Thanks, by the way.” Nick nodded at the redhead, who smiled. “I don’t feel like I’m about to fall over and die anymore, which is a plus.”

  “True.” Ian came back with a glass of orange juice, taking the seat next to Aphros. “How long were you on the road, anyway?”

  “Twenty hours, give or take. It seemed like the best thing to do since I had Norma with me. I didn’t think a motel would take both of us.”

  “Wouldn’t it have been easier to kennel her somewhere and fly down here?”

  “I couldn’t leave her in Chicago.” Nick stared at the crumbs on his plate. The letter on his chest throbbed, an echoed heartbeat. “It’s complicated.”

  “Yeah, I bet.” Ian studied him, then turned to Aphros. “Angel, I need to talk to Nick in private. Would you mind giving us some space?”

  “Not at all. Call me if you need anything.” Aphros kissed him, then stood and came around the table, resting his hand on Nick’s shoulder. “I’m glad you came down here, Nick.”

  He had no idea how it worked, but that simple contact drove back the churning in his gut. Aphros left, and Nick tried to smile. “If you ever get tired of him...”

  “Yeah, no.” Ian didn’t smile back. “Nick, tell me what happened.”

  Nick hunched under the towel still draped around his shoulders. He had no idea where to start, how to explain. Not something like this.

  He closed his eyes. Just start at the beginning. “What do you know about BDSM?”

  ****

  After a half hour of talking, Nick’s throat felt like sandpaper. Ian had gotten up and fetched beers for both of them. When Nick explained how Barnard had cut him, Ian’s knuckles had gone white around the beer bottle.

  Nick played with his own bottle, rolling the bottom on the kitchen table. “So, do you think I’m a freak?”

  Ian blinked. “Of course not. Jesus, how long have we known each other?”

  “Two years. But before tonight you didn’t know that I liked to be tied up.”

  “Yeah, well, you didn’t know I was bi, so we’re even. Besides, from what you just told me it sounds like everything you do is pretty much negotiated beforehand.”

  “Yeah, that’s the way it’s supposed to go. Safe, sane, and consensual for people like me, or risk-aware consensual kink for people who go in more for edge play.” His stomach clenched. “Like Barnard.”

  His friend scowled. “I still think you should call the cops.”

  “There’s no point. I’ve seen guys like me come through the ER before. Usually it’s because some asshole thought being a Dom meant that he could kick the shit out of his sub. The cops take a statement and that’s it. Nobody does anything. They figure we asked for it.”

  “But you didn’t.” Ian gestured at his chest. “That isn’t consensual. That’s assault.”

  Nick shook his head. “It’s my word against Barnard’s. I let him tie me up. And he did stop. Eventually.”

  The rage and shame flared again. How many times had he treated people in the ER who’d come in with bruises, lacerations, or broken bones inflicted by a partner? How many times had he urged them to call the police, turn in their abuser? How many times had he watched his patient walk out next to the person who had caused their injurie
s in the first place?

  Physician, heal thyself.

  Ian frowned, but sat back. “All right, no cops. What about Memorial? I thought you weren’t supposed to go on vacation for another two weeks.”

  Nick could see his department head sitting across from him, that oh-so-strange expression on the woman’s face as she talked, explained. Cut his life into pieces. He rolled the bottle again, feeling the warming glass against his fingertips. “They fired me.”

  Ian’s eyes went wide. “They what?”

  “Budget cuts. That’s what my boss said, anyway. They needed to trim down the Emergency Medicine staff, and I was low man on the totem pole. Cancelled my contract, gave me a reasonable severance package. That’s all, Dr. Gardiner, thank you for your work.” His cheek twitched. “Did I ever mention that Barnard is a major contributor to Memorial? He used to joke that he should get me fired so that I’d have to move in with him. Looks like he made good on it.”

  The smaller man’s jaw muscles bunched. “That shit son of a bitch.”

  “Yeah, pretty much.” How could so much of him hurt? His head ached, his chest stung, his stomach burned. And behind it all, a free-floating rage. “Now you know why I brought Norma. I had to get out of Chicago before he fucked me over even more.”

  Absently he noted his knuckles were turning white. And then Ian’s hand closed around his, gently prying his fingers off the beer bottle. “So you’re staying here,” the other man said. “Mi casa es su casa, for as long as you need it. And just so you know, if Barnard Whitfield comes anywhere near this cove, I will personally make sure he regrets it.”

  Nick shook his head. “I don’t want you to do that. This isn’t your fight, and he’s a vindictive prick.”

  The hand on his tightened. His skin tingled oddly, as if he’d just touched an exposed wire. He glanced at his friend, and blinked.

  Ian’s eyes looked like they were glowing, a pale aquamarine flickering under the dark blue irises. “I don’t like people hurting my friends,” he said. His tone was soft, but there was a power to it that called to Nick’s submissive side. “And I really, really don’t like people like Barnard Whitfield. If he comes here, let me take care of him, okay?”