“And again I ask, what is she doing here?” Trace asked, really confused. Mabel hissed and bit down on Trace’s finger, and he reflexively let go with a yelp. Mabel climbed off him with a sniff and slinked right over to David’s lap, where she settled down with a happy purr. David looked down at her, bemused, and then up at Trace, who laughed. “Looks like you have a girlfriend,” he managed to get out between snorts.
“I guess there’s a first time for everything,” David said, sliding his fingers along her head. Mabel purred louder and rubbed against his palm.
“She likes you better than me!” Trace complained. “I’ve been trying to get her to love me for months!”
David just cleared his throat and looked around innocently. “I rescued the damsel in distress from near starvation and touch deprivation in an isolated castle,” he claimed.
Trace rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he muttered. He sighed and figured it was for the best. Mabel had thrown two temper tantrums in just the past three days, one of which had resulted in a destroyed pair of suit pants. “She’ll be happier here anyway.”
David gave him an apologetic look. “Since you’re here, there’s no reason she shouldn’t be. I hated the thought of her being alone in that apartment. I mean, with all you’re doing for me—”
“I’m doing it because I want to, David, not because I want something back.” Trace stopped and had to smile. It was really kind of sweet. “Thanks. It’s really nice to have her here.” He squinted at David. “Even if she does like you better.”
David shrugged, and a thought occurred to him that made him grin. “Who’d have thought I’d ever have a chance to steal a woman from you?”
Trace’s lips twitched. “Don’t spoil her too much. She’ll be hell when I have to take her back home. Although she didn’t really see me all that much more before I’ve been here,” he had to admit.
“Yeah, your apartment looks barely lived in,” David agreed, thinking about the overly neat rooms.
“Hey, how’d you get there?” Trace felt a flash of alarm. “You didn’t drive, did you?” He thought about the bottle of narcotics in the bathroom he’d been carefully dosing David with.
“No, no. I called Matt to come and pick me up,” David assured him.
“Matt. The photographer,” Trace recalled.
“Yeah. He was glad to help,” David said. “He had all sorts of compliments about your apartment.” Not that he’d be sharing them with Trace. “Mabel liked him too.”
Trace sighed. “I’m starting to think Mabel might be a fag hag,” he muttered.
David hugged her close protectively. “Hey! That’s my girl you’re dissing.”
Mabel looked at Trace from David’s arms, and Trace could have sworn she stuck her tongue out at him. Damn cat. He decided he didn’t want to consider too closely why he felt a streak of jealousy shoot through him.
Chapter 8
TRACE SHIFTED for the twelfth time in the hard plastic chair and sighed as he flipped through the Entertainment Weekly he’d nabbed off the magazine rack. There was no point in reading the local GO! lifestyle and entertainment magazine sitting on the low table in front of him—he’d written more than half of it.
He glanced up when the door that led back into the treatment areas opened, but a grandma-type lady with her walker tromped out instead of David. Wrinkling his nose, Trace turned another page. David must have been doing okay with the physical therapy, because he’d been back there for the full hour this time. This was his second visit, and Trace wasn’t sure he was looking forward to the end of it. After the first appointment last week, David had been a real bear. He’d have thought David broke his arm yesterday, not almost three weeks ago.
The door swung open again with less force than the grandma had generated, and David shuffled through, his good shoulder curved forward as he cradled his right arm. His eyes darted up long enough to locate Trace before returning to the floor as he walked across the room. Rubbing his forearm through the sling, he offered a weak smile. “They added two new exercises this week. I swear the healing hurts more than the breaking.”
Trace tried not to wince as he saw how tired David looked. “How about some lunch and then pain relief?” he suggested.
David grimaced and swallowed a wave of nausea brought on by the echoing pain lapping through his chest. “I think maybe we need to reverse that.”
“Not if you want to keep the pills down,” Trace said mildly as he stood and started herding David toward the door. “We’ll try something like crackers first, just until you can take the medicine, then more substantial food. You don’t want to be ill all night like last time.” And hadn’t that been about the limit Trace wanted to deal with for anyone.
“Before Beelzebub in there got his hands on me, I was going to suggest seafood at that little place on the pier. Now all I want to do is crawl into bed and drug myself into oblivion. How can something that is supposed to be good for me hurt so fuckin’ much?”
A woman seated by the door to the office looked up and snorted at the language. Trace glanced over, and they exchanged wry smiles. “We’ll compromise. Crackers, drugs, nap, then dinner on the pier,” Trace said soothingly as he opened the front door and gestured for David to go ahead.
“Can I take my pills with scotch?”
“Move,” Trace said with a bit more authority, waving his hands toward the car and ignoring David’s crack. Having an argument when David was hurting was not a good idea, and Trace had no plans to start one. “Sooner home, sooner drugs.”
David collapsed in the car seat, his head tilted back, eyes closed. He quit guarding his hurt arm just long enough to fasten his seatbelt. “If you were a good mom you’d have crackers in your pocket… or purse… or wherever they keep them to pull out and shove into their baby’s mouth at restaurant tables. I’ve never quite understood that. They have crackers… even when they don’t serve crackers at the restaurant….” David continued to ramble, hissing as the car passed over the speed bumps on the way out of the parking lot. He knew he was being seriously cranky, but he just couldn’t summon the energy to be positive right now.
Trace bit his lip as David drawled on brokenly about whatever caught his attention. He could only hope that David would stay more detached and less annoyed. “My parenting skills are sorely lacking, I’m afraid, as Mabel is well aware.”
“You’re better than you think,” David mumbled, staring out at the traffic on his side of the car.
Raising an eyebrow, Trace smiled a little. “Thanks.”
David shrugged with one shoulder and waved his hand in dismissal. He didn’t want Trace to see that he was more than a little embarrassed. After a few quiet minutes, he spoke up. “I hate to even mention it, but I’m afraid if I don’t I’ll chicken out.” David shifted in the seat, obviously not able to find a comfortable position. “Dr. Mengele wants me to do a series of extensions and rotations three times a day, but I’ve got to have someone help me support the arm’s weight as I do them. I know the last thing you need is something else I need help with—”
“David, it’s no problem. I want to help,” Trace said, trying not to let any frustration leak out into his voice. He’d told David that time and time again, but it seemed like his best friend was sure he was going to just run out on him. “It’ll be fine. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner,” he pointed out as he navigated through traffic. “I’m already home for those most of the time.”
“I’m torn between being grateful and wishing you’d say ‘Hell no!’ so I could go back next week and tell them I couldn’t find anyone to help. I’d call Matt, but a nurse he’s not…”
Trace looked at David sideways as the man kept rambling. He was acting like he was already drugged up. Exhaustion?
“…still, he might be able to help with the midday one if you are working. Not exactly sure what Matt does with his days, but I’m pretty certain, it doesn’t involve work.” David chuckled, his eyes starting to drift closed again.
Trac
e sighed and took a look at David as he brought the car to a halt at a stoplight, and he raised his hand before he realized it, reaching over to brush David’s hair out of his eyes. Seemed like it was just long enough to get messy like that every time they were in the convertible with the top down. David screwed up his face, and Trace yanked his hand back. “How does Matt do that?” David complained, and Trace relaxed as he was off and rattling off whatever. Trace suspected it was a way to keep his mind off the pain. With a last smile, Trace got the car moving again.
“ARE YOU sure you really want to do this?” David had been grumbling and complaining ever since Trace walked into the kitchen a full forty-five minutes earlier than usual the next morning. He frowned even more when Trace blithely ignored him in favor of the coffeepot and English muffin.
“I mean, really,” David continued, “you don’t want to start your day off dealing with grouchy me in pain, do you?”
Trace continued to deliberately tune him out as he popped his breakfast into the toaster and went to the fridge to pull out butter and jelly.
David nervously rubbed at his forearm where it lay comfortably in the sling below a right-now-not-hurting shoulder. He really would prefer it to stay not-hurting. “I’m sure I’ll be able to handle it on my own, at least these first few times, you know, until I’m a little more recovered from my torture session yesterday.”
When Trace finally turned around with his coffee cup and leaned back against the counter, David sighed. He could clearly read the “Bullshit” comment on Trace’s face. “Damn,” David muttered. Trace’s lips twitched as he snagged his muffin out of the toaster and set it on the table next to the condiments. “Slave driver,” David added petulantly.
Trace snorted. “Big baby,” he said as he yawned and spread grape jelly. “Ten minutes and it’ll be all over.” And maybe he’d see how not-bad it was and calm down about it all.
“Until lunch time,” David retorted.
“Then ten minutes and it’ll be all over.”
David sniffed and picked up his coffee. He wasn’t sure what was up with Trace this morning; usually he was a lot more… asleep.
“Until dinner.”
Trace actually smiled, marveling a little at the humor of David’s overreaction. “Cranky this morning?” he asked politely.
“I don’t want to hurt again,” David admitted.
Trace shrugged. “Hurt now and get better. Don’t hurt now, don’t get better, hurt later,” he said through a mouthful of muffin.
David squinted at him. “You are far too laid-back about all this.”
“Would you rather me be a hard-ass?” Trace asked reasonably.
“It’s hard to get mad at you when you’re this calm and helpful.”
“Part of my master plan,” Trace admitted as he polished off half the muffin. “Did you eat?”
“Yes, Mom,” David sniped. He knew he was being childish and that it looked really bad on a forty-two-year-old man. But not only was he not looking forward to the exercises, he was operating on a night of crappy sleep. He’d thought several times about how Trace’s hands would feel on him, gently supporting his arm, brushing against his wrist…. David shook himself. Trace was staring at him. Had he been talking to him? “What?”
“I said, do you want to do the exercises here where you can sit in the kitchen chair, or in the living room so you can slump on the couch after?”
“Oh, living room, definitely. Closer to the scotch too,” David muttered as he stood and walked in that direction, ignoring the small smile he’d seen on Trace’s face.
He collapsed on the couch, telling himself to grow up. Being a big baby would just annoy Trace, who’d leave, and where would that leave him and his barely healed shoulder? He rubbed at his eyes and told himself he needed to suck it up.
“Sling off, please,” Trace said as he walked in with the piece of paper the therapist have given David to take home. Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, he slid on his glasses on and started studying the diagrams. “This shouldn’t be too bad.”
“You’re not the one with the broken shoulder.”
Trace didn’t respond to the jibe as he sat down next to David “All right. First exercise. You’re going to hold your arm, elbow bent at ninety degrees, and lift it up and out, away from your body.”
David watched as Trace copied the movement drawn on the sheet, and he had to stifle a laugh.
“What?” Trace glanced up at him.
“You look like a chicken,” David snickered.
“Well, I am the cock of the roost. C’mon, chickadee. Flap that wing,” Trace instructed with a wink.
David sighed and slowly lifted his arm, afraid of the shooting pains he’d suffered at physical therapy yesterday. Luckily, his shoulder just felt very stiff and sore.
“Lift it a little further,” Trace said as he took hold of David’s elbow gently to help. He was perched on the edge of the couch, and their knees bumped. “Your elbow needs to stop on an even line with your shoulder.”
David almost shivered as he felt tingles where Trace touched him. But a minute later he was frowning as his arm started feeling heavy. “No wonder I need help.”
“Why is that?”
“My arm already feels like it weighs a hundred pounds.”
Little furrows appeared between Trace’s brows, and he told himself not to worry. David was a big boy; he could handle it. “Okay, ten times is enough.”
David sighed and let his arm hang, which actually hurt a little too. He was used to having it supported. “What’s next, coach?”
“Holding your arm in the same position to start, this time pull your fist straight up over your shoulder so your forearm is parallel with the ceiling and then back down again.”
Another snicker. “You look like Tiger Woods.”
Trace rolled his eyes. “Five times.”
By the time David had finished those and two more exercises, he was gritting his teeth. “Is that all?” he ground out. He glanced up to see Trace watching him, but he couldn’t tell what Trace was thinking. “Is it?”
“Ah, yes,” Trace said, setting the paper on the table, quietly proud that David hadn’t quit.
“Finally,” David huffed, scooting sideways and reaching for his sling.
“Why don’t you go ahead and take a shower before putting that back on?” Trace suggested.
“Maybe I don’t want to take a shower,” David snapped, ignoring the light sweat along his hairline and between his shoulder blades. He felt so weak, for such stupid, tiny exercises to wear him out so quickly. He stood up without warning and pushed past Trace’s knees, not caring that he about knocked his best friend back into the couch. He stomped back to the bedroom and stood in front of the mirror, sulking.
With a sigh he sat on the edge of the bed and set his forehead in his hand. He was being such an asshole about this. There was no reason to be mean to Trace, who was going so out of his way to help.
David felt something move against his calves, and he looked down to see Mabel weaving around his ankles. She stopped and purred as she rubbed against his leg. Shaking his head, he reached down to rub between her ears. When he looked up into the mirror, he saw Trace standing quietly in the doorway behind him, sling in hand.
“I’m sorry, Trace,” David said with heartfelt resignation. “I’m being a bastard, and you don’t deserve it.”
Trace didn’t say anything right away as he lingered in the doorway. There really wasn’t anything to say. So he held out the sling. David stood up and walked over to take it with a murmured thank you.
“I’ll be back at lunch. Subway okay?” Trace asked, hoping that just moving on with the day would help David shed some of the crankiness. He reached out to pat David’s chest supportively.
David nodded, and he blinked at him when he felt a gentle warmth on his chest. He looked down to see Trace’s hand there, just touching as he looked at his best friend. It was… soothing. Reassuring. And he knew that Trace under
stood. “You know what I like,” David said softly.
Trace smiled, and David was struck by how true what he’d just said was.
TRACE YAWNED as he brushed his hair back, his other hand gathering it at his nape so he could tie it back. He wasn’t quite used to the whole get-up-early thing yet—well, early for him, anyway. For a society night owl, even an hour earlier, for such a good cause as helping David with his PT, was still quite an adjustment.
He blinked his eyes hard several times as he tossed the brush into the basket on the vanity and grabbed a washcloth. As the water warmed up, he studied his own face in the mirror, idly wondering what David saw when he looked at him. Sighing, Trace sniffed and stuck the cloth under the water.
Since that night in the car, his mind kept edging back toward that vision of David in the seat next to him, face soft and relaxed as he dozed, and how silky David’s hair had felt between his fingers. How he’d felt something sitting there in the dark next to David.
Letting out a rough exhale, Trace turned off the tap and held the cloth over his cheeks to warm the skin so he could shave. He swallowed and shut his eyes as he leaned his hip against the vanity, feeling his cheeks warm… and it wasn’t only from the washcloth. It was too easy to remember how that jolt of arousal had shocked him—
—and how it still did. He opened his eyes and recognized that same yank of desire pulling at him as his cock swelled. Trace groaned. This has to stop. A straight man does not lust after his gay friend.
Does he?
Staring at himself, he tried to evaluate how he felt about it. Could he, a longtime ladies’ man—because he did love the ladies and everything about them—really be attracted to another man? His stomach flip-flopped. Frowning, Trace tried to pinpoint what really bothered him about it by how his gut reacted. Was he worried about what other people would think? No, I don’t think so. I’ve pretty much always done my own thing anyway. And I’ve got a few other friends who are gay, so it’s not like I’m not familiar with the concept. Upset? No. How could I be upset at David? It’s not his fault I’m having a minor identity crisis. Freaked out? A little. He blinked. Okay, more than a little, but maybe crisis is too strong a word. Angry? No, not at all. More like… confused. Why is this happening now? Turned on? … Oh hell.
Dreamspinner Press Year Three Greatest Hits Page 120