No Way Out

by Julie Lynn Hayes

“You don’t have to thank me. That was just—” He stopped speaking, glanced at Shy. “That was wrong on too many levels,” he finished.

  “Does he know—? I mean, has there been any word?” That was Lukas now.

  Does who know what? Sometimes they seemed to be speaking just outside of his knowledge, as if they were discussing him and didn’t want him to know what they were talking about. But why?

  “I haven’t heard anything, but frankly, I’m not interested in his condition,” Bill replied.

  Whose condition?

  Before he had a chance to ask, the moment passed. Bill turned to him, an oddly serious expression in his eyes. Why was everyone acting so strangely?

  “I’m going to be getting along. You’re in good hands now, I can see that. You take care, Shy. And if you ever need…. No, I think you won’t, will you?” He shook his head, as if to clear it. But his words made no sense to Shy. “I hope we meet again some time. Just not there.” He stepped toward Shy and briefly patted his shoulder before moving on to the other two men in the room. He handed them a small card before shaking their hands. “Feel free to call me. Anytime.”

  “Thanks again,” Wyatt said. “For everything.”

  Once Bill had gone, Wyatt returned and knelt before Shy. “Are you hungry? Would you like something to drink? Are you tired? Maybe you’d like to go to sleep?”

  Sleep? Shy didn’t think he was tired yet. But he had things to do.

  “I should go home now.” He patted his pants leg as a sudden thought struck him, producing a frown. These weren’t his pants. No, how could they be? He’d not been wearing any when they’d gone to the club. Only a coat. And a cock ring. Where was his coat? He didn’t care about the cock ring. Didn’t care if he ever saw it again.

  No, not true. If he lost it, then there’d be hell to pay.

  “Shitfuck.”

  “What’s the matter, Shy?”

  Wyatt’s voice was warm, like melted butter. Almost a verbal caress. Shy pushed the thought away.

  “I don’t have my keys. How’m I going to get in the house? I have to get in. I have to. I just have to….” The panic was overtaking him now. Just the thought of what Randy would do…. He released a small whimper, rising unsteadily to his feet. “I have to go,” he kept repeating, as if by saying it the magic number of times, his wish would come true.

  IT TOOK superhuman effort on Wyatt’s part not to grab Shy and pull him into a hug. He wanted to comfort him so badly he could taste it, but Lukas’s words still echoed in his ears. He bit his bottom lip until he couldn’t stand the pain and kept his hands to himself.

  It was hard, though, no shit. He could feel Shy’s panic overtake him, and he knew what the problem was. He wanted to get back before Randy got there, afraid he’d be beaten for being absent or whatever other bullshit reason Grant might think of to punish him with. Shy hadn’t comprehended yet that Randy was not coming home. Not tonight, anyway.

  What could he do to relieve Shy’s anxiety?

  Shy’s big blue eyes were pulling at his heart. He turned to Lukas. His mentor’s expression was one of warning.

  “I could probably get him inside….” He pitched his voice deliberately low, for Lukas’s ears alone. He was thinking ahead, his half-formed thoughts tumbling over one another. He could break out a window. There were plenty of those, and he could repair any damage before Grant ever returned and he wouldn’t have to know. He didn’t like the idea of Shy being there, especially all alone, but if it gave Shy peace of mind….

  Lukas shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking, and that won’t work. Don’t you think that house has a security alarm? A damn expensive one? You’ll just set it off, and not do yourself any good in the process….”

  “Surely Shy knows the code—”

  “Honey, I don’t think he knows much of anything right now, to be honest.”

  Lukas was undoubtedly right. Shy seemed to be living in another world entirely. He had no idea what was happening around him.

  Well, that worked out better anyway, as Wyatt hadn’t really wanted to take him there, not to mention the idea of leaving him alone in that horrible place was beyond abhorrent. And he had no doubt it was a horrible place, just from the little he’d heard, and the little he’d seen of Shy and his…. Wyatt’s mind refused to fill in the blank.

  Okay, Wyatt, time to show a little maturity and actually deal with the situation at hand.

  “Shy….” He touched his shoulder, softly, but didn’t allow his hand to linger there, waiting a moment for an adverse reaction. There was none. One hurdle crossed. Best not to push his luck, though. “Why don’t you stay here tonight? Tomorrow we’ll see about getting you into the house, how does that sound?”

  Shy gave him a blank look.

  Wyatt held in his sigh of frustration. How could he reach him? More importantly, how could he do it without hurting him?

  What was he doing wrong? Maybe the problem was Shy wasn’t used to making any decisions on his own. Undoubtedly Grant did that for him. And with what Shy had been through, he was doubly unequipped to handle choices.

  Well, then, Wyatt would have to do that for him. At least for now.

  He rose to his feet, careful not to brush against Shy in any way. He didn’t want to spook him.

  “Come with me into the kitchen. We’ll find something good,” he said, keeping his voice firm but as gentle as he knew how. To his surprise, Shy made no argument and stood up from the couch. So far, so good.

  He darted a glance at Lukas. His mentor gave him a nod of approval, saying nothing. Wyatt understood. The ball was most definitely in his court now.

  Wyatt headed toward the hallway that led to the kitchen. He forced himself not to look back, trusting that Shy would follow him. Now he knew how Orpheus felt when making the long trip back from Hades, with the love of his life, Eurydice, trailing behind. And why he couldn’t resist turning to make sure she was really there. And because he did, he lost her.

  Wyatt didn’t intend to lose Shy. Even if his common sense argued that Shy was not his to lose. He wanted him to be, though. Oh, how he wanted him to be.

  The journey from the living room to the kitchen had never seemed so long. He opened the door to the pantry, and only then did he dare to look.

  Shy stood there, patiently waiting.

  Chapter Seven

  WYATT ALMOST lost his train of thought, adrift in the infinite blue of Shylor’s eyes. So large and expressive, even now, when his world must be crumbling around him. Why had he brought Shy to the kitchen? Oh yeah, to find him something good. Something comforting.

  Something that wasn’t him, no matter how much he wished it could be.

  It occurred to him belatedly that loading Shy up with sugar might not be the best idea, not as late as it was. Wyatt had gotten the impression it wasn’t exactly allowed in his diet, anyway. Maybe Randy was some sort of a health freak, freak being the operative word. But there was no sense in upsetting him unnecessarily when he had bigger problems to face. So maybe a big cup of hot chocolate, although warm and delicious, wasn’t what was needed.

  He opened one of the cabinets, searching for inspiration, and regretfully passed over the cocoa and marshmallows. His eyes lit, instead, on several boxes of tea bags, in assorted flavors. That actually sounded good. He’d make a cup for himself, as well as Shy, and a third for Lukas. Wyatt knew it wouldn’t hurt to counteract all the alcohol he’d been throwing down with the hot tea. In his own defense, he’d had no way of knowing what was happening to Shy, even as he formed the basis of his conversation with Lukas. Had Wyatt known, he’d have been a lot more circumspect.

  He selected a box marked Sleepytime and set it on the counter. God knows, they could both use the rest, although he didn’t kid himself that it would be easy. With Shy around, Wyatt knew he was too keyed up to readily sleep, but if he was going to be of any use to Shy, he needed to make the attempt. Tomorrow would be a trying day as it was. Best to face it wide awake and in full c
ontrol of what faculties he possessed.

  He opened one of the lower cabinets and rummaged around before pulling out a medium-sized aluminum saucepan. That should be plenty big, he decided, looking between the pot and Shy.

  “Fill this from the sink, will you?” He held the cookware toward Shy. “Then put it on a burner and turn it on high?” He tried to balance his tone somewhere between commanding and requesting, hoping to find a happy medium. One that would fall within Shy’s comfort zone.

  “Sure.” Shy took the pot and proceeded to fill it from the tap, then placed it on the stove. Wyatt noticed that Shy clutched at the waistband of his pants as he reached for the dial that controlled the burner. They threatened to fall from his slender frame. No way those pants belonged to Shy. Wyatt was fairly sure he didn’t want to know the story of how he’d come by them, either. But one thing was certain. Wyatt wasn’t going to make him sleep in those oversized things. He’d find him something better to wear before bedtime. Luckily he had extra sleep pants. He could just lend a pair of those to Shy.

  “Do you want me to get the cups?”

  Shy’s voice drew Wyatt from his reverie. “Thanks, but they’re right here.” He indicated the cabinet door with a wave of one hand. He’d barely gotten the words out when Shy reached past him and brought out three matching cups, in a delicate green floral pattern. He set them on the counter, placed an individual tea bag in each one, then found the utensil drawer and selected three teaspoons.

  Boy, he’s sure efficient.

  His task completed, Shy glanced into the pot before he turned his face to Wyatt. His forehead was creased, and his big blue eyes seemed troubled. It took Wyatt a moment to figure out why—he’d done something on his own initiative, and he wasn’t sure if he was to be punished for it.

  “Thanks, Shy.” He hoped his voice was as reassuring as it was meant to be. “I appreciate your help with the tea. You’re probably better at it than I am, anyway.”

  Shy’s face relaxed, and he pivoted toward the stove once more, his attention riveted on the water. Did Wyatt imagine it, or had a fleeting smile crossed that pretty face? His heart beat faster for just a moment at the possibility. He needed to focus on something else.

  “Are you hungry? I could fix something….” He wasn’t sure what there was in the fridge, but surely there was something he could quickly throw together. Or, barring that, he could always call out for some kind of delivery. Even if Shy’d had dinner, that must have been a while ago. As for himself, Wyatt couldn’t remember if he’d eaten or not, and it didn’t matter. He was more concerned with seeing to Shy’s needs than considering his own. All he cared about was taking care of Shy, for as long as he was able.

  “No, thank you” came Shy’s quiet, polite reply.

  Well, that answered that question.

  When the water boiled, Shy distributed it among the three cups without waiting to be told. He picked up the box of tea and turned it about in his hands, glancing over the back. “Steeping time is three to five minutes,” he informed Wyatt, probably assuming Wyatt didn’t know. Which was an accurate assumption to make. “Want to set a timer?”

  Wyatt had no idea if the stove even had a timer, much less how to use it, but he did know how to use the one on the microwave, so he set it for four minutes. “How do you take yours?” he asked Shy. “I have some sugar, or there’s some kind of sweetener….” Somehow he knew the latter suggestion wasn’t going to fly, and it didn’t.

  Shy shook his head. “Have any honey?”

  That he did have. Masterson seemed fond of the stuff. In fact, he was well stocked with it. Wyatt nodded and pointed to a tall, open cabinet that housed an assortment of spices—some of which he’d never heard of in his life, bottles marked marjoram and saffron and tarragon and cardamom—as well as a miscellany of other foods. Such as honey. Shy found a small jar and set it near the waiting cups.

  “This kind is good.” Shy tapped the jar with one finger. “Natural. Very good.”

  If Shy was happy with it, then Wyatt was happy.

  They stood together in a companionable silence while the tea steeped. Shy seemed lost in thought, his eyes affixed to the floor in quiet contemplation, and Wyatt didn’t disturb him. Instead, he took advantage of his reverie to soak him in, fixing every angle and plane of his face, every point of his body in his mind for later. He wanted to sketch Shy, perhaps even do a painting. He’d much rather have Shy pose for him, of course, but he wasn’t sure if he’d get the opportunity, or if Shy would even agree to sit for him, so he was committing as much of him as he could to memory. Just in case.

  Between them, they carried the warm cups into the living room where Lukas waited and set them on the coffee table. Shy sat between Wyatt and Lukas, still poised at the edge of the cushions, as if ready to take flight at any moment. Lukas gave Wyatt a scrutinizing glance as he took his tea between his palms, letting it rest there, as if warming his hands.

  Wyatt gave him a careful nod, as if to say so far so good. Shy remained silent.

  “I called the hospital while you were in the kitchen,” Lukas began at last.

  “They talked to you? I’m surprised,” Wyatt interrupted, earning him a look from Lukas.

  “I told them I was his brother,” he said tersely. “Anyways, looks like he’s doing pretty well, all things considered, and he should be out of ICU and into a regular room some time tomorrow.” He looked at Shy, then at Wyatt. Instinctively, Wyatt laid a comforting hand on Shy’s leg, half expecting to be brushed off. Shy never reacted to the touch.

  “Hospital?” Shy parroted Lukas. “What’s going on?”

  “Shy, I don’t want you to be alarmed, but Randy had a heart attack tonight. While you were at the club.”

  “A heart attack?” Shy’s voice was filled with confusion.

  “Yes, but don’t worry. He’s going to be all right.” Lukas focused his attention on Shy, who seemed unable to grasp the significance of what he was hearing.

  “Does that mean—? He’s coming home, right? I can’t stay, I’ve got to—” He leapt up suddenly, knocking Wyatt’s hand from its perch. Lukas gave Wyatt a pointed look. He quickly rose and reached for Shy, but thought better of it at the last moment and resorted to a verbal command instead.

  “Stop!”

  Shy jerked to a halt, frozen in place.

  “Sit down, please. Drink your tea.” Wyatt gentled his voice, even as an image flew through his mind—an iron hand in a velvet glove. He’d always wondered what that meant before, but now he thought he knew. He suspected it was a technique Lukas was more than passing familiar with, but it was all new to Wyatt. This whole scene. That’s what this felt like. A scene from some movie. Except he’d lost his script and had no idea what his lines were, so he was having to ad-lib everything. Play it all by ear.

  It was important to him that he get it right. For Shy’s sake.

  Shy trembled. For a moment, Wyatt wasn’t sure he’d gotten through to him, but then he resumed his former seat, and a wave of relief washed through Wyatt when he picked up the tea and sipped at it. He hoped the warmth would be soothing. Belatedly, he wondered if he should have laced it with a little alcohol, to ease sleep. Too late to worry about that now.

  “I’m afraid he won’t be allowed any visitors tonight,” Lukas interjected. “I should imagine they’ve given him something to keep him asleep. And it’s too late for anyone to get into ICU now, anyway. Tell you what, Shy, I’ll call first thing in the morning and talk to him. I’ll tell him you’re fine and we’ll be there as soon as we know it’s okay to be there. I’ll make sure to tell him you’re coming as soon as possible.”

  Wyatt realized it must be fear of retribution that fueled Shy’s concern. Surely it wasn’t because of any affection for that miserable wretch Grant.

  Shy turned his troubled gaze to Wyatt, and Wyatt’s heart melted at the sight, unable to resist the mute plea in those beautiful eyes.

  “I’ll be with you,” he answered the unspoken question.<
br />
  Shy seemed pacified at his response, his liquid eyes saying more than mere words could ever say, so it was worth it, he thought, even as he turned his head to face Lukas’s inevitable glare and argument. He tilted his chin defiantly and steeled himself for whatever Lukas might have to say. They locked eyes for a long minute before Lukas gave a reluctant nod, rising from the couch at the same time, placing his unfinished tea on the table.

  “I’m going home, it’s late. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day. You two get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow. I promise you, Shy, I’ll… we’ll get you to the hospital. Everything’s going to be all right. Wyatt, walk me to the door.” Not a request, but a command.

  Wyatt knew what that meant—and it had nothing to do with Lukas needing directions. Lukas knew the house better than Wyatt did. He patted Shy’s leg quickly. “Be right back,” he promised before following Lukas to the door.

  “What in the world are you thinking?” Lukas kept his voice low. One hand on the doorknob, his piercing gaze went straight through Wyatt.

  “He needs me,” Wyatt said simply. “I… I just want to be there for him, that’s all. I’ll stay in the hall, I promise. I won’t let Grant see me.”

  Lukas shook his head, growling his discontent. “Just be careful,” he said at last. “You may think you have a handle on this, but you really don’t. This is deeper than you have any idea of. Trust me. And I don’t mean the surface stuff. The leash, the collar, the flogger, the whip… those are just the tip of the iceberg, the outer trappings. It’s a mentality. It’s a way of life—” He stopped speaking abruptly and sighed. “Don’t think about it tonight, okay? Just take care of Shy. And yourself. Get some rest. I have a feeling tomorrow’s gonna be a hella long day.” He pulled Wyatt into a quick hug, then let himself out.

  Wyatt stood staring at the closed door, gathering himself both mentally and physically. Doubts crept into his mind, doubts fostered by Lukas’s words. He was afraid… afraid of the damage he could do to Shy, whether intentional or not. Fear that he didn’t know what he was doing. He was no psychology major—he was an artist, for God’s sake. He painted what he saw on the surface, recreated images on canvas so others could see his visions.