“Aren’t you having coffee?” Wyatt broke off a piece of the roll and dipped it into his cup before taking it to his mouth. It was sinfully delicious and melted on his tongue.
“I already did. I can only have so much a day.” Shy shrugged, as if it was no big deal, even as Wyatt was filled with the overwhelming desire to punch Randy Grant, over and over. That had to be his asinine rule. No normal person would live like that. He suspected no one had ever accused Grant of being quite normal.
He pushed away all thoughts of that unpleasant bastard. Randy Grant was the last person Wyatt wanted to have on his mind. Bad enough he’d have to deal with the subject later. But for right now, he wanted it to be just him and Shy—having breakfast, becoming comfortable with one another. And just maybe he could pretend this was their own little world, and enjoy their time together accordingly.
He quickly changed the subject. “These are delicious, Shy.” Reaching for his juice, he took an appreciative swig. He’d never realized fresh-squeezed fruit could taste so much better than what he poured from the carton, but this certainly did.
He hadn’t expected to have much of an appetite. Usually, the morning after, he tended to avoid food for the most part. But before he realized it, he’d eaten both of the warm and gooey rolls and was licking his fingers. His actions produced a small smile from Shy, who’d already finished his own breakfast. Wyatt had to refrain from urging him to eat more. He didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. That would be counterproductive.
Shy started to rise, reaching for Wyatt’s plate, but Wyatt stopped him, placing his hand over Shy’s. “I’ll get those. It’s only fair. You cooked, I’ll clean.”
But he didn’t move right away, and neither did Shy. They simply looked at one another, expectantly. Wyatt felt the warmth of Shy’s surprisingly soft skin, despite the roughness to which it must be subjected. Shy’s hand was delicate and yet strong. He wanted to cradle it in his own, to cover it with kisses. Wyatt knew he should move away before he did something incredibly stupid, something that would spook Shy. But damned if he could work up the psychic energy to do so.
He continued to stare into those fathomless blue depths and wonder what lay beneath them. He wanted to dive into Shy’s soul and pull them both inside, escape into a world where no outsider could intrude. A place where there was no pain, no disharmony, no stupid rules, and no cruelty, only peace and love.
He wanted to capture Shy on canvas, explore what he felt for him through the medium of his paints. He wanted to express his passion for Shy without using the words he was forbidden to say—yet.
Shy seemed at ease with his touch, and Wyatt dared to hope that perhaps, in some small way, he’d gotten through to him. “Shy,” he began, his voice so soft and hesitant he could barely recognize it for his own, “do you think maybe… I mean, would you be willing to—”
But the opportunity was lost when Wyatt’s phone rang and he was forced to release Shy’s hand in order to look for it, shattering what might have been.
Grumbling under his breath, he located the cell on the counter where he must have laid it last night, glanced at the caller ID before answering.
“Morning, Lukas.”
“Good, you’re up. You are up, aren’t you? Not talking in your sleep?”
Wyatt pulled his lips into a wry smile that was lost over the phone, but his efforts were rewarded by an answering smile from Shy. Maybe all was not lost after all. “No, we’re up,” he assured his mentor. “Didn’t expect to hear from you so early, though.”
“I hadn’t expected to call you so early, trust me. Not after last night. But I got a call from a certain person this morning who is, shall we say, less than happy with life at the moment and is anxious to see his… that is, he wants to see Shy. As soon as possible.”
Wyatt did an abrupt about-face at Lukas’s words, hoping to hide the scowl that had immediately claimed his face. “Oh he does, does he? Well, isn’t that just too bad!” His words came out more sharply than he intended. Damn that Grant and his lousy timing.
“Wyatt, don’t be a brat. You knew he would. Or you should have expected it would happen, anyway.”
“Maybe,” Wyatt grudgingly admitted. “But I didn’t expect it to happen quite so soon.”
“I know, neither did I, but it can’t be helped.”
Taking a deep breath, Wyatt swung about again, forcing himself to give Shy a reassuring smile. Shy seemed uneasy, understandably so, considering Wyatt’s erratic behavior. Calm down, he reminded himself.
“Okay, then,” he resumed in what he considered a more reasonable tone. “How did he even know to call you? And where does he think…?”
“He called Bobby first and Bobby had the presence of mind to have him call me, thank God. As for Shy, Randy thinks he’s with me and I didn’t correct his assumption. But he is not happy, I can tell you that, and I guess I can’t blame him. Last thing he remembers is having a major pain in his chest and then he wakes up this morning in the hospital, and he has no idea where Shy is or what happened to him.”
Wyatt snorted inelegantly. “Don’t even try to make me think he’s really concerned.”
“Whatever he might be, he’s demanding to see Shy. I promised I’d bring him to the hospital as soon as I could, and I promised him it would be some time before noon. Gave him a song and dance about having to do something first, but I can’t stall him forever. I’ll come by about eleven and pick Shy up—”
“We’ll be ready,” Wyatt interrupted.
“Wyatt, goddammit, I don’t think that’s such a good—”
As they spoke, Wyatt had been closely watching Shy. He seemed to have gone pale, his smile no longer in evidence. Wyatt could feel him withdraw, closing up like a delicate flower caught in a chilling breeze.
“I have to go. Talk to you later.” He clicked off without waiting for a response and reached for Shy. “What’s the matter?”
THIS MORNING had been like a pleasant dream, warm and comfortable. In dreams, anything could happen, without repercussions. Shy was free to do as he wished, feel any way he wanted. He found that what he wanted was to please Wyatt—wanted to please him very much.
Shy had slipped quietly out of Wyatt’s bed as he slept, so as not to wake him, not bothering to dress. He never wanted to wear those bigass pants again, not in this lifetime or any other. Wearing Wyatt’s clothes—now that was something else entirely, even if they did feel a little loose. He didn’t care.
In this dream, he could like Wyatt as much as he wanted and enjoy his company all he pleased, and no one could tell him otherwise. He could do things for Wyatt because he wanted to, not because he was being forced to. Making the cinnamon rolls was a break with the regimen he was forced to adhere to, something daring and hot and sweet… and didn’t Wyatt appreciate them, as Shy had hoped he would? He had indeed.
And Wyatt was so talented. Shy wished he possessed a talent, wished he could do something special. But there was nothing special about him, and he knew it. In fact, it was his very imperfection that kept him where he was, for he couldn’t do anything about it, and he couldn’t change it. What was was, and that was just his life.
Shy pretended to himself they were playing house, him and Wyatt. Sitting in their elegant home, having a leisurely breakfast together. After that, who knew what they might do, where they might go. There were so many places in St. Louis alone Shy had never been. They could visit those places, see what there was to see. At least in his imagination they could.
Shy was sorry the phone had interrupted Wyatt. Shy had a feeling he’d been about to ask something important. Maybe after he finished talking, he would complete his question. But he couldn’t help but listen to Wyatt’s end of the conversation, and reality washed over him like a bucket of cold water. And with reality, the truth struck him forcefully, tearing away the flimsy facade he’d constructed in his mind. What a fool he’d been.
The truth was he belonged to Randy—he’d been bought and paid for, thanks to Do
reen. Randy was probably incensed that Shy wasn’t at the hospital, waiting on him, seeing to his needs. Shy’d never been inside a hospital in his life and wasn’t quite sure how things worked. But Randy wanted him there—that much was obvious from what he overheard. And the longer he delayed in going, the more hell there’d be to pay.
And what would happen when Randy got Shy home didn’t even bear thinking about….
Shy assumed the mask once more. He sat in silence, his mind going blank. Stop thinking about what can never be.
Wyatt sounded concerned. Apparently his phone call was done. “What’s the matter, Shy?”
“Nothing.” Shy kept his voice deliberately cool. “Is… is Randy angry with me?” He flinched involuntarily at the thought.
“No, no, everything’s okay. Lukas explained things to him. Everything’s fine, Shy, please don’t worry about a thing.”
Wyatt clearly had no idea what Randy was really like, or he’d know how absurd that statement was.
“Lukas is going to pick us up about eleven.”
Shy was careful not to show his relief at Wyatt’s words. He knew he shouldn’t want Wyatt to be there with him, but God help him, he did. He wasn’t ready to let go of him quite yet. Whether he was willing to admit to it or not. As long as Randy didn’t see Wyatt, then all would be well. Right?
He pushed the thought aside. Time to move.
Rising, he cleared the table, despite Wyatt’s protestations that he wanted to help. Shy rinsed everything and set it inside the dishwasher. Keep busy, he told himself, don’t get comfortable. When Wyatt attempted to engage him in conversation, he kept his responses short and atonal.
When there was nothing left to clean, Shy returned to the bedroom, the one he’d originally gone to sleep in, Wyatt trailing him. “I should get dressed, if we’re going to leave soon.” He eyed the sweatpants with distaste.
“I think I have something you can wear. Hang on just a minute.” Wyatt ducked out of the room and clattering came from the next room. It sounded like Wyatt was turning the room upside down. Moments later, he returned and tossed a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved shirt onto the bed. “These should fit.” He glanced down. Following his gaze, Shy saw he was looking at his feet, which were bare.
“I’m not sure my shoes will fit you,” he admitted. “Let me see what I can find.” And he disappeared again.
Shy took up the jeans and held them against his body. The length wasn’t too bad. He could always roll up the cuffs. They were stonewashed, according to the tag, and they felt nice. He pulled them on and fastened them, then drew on the shirt, which was a light gray. He looked up as Wyatt reappeared, a pair of shoes in his hand.
“Here, try these on,” he said. Shy sat on the edge of the bed. Wyatt handed him a pair of black leather shoes with black laces and a pair of black silk socks. Shy slipped on the socks. Then he pushed his foot inside the left shoe. It was slightly big, but not too bad. Just a little wriggle room.
“Mr. Masterson has smaller feet than I do,” Wyatt explained, almost apologetically.
Shy drew on the other shoe, tightly laced them both, and stood. “Does this look okay?” he asked, craning to peer behind him. It didn’t really help. He couldn’t see a damn thing. He stopped twisting and glanced back at Wyatt. Wyatt had fallen silent. He stared at Shy as if he were trying to memorize him or something. Shy found himself caught up in his hypnotic gaze.
Holding his breath, he swayed toward Wyatt, unable to fight the pull of his attraction.
“Shy….” Wyatt whispered. He took a step toward Shy.
Shy knew that any moment now their bodies would collide, and he braced himself for that collision, dreading it and wanting it both. Just one kiss. First and last kiss. He’d never kissed anyone but Randy, and those touches had become cold long ago. Why did he think Wyatt’s touch would be warm in comparison?
Just before they came together, a loud chime sounded. Wyatt swore and Shy pulled back, trembling.
“Damn! Hold your water, Lukas,” he muttered under his breath, reaching out for Shy.
But the spell was broken. Wide-eyed, Shy backed away from him, his lips moving, but no words forming. Frustrated, he gave up and ran for the stairs and the safety of the front door.
That had been too close for comfort.
Chapter Nine
THE HOSPITAL complex was enormous, a myriad of gleaming white buildings that sprawled in every direction. Shy knew if he should become separated from Wyatt and Lukas, he’d be lost. He couldn’t begin to imagine finding his way back to this place on his own, and he trembled inwardly at the idea Randy might demand it of him.
There were so many people here, employees and visitors alike, the only difference between them lying in the way they were dressed. Too many people for Shy’s comfort level. He didn’t do very well in crowds. Normally he never had to deal with them. The most people he usually came in contact with were the ones at Shop for Less, and he wasn’t even very comfortable with them. This was just agony.
He huddled close to Wyatt in the elevator as they rode it up to the sixth floor. They stood together in the rear corner of the car, Lukas having taken a position just in front of them, as if shielding them from the other passengers. Shy was grateful for the older man’s presence. Lukas had always been nice to him at the club, never leered at him like so many of the others. Never treated him like a piece of meat. And he never accepted the sexual favors Randy was so liberal about granting at Shy’s expense. He tried not to think about how many men had touched him, how many he’d had to suck off, whether he was willing or not. Consent was never in question, as it was not his choice to give it. If he did think about those men, he didn’t think he could live with himself.
Wyatt’s hand covered his own. Warm and comforting, it imparted much-needed strength. When had he taken possession of Shy’s hand? It didn’t matter, it felt good. And right now Shy needed that, so he could face what was sure to come. Randy was bound to be angry, and he would have questions regarding Shy’s movements. He’d want to know everything, and Shy didn’t want to tell him everything, but he wasn’t sure how not to. And if Randy found out about Wyatt… correction, when he found out about Wyatt… there’d be hell to pay.
Still, as much as he dreaded the coming conversation, he also wished it done and over with. He needed to take what was coming to him, and he needed to get back in the house, back to his lot in life. He didn’t deserve to be any more than what he was—Randy’s possession. His unpaid indentured servant for life. How foolish of him to pretend, even for one moment, he could be anything else.
Shy glanced up in surprise when Wyatt squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry about anything.” Wyatt pitched his voice for Shy’s ears alone. “I’ll be right outside, in the hall, if you need me. Just give me a sign and I’ll be there.”
I can’t do that….
Shy didn’t bother to state what he considered to be the obvious, drawing illogical comfort from the idea Wyatt would be close at hand. Common sense said he should make him wait somewhere else, keep him as far away from Randy as possible, but his heart wanted Wyatt near, and he found it hard to fight the feeling. So he simply nodded, the conflicting emotions inside of him making him queasy. He hoped he wouldn’t throw up, not here and definitely not there. Randy would regard that as a sign of weakness. He’d yelled at Shy as a child whenever he was sick and couldn’t make it to the bathroom. And he’d always made him clean up his own mess. Told him it built character.
They exited the elevator into a maze of corridors crowded with people. Nurses pushed carts laden with covered trays and uniformed maintenance people swept the floor with push brooms, agilely dodging patients and visitors alike. Shy couldn’t keep track of the path they took, even by following the numbers and arrows stenciled in black on the walls. He had the illogical desire to drop breadcrumbs behind them to mark their path, just so they could find their way out again.
They stopped suddenly near a large round area marked Nurses’ Station. O
bviously not Randy’s room, so why were they here? He glanced at Wyatt uncertainly, but Wyatt seemed as clueless as Shy.
“Wait here just a minute,” Lukas said. “I want to make sure he’s ready. I promised I would.” He gave Wyatt a look that Shy couldn’t fathom before continuing down the hall. Wyatt shrugged.
“I’m sure it’s no big deal,” Wyatt tried to reassure him, but Shy’s stomach told him otherwise. “Maybe he wants to make sure we’re not interrupting anything. Like the doctor. Or a nap.”
Randy considered naps a sign of weakness, but Shy saw no reason to mention the fact. He clenched his free hand to anchor himself. The other was still tightly tucked inside of Wyatt’s for safekeeping. He focused his attention on the floor, staring at the diamond patterns in the black and white tile as if trying to memorize them. He jumped at a sudden clatter and looked up. A blonde nurse with bright red cheeks stood near them. A metallic clipboard lay on the counter where she’d slammed it down. Shy could almost see steam rise from her in angry waves.
“Let me guess.” A second nurse, a short-haired brunette seated on the other side of the desk, greeted the first one. “His Highness not find lunch to his satisfaction?”
“Told me he didn’t eat pig swill and I could just throw it to the pigs!” the blonde seethed. “Wanted me to call his personal dietician so she could bring him real food. Do you believe it? And then he had the balls to tell me that if I insist on holding him prisoner here, the least I can do is to feed him properly! What nerve!”
The brunette made a noise that could be loosely interpreted as sympathetic, but Shy thought it sounded more like choked laughter. The feeling in the pit of his stomach intensified. Could it be…?
“Bethany, I don’t suppose you would—” The blonde’s voice turned plaintive.
“Save your breath.” The brunette held up one hand, as if to stem her colleague’s words. “I feel your pain, but no way do I want to switch with you for him. He’s done nothing but bitch from the moment he woke up this morning. He may be hot, in that older guy kind of way that I normally like, but that man is all kinds of messed up.”
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