by E M Lindsey
As it was, Parker’s delicate touch felt like he was being rammed all over again, and he only just managed not to cry out.
“So, the truth is, you can break your penis, and you can rupture testicles,” Parker said, gently cupping his balls and manipulating them with his fingers. “Fortunately for you, I don’t think you’ve done either. You’re going to be sore for a while, but there’s no swelling, and everything seems intact.”
Lorenzo swallowed thickly. “Oh.”
“Now, if you ejaculate and there’s blood…”
Paling again, Lorenzo pushed himself up onto his elbow. “Seriously?”
“If there’s blood in your urine, if you wake up and either your penis or your testicles are swollen, I want you to call me right away.”
Lorenzo groaned and dropped his head down to the thin paper covering the table. “Great.”
“It could be worse, Mr. Moretti.” He snapped his gloves off and moved to the sink to wash as Lorenzo managed to get his boxers and jeans back on without too much more pain. “I am going to write you a script for some of the good shit. It does mean no more trips to the Tavern to yell at unsuspecting chefs…”
Lorenzo flushed hotly. “I’m fucking sorry for that, okay? But I have a severe allergy and they didn’t put pine nuts on the damn menu. I panicked.”
Parker froze, hands poised above the trash as he was throwing his paper towel away. “Really?”
“I’m not actually an asshole. Or well, mostly,” Lorenzo muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.
Parker’s face softened. “Ah well, aren’t we all? My point still stands. I mean, you’re welcome to yell at whoever you want, but no drinking on these meds. And you might want to stay home and rest for a day or two.”
Lorenzo nodded miserably and waited for Parker to tap a few lines out onto his computer. “I uh…thanks? For not making this more embarrassing as it already is.”
Parker turned and looked at him for a long moment, then smiled even softer. “I’d share with you some of the shit I’ve gotten up to, but if you stick around long enough, you’ll hear the stories. And I am an asshole, Mr. Moretti. I’m a giant asshole, but I’m also a doctor, and I’m not going to make this whole experience worse for you. My job is to make it better.”
It wasn’t entirely comforting. He was glad the man was professional, but Lorenzo couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have people give a shit the way Parker did simply because they wanted to—simply because he was worth it. He wasn’t sure anyone in his life cared for him that way.
His family loved him—there was no doubt about that. They let him get away with his baby of the family bullshit nearly all of his life, but he was starting to see that the way they enabled him felt like maybe they just didn’t care enough to encourage him otherwise. It was a painful, stark realization to admit that he had no one. Not really. Not the way the people in Cherry Creek did.
Rocco had visited and claimed a piece of that for himself, but Lorenzo didn’t think it took him publicly humiliating himself and getting his dick almost knocked off by a goat. He didn’t know where he’d gone so fucking wrong, but somewhere, the path had diverged, and he’d taken the wrong fork.
“Listen, Eddie owes me a massive favor for something I did last weekend, so I’m going to have him run this down the hill then drop it off at Hopewell, okay? It’ll be faster that way.”
Lorenzo frowned. “Why?”
“Because, like I just told you, you need to be in bed.” Parker rose and approached him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Rest will make it better quicker. And next time you head out to Collin’s farm, wear a cup.”
“There’s no fucking way I’m going back out there,” Lorenzo grumbled as he reached for the door.
Behind him, Parker laughed. “Yes well, that’s what they all say, Mr. Moretti. Safe travels.”
Lorenzo walked out of the room, and most definitely didn’t look back to see the kind of smile Parker wore on his face.
Lorenzo appreciated that Wilder didn’t say anything on the drive back to the Manor, because the last thing in the world he wanted was to answer Raphael’s questions about what happened. He sat in the car a few moments as the engine idled, and then he turned and offered a tense sort of grimace that was meant to be a smile.
“Sorry.”
Wilder’s eyes widened. “Sorry?”
Lorenzo wasn’t sure if he was surprised or trying to understand him, so he raised his hands to sign. ‘Today was not what I expected.’
Wilder’s entire body heaved with a sigh. ‘Please don’t apologize for something that wasn’t your fault. Sometimes Cherry Creek isn’t kind to people.’
‘How many people stick around after?’ he couldn’t help but wonder.
Wilder’s lips twitched. ‘In my experience, just one. His name is Antoine, and if you stay long enough, I’m sure you’ll meet him.’
And that was the real question, wasn’t it? How long did he plan to stay? How long would he subject himself to this if it was obviously getting him nowhere? He felt like a moron, and he wanted to curl up in bed, sleep until the pain in his dick didn’t make him want to vomit, and then go home. Home wasn’t necessarily good for him, but at least he knew what to expect from the people there. And at least they knew what to expect from him.
‘Don’t give up,’ Wilder signed when he had Lorenzo’s attention again. ‘Please.’
There was a soft pleading in his eyes that Lorenzo found impossible to deny. He licked his lips, then leaned his head back on the headrest and tried not to move his lower half too much. ‘I just need a good night’s sleep.’ And hopefully to wake up without any ball swelling or pissing blood, which still scared the hell out of him.
‘I was going to invite you to the Market Saturday,’ Wilder signed. ‘Not a good idea now, but there’s another one next weekend. Stay for that, okay? And then if it’s still just a big pile of shit, go home.’
A week. He could do a week. He’d done worse over the course of his life—both before and after he had money. Committing to this small town and this man’s pleading smile was easy enough. ‘One week.’
The concession was worth it at the sight of Wilder’s smile. He knew what the warm feeling in his gut was—he was searching for purpose in his life, but he still knew himself, and he knew that in a week he’d be head over heels for the man sitting across from him.
Nothing would come of it. Wilder was kind in ways Lorenzo had never experienced—and when he was harsh and sharp with him, it was only because he wanted Lorenzo to be better. Lorenzo had met people like that before, but he’d avoided them like the plague. He’d never been strong enough to withstand that sort of tough love, but maybe that was his problem all along.
Whatever the case, he’d never be good enough for a man like this, so entertaining the idea would amount to nothing but heartache. Of course, maybe he needed it. Lorenzo had almost gotten anyone and anything he’d ever wanted—and maybe denial would make him a better person.
Maybe that was the lesson here.
He climbed out of the car, then offered Wilder a wave before he made his way inside, and he let out a breath of relief when he saw the front desk at the salon was empty. The stairs were hell on him, and the pain was throbbing all the way up to his gut by the time he got inside, but he managed to collapse on the sofa and cover his face with one of the sofa cushions.
Lorenzo was exhausted from the pain and stress, and he didn’t even realize he’d dropped off until something hard and metal knocked him in the ankle. He sat up with a gasp, then his stomach rolled from the pain, and he gingerly pressed his palm to his crotch as he peered one eye open.
He startled again, though this time he managed to keep his body from jolting when he saw Raphael standing there with his crutches and a paper bag clenched between his teeth. “What…” he started.
Raphael released a crutch handle and set the bag on the coffee table before balancing himself and looking down at Lorenzo with a face full
of so much pity, Lorenzo knew his secret was out. “Eddie came by with your meds, but I guess you didn’t hear the door.”
Lorenzo groaned and laid back down. “Fuck. I forgot.”
“Clearly. He said you need to take these with food, so I asked Levi to drop some stuff off and I figured we could do dinner together.”
Lorenzo could hear in Raphael’s tone that he had no plans to leave, so he groaned and shifted up. “I thought we were supposed to have pasta night,” he said through clenched teeth as he shifted over. The pain was less, but not enough.
“You don’t look like you’re up for pasta tonight,” Raphael said with a smirk. He set his crutches aside, then eased himself down next to Lorenzo and emptied the food bag. It was instantly fragrant, spiced and subtle—with a hint of fry oil, but it made his stomach growl and mouth water—and he realized he’d missed all of his meals apart from the breakfast he’d lost on Collin’s farm. “You’ll like this. I actually had it once in Stockholm—it’s not the same as what Levi makes, but it’s close.” He started to hand it off, then hesitated, “What other allergies do you have?”
Lorenzo rolled his eyes. “Just the one. Well, and Oak pollen, but I’m not worried about that in my sandwich.”
Raphael handed the food over, and Lorenzo peeled back the foil, revealing something that kind of looked like a calzone. He was too hungry to really care after that—and too desperate for pain meds. He broke it in half and quickly began to stuff it down, well beyond caring what he looked like to the man next to him.
“Better?” Raphael asked after a bit.
Lorenzo groaned. The food was delicious, and he was actually full, but the pain was creeping back up. “What did Dr. Alling send?”
“Unlike most people around here, I didn’t go snooping.” Raphael leaned forward for the small bag and tossed it into Lorenzo’s lap. “Eddie just said take it with food, and it might cause constipation.”
Lorenzo snorted as he tipped one of the pills into his hand, then pushed himself up to his feet and hobbled across the room to the fridge for water. “You want something to drink?”
“Not booze. He also said not booze,” Raphael called.
Grabbing two glasses of water, Lorenzo made it back to the sofa in one piece, then took the pill down and sighed. He wished he’d remembered ice, or literally anything frozen he could use to soothe the ache, because the twenty minutes it was going to take to kick in felt like twenty hours.
“I have to say,” Raphael said after a minute, grabbing the bag to clean up their mess, “breaking your dick is definitely new as far as accidents in the town go.”
“Aren’t I special, then,” Lorenzo groused. He shuffled deeper into his cushions and closed his eyes, waiting—praying—for a little relief. “Maybe I’ll set some records before I leave.”
“Maybe.” He heard Raphael messing with the bags, but when he thought the man might get up and go, instead he felt him reach over and take his hand. “I used to have a lot of surgeries. We’d have to go to Brussels and stay for weeks with my aunt there who had this tiny flat. My mom would make me a little bed on the floor with all the blankets she could find, but the only thing that ever helped was when she’d sit and hold my hand and talk to me.”
Lorenzo opened his eyes and glanced over, watching Raphael’s careful expression—the way he was holding himself kind of tense and unsure. He squeezed Raphael’s fingers gently and didn’t pull away. “I don’t think a bruised dick is as bad as all that.”
Raphael snorted. “I don’t know. I’ve taken an accidental crutch to the balls before, and I would take a hundred tendon surgeries over that.”
Lorenzo couldn’t help his grin. “I threw up. Like…instantly.”
“Mm.” Raphael shifted even closer, then took Lorenzo’s hand between both of his and began to massage his fingers. “I don’t doubt it.”
Lorenzo let out an involuntary sigh, and his eyes closed again. “How are you so good at this but you don’t do it for a living?”
Raphael chuckled as he ran his thumbs over the tendons of Lorenzo’s wrist, easing them into relaxation. “I got into massage from a friend when I was younger. I kept it up when I realized it helped keep my fingers from getting too stiff. They’re not as spastic as my legs, but they don’t have the same dexterity as other people. Apparently I have a talent for it, but this is not how I want to spend my day.”
“You’d make a shitload of money if you moved to LA and opened up a studio,” Lorenzo said, his voice getting thicker as his pill started to ease its way into his bloodstream.
“I’m not interested in money. I’m happy here.” Raphael switched hands, and Lorenzo fell a little more sideways, but didn’t bother to right himself. “I know you’ve had a rough time, but you should give it a chance.”
“Promised I would,” Lorenzo muttered. He slung his free arm over his eyes and breathed out as the pain in his groin began to ebb away. “Promised Wilder. He asked for a week.”
Raphael chuckled again, digging his thumbs into the heel of Lorenzo’s palm. “You are something special.”
“No…”
“Yes,” Raphael said over his protest. “But it’s not up to me to convince you. I don’t hate that you want to stick around, though.”
Lorenzo wanted to protest, but the pill was hitting him faster than expected, and everything felt sort of heavy and soft all at the same time. His tongue moved to lick his bottom lip, but it was sluggish, and sleep tugged at his edges.
“Rest,” Raphael said from somewhere far off. Lorenzo hadn’t noticed him get up, but suddenly there was a blanket on his legs, and he shifted so he could stretch his feet toward the arm of the sofa.
His shoes were off—which, when did that happen—and he could move without his stomach heaving a protest. Lorenzo’s breathing started to even, and he was pretty sure Raphael said something else, but it was easier to succumb to the pressing darkness, and the final, soothing push of the drug that was taking most of his pain.
Chapter Eight
“So.”
Wilder startled, spinning around to find Theo perched on the side of his table. The sun was almost set, and the second day of the Market was just barely underway, so the crowds were still quiet. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see if you’re ready to talk about it,” Theo said with a toothy smile. His friend had been better about his tendencies to involve himself in situations that weren’t his business. However, Wilder was well aware of the compulsion—and the moment the rumor mill hit the town, Theo had been on him.
“I’m not going to talk about someone else’s business with you,” he said plainly. And that was the truth. Lorenzo had been through enough, and in spite of the fact that long dormant feelings were scaring the shit out of him, he felt the urge to protect Lorenzo from further harm.
Theo sighed, swinging his legs around the table and hopping into the booth. ‘What if we sign it. No one will know.’
Wilder gave him a flat look. ‘Brad will know, and somehow the rest of your brothers will find out after that. And I’m already sure Ronan knows—and the moment Parker gets drunk…’
“I didn’t follow half of that,” Theo complained with a sigh. He flopped into Wilder’s chair and then scooted it across the grass until he was at his side. “Can I at least ask if he’s okay?”
“I,” Wilder started, but the truth was, he didn’t know. He and Lorenzo hadn’t spoken in the couple days that passed. He’d pulled away from the Manor without knowing what Parker said or how bad the injury was. He read Lorenzo’s desperation to be alone all over his face, so he hadn’t pushed the issue, but he’d wanted to go upstairs with him until he was sure Lorenzo felt better.
He didn’t enjoy the feeling, but it was there and impossible to ignore.
It is not another Scott, he reminded himself sternly as he finished setting up the last of his lemon meringue cupcakes.
Theo kicked him in the shin. ‘You what?’
‘I don’t know.
’ His fingers flicked away from his temple, trembling with a little frustration. ‘I left him back at the Manor, and he didn’t text.’
“Didn’t text?” Theo clarified, and Wilder nodded. “You could always text him.”
“And look desperate?” he blurted, then his face erupted into a blush because he hadn’t meant to say that. He knew what that implied—and worse, that somewhere deep down, he meant it.
Theo’s face broke into a shit-eating grin and he stood up. “You have a crush.”
“Please don’t,” Wilder begged.
“But…”
Reaching a hand out, Wilder snagged Theo by the bottom of his shirt and tugged him close. “I’m not ready. Okay?”
Theo’s eyes glanced down at the exposed scar on Wilder’s forearm, and it was a stark reminder of why he might not ever be totally ready. Or at least, not ready enough to give someone what they wanted—what they needed from a relationship.
“Okay,” Theo said after a long beat. “But you do…like him, right?”
“Yes,” Wilder hissed, and the admission aloud, as it rushed off his tongue and through his teeth, felt oddly cathartic. He had avoided any idea of crushing on anyone since Scott—and even when he felt gentle stirrings of it in the past, he’d quashed it until it was nothing more than motes of dust in the air. Something about Lorenzo was different, though—and maybe it was the pieces of himself he could see in the man—or maybe it was the unapologetic way he admitted to and embraced his faults.
He couldn’t be more unlike Scott if he tried, and there was some semblance of safety in that which was both wonderful and dangerous at the same time.
“I don’t know what to do with it,” he said, then let Theo go and ran a hand through his hair.
“I have some suggestions, but you won’t like them.” Theo took a step back and straightened himself where Wilder had wrinkled him. “But you’re friends, right?”
“Something like that.” In truth, he didn’t know what the hell they were. They’d made some progress, but he wasn’t sure Lorenzo could come back from having Wilder watch him have his dick crushed by a goat. Wilder wasn’t sure he’d be able to look anyone in the eye after they witnessed that. If he ghosted, Wilder wouldn’t blame him.