by Abigail Roux
Ty moved around him, struggling out of his wet trousers and leaving them and his soaked briefs in a puddle on the bathroom floor. He grabbed an artfully rolled towel from the basket on the counter and began wiping himself off. He glanced over at Zane as he finished up, looking him up and down with clear contempt. He tossed the towel at the floor in front of him. “Goodnight, Corbin,” he muttered as he walked past him, his shoulder brushing Zane’s none too gently as he moved toward the bed.
Zane squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before he walked slowly to the bathroom, stepped inside, and shut the door behind him. He got the shower started, turned it up hot, climbed in, and slumped against the wall. His eyes burned, irritated from the saline used in the pool. Between that and the shower spray, it was easy to explain away the tears scattering down his cheeks.
Chapter 8
WHEN Zane woke, it was sudden. His eyes snapped open as he inhaled sharply, and he jerked upright to look around, heart already pounding.
“Morning,” Ty greeted drily from where he sat on the couch. He wore a thin pair of pajama bottoms and fuzzy pair of slippers and had his heels propped on the table in front of him. He was flipping through a book of Sudoku puzzles.
Zane blinked at him several times, trying to process through the adrenaline. He couldn’t remember if he’d been dreaming or what had woken him. It had been a long time, weeks, since he’d awoken so abruptly. He was sitting up in the bed, nude under the tangled sheet, and his chest and throat hurt. He needed a drink of water, because he was parched.
Then Zane remembered why.
He drew in a slow breath and lay right back down so he could stare at the ceiling.
“Water and ibuprofen on the table there,” Ty offered as he sipped something out of a delicate china cup. The butler service had obviously already been there to deliver breakfast.
Zane tried to swallow and couldn’t, so he rolled to his side and reached out a hand that was embarrassingly shaky to pick up the glass. In short order the ibuprofen was down, the glass was empty, and he was again looking at the ceiling. “Thank you.” His voice came out very raspy, even after the water.
Ty merely hummed in response, his attention back on the Sudoku book in his hand. He was being surprisingly cordial this morning. Zane really hoped it wasn’t to cover serious anger. Ty could still be furious, even after working off some of it during the debacle in the pool. Zane raised both arms and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. Not so much because his head hurt—he’d never really suffered classic hangover symptoms—but because remembering how upset Ty had been hurt more than any dunking.
Ty didn’t speak again. The only sounds he made were the clink of the china as he set it aside and the shuffling of the pages as he turned them.
Well, drawing out the inevitable would only give them both heartburn. “How much trouble am I in?” Zane asked hoarsely.
“I’m not your keeper, Garrett,” Ty responded evenly. “No one died.”
Zane sighed. He knew no one had died. He knew exactly what had happened last night. He just didn’t have perspective, because when he drank, he focused in on whatever he thought his goal was to the exclusion of everything else. Last night, Ty had been part of “everything else.” That was the problem: Ty wasn’t his keeper—Ty was his conscience.
Zane sat up and scooted back to lean against the headboard. “Lorenzo Bianchi brought Corbin Porter a present,” he rasped. “A sign of goodwill and respect between friends, he said.”
The hardness in Ty’s eyes didn’t fit with the fluffy bedroom slippers. It was almost comical. “I suppose the word ‘moderation’ isn’t in an alcoholic’s vocabulary, hmm?” he asked easily. If he was still angry, he was hiding it well.
Despite the lack of outward signs of anger, every comment cut deep. Zane felt hollow as he met Ty’s eyes. “I didn’t think my tolerance would have dropped so much,” he said softly. “I thought I could handle it.”
Ty continued to look at him, his face expressionless. The lack of emotion was wholly unlike Ty; usually he couldn’t be trusted to hold his temper and his eyes were easy to read. The lack of outward emotion simply meant he was trying very hard to hide whatever he was feeling. Finally, he set the book aside and pulled his feet off the table. “At least you know that for the next time,” he observed.
Zane wrapped his arms around himself, knowing he wouldn’t get any sympathy or comfort. Ty had never given him any reason to think he suffered addictions like Zane did, and despite making an effort not to drink around his partner, Ty’s reactions suggested no small amount of disdain for Zane’s substance abuse problems—ever since his first snarky comment eons ago when they’d first met: “What, you’re a recovering alcoholic?”
Ty certainly didn’t want to hear Zane boo-hoo about it. Zane wished, though, sometimes, that Ty would at least acknowledge how goddamn hard it was for Zane to say no to so much every single day of his life.
Ty was still watching him. “You do realize you’ll probably be expected to drink again, right?” he asked softly.
The thought hurt Zane so badly inside that it had to show on the outside somehow. He could still taste the liquor, and his throat and belly burned for it. He nodded jerkily. It would make everything easier to handle, clearer to see, smoother to swallow. It would cool him off and soothe his nerves. And with every sip he’d damn himself further. Zane knew that when that bottle was back in front of him, he wouldn’t be able to handle it.
“You’re just going to accept that?” Ty asked him in frustration. He stood up quickly, one of the fuzzy slippers in his hand. He held it up, waved it, then tossed it angrily at the wall. “Why the hell am I the only one that cares about that?” he shouted as he came closer.
“I care about it. There’s just nothing I can do about it,” Zane answered.
“Bullshit!” Ty snapped, jerking his head as if he’d just bitten a piece out of something.
“Will you listen to me for once! Just once!” Zane yelled angrily.
Ty stopped abruptly, staring at him for a moment before he breathed in quickly and nodded. He looked down and shook his foot, kicking off the other fuzzy slipper with a muttered curse. He looked back up at Zane and nodded again. “I’m listening,” he said, sounding sincere and serious.
Zane took a couple moments to pull himself together, because he figured he wouldn’t get another chance to try to explain this. When he spoke, it was as raw and honest as he could make it. “You want me to be able to drink and handle it better. To be able to resist what it does to me and push it away when it gets to be too much. But the truth is that just one taste is too much. There is no handling it, no matter how much you care.” He stopped for a moment, staring at Ty and willing him to comprehend. “You have to believe me. Even if you don’t understand,” he begged.
Ty looked at him silently, his eyes darting side to side as he studied Zane’s face. He didn’t really look like Ty, not with the airbrushed sheen. But they couldn’t change his eyes. He took another step toward the bed and knelt beside it, taking Zane’s hand in his and looking up at him. “I don’t understand what it takes,” he admitted, looking up at Zane earnestly. “I don’t understand what it does to you. But I do know that you are the most incredibly stubborn human being I’ve ever met,” he went on with a hint of frustration. “You’re stronger than last night.”
Zane’s breath caught. He’d had no idea that was how Ty thought of him. It made him feel ten feet tall… and at the same time cut down to size. The unvarnished reality was that he was, and always would be, an alcoholic and drug abuser who hung on by his fingertips every day trying to stay sober and do his job. He squeezed Ty’s hand. “I wish I was what you believe,” he whispered. “I wish I was what you need me to be.”
Ty looked down at his hand and sighed heavily. He seemed to be struggling with what to say or do, and seeing Ty indecisive was another novel experience, though not an entirely enjoyable one. Finally, Ty swallowed hard and looked back up. “Zane,” he said
hoarsely. Then he stopped and looked down again quickly before meeting Zane’s eyes again with determination. “You’re everything I need you to be,” he whispered.
The quiet words stunned Zane. How could Ty say that after last night? Or rather, how could Ty say such a thing at all? A slight shrug of helplessness was all Zane could manage.
“I know it’s hard,” Ty murmured. “But you can’t leave me hanging like I was last night,” he said in a harder voice. He was still on his knees, holding Zane’s hand between his. “I had a gun in my mouth, and you were playing a drunk Corbin Porter at the tables.”
Zane flinched but met Ty’s eyes evenly. “I know,” he whispered. “I would never have forgiven myself if something had happened to you.”
Ty actually smiled slightly. “Well, at least we agree on that,” he said wryly. “Look, I… I gather that most of your undercover work was spent drunk, am I right?”
“A big chunk of it, yeah,” Zane admitted, his drawn-out words advertising his reluctance. He didn’t like giving anyone ammo to shoot him with, even Ty. “It wasn’t exactly unusual, considering the locale.”
Ty nodded. Zane had told him about being a UC in the seedy underbelly of Miami. But this undercover assignment couldn’t be more different. It was like comparing a burnt hamburger to a Kobe filet.
Ty went on, his voice mirroring the reluctance Zane was feeling. “And I’m guessing with your tolerance, it was never really an issue.” He held his breath, looking up at Zane as if measuring how much more he wanted to say. It was obvious he was having second thoughts about whatever he’d been getting at.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Zane answered, willing Ty to keep talking.
“If you tell anyone this, I swear I’ll kill you,” Ty threatened suddenly, pointing his finger at Zane warningly.
Despite his surprise, Zane immediately shook his head.
Ty cleared his throat and waved his hand. “When I’m working undercover, I can’t take any kinds of meds or drugs, mostly because I risk reacting badly to them. You know about that. But I can’t drink, either, though not for the same reasons you shouldn’t. So I had to learn ways to fake it. I can show you how to get around it, if you want me to.”
Zane frowned a little while trying to follow Ty’s explanation. It didn’t make a lot of sense, but he’d figure it out later. Ty was extending a hell of a peace offering, and that was what was important right now. “Yeah, I want you to.”
Ty nodded in apparent relief, and he patted Zane’s knee. “I’ll show you today, in case we hit it at dinner. Okay? Now help me up.”
Zane nodded and leaned over to kiss him gently before Ty could get too far away. “Since we’re being so brutally honest, I have to say this is a hell of a lot more difficult than it being just the job.”
“What do you mean?” Ty asked with a frown and a shake of his head.
“I care about the job. I do. But I care just as much—if not more—about what you think of me.”
Ty opened his mouth as if he were going to respond, then closed it again and pressed his lips into a tight line. “We’ll deal with impressions later,” he said, and it was painfully obvious that it wasn’t what he’d intended to say. “I just want to live through this fucking case and get home and shave my head,” he told Zane with a sincerity that was almost amusing.
Zane ran his hand through Ty’s hair and wrinkled his nose. “I agree.” Then he rubbed his hand fast and hard over Ty’s head playfully.
Ty smacked at his wrist and grunted as he pushed himself to his feet. “Quit it. It’s worse than dragging your socks on the carpet,” he mumbled as he stepped away.
Zane chuckled and leaned back, just enough of the huge weight off his chest to let him breathe again. There was still so, so much that could go wrong. But Ty had listened. And…. Zane watched as his partner—his lover—moved around the room. And Ty had given him yet another chance. After the danger, the anger, and the hurt, Ty had dragged him out to that pool to sober him up instead of just kicking him out or dismissing him as a lost cause. He had made the effort to help Zane, even if it had seemed like punishment and revenge at the time.
Ty muttered to himself as he walked away. He was fiddling with the ring on his hand, unconsciously trying to get it off. Zane watched the pull of muscle across his shoulders, admiring the way he held himself upright and proud, even here when it was just the two of them. Even as Zane watched him, Ty pushed at the band of his pajama bottoms, kicking out of them so he could change. “I deserve another medal for dealing with you,” he told Zane grudgingly as he tossed the pants away, unaware of Zane’s intense scrutiny.
Zane sighed and silently acknowledged that Ty was right. Clambering out of the bed, Zane ducked into the bathroom and emerged five minutes later cleaned up and in a pair of loose silk sleeping pants. “Any idea what’s next?” he asked.
Ty had changed into a pair of stylishly distressed jeans with holes at the knees of the worn, soft denim. He hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt. With nothing but Del Porter’s wardrobe at his disposal, Ty had taken to wearing as little as possible. Zane had to admit he selfishly enjoyed it. Ty waved the Sudoku book he’d been looking at earlier. “I found some disturbing things last night,” he told Zane. “We have a whole shitload of problems. Del Porter? Ain’t as stupid as he looks.”
“I didn’t talk to him, but it didn’t seem like that would take too much,” Zane commented as he stopped next to him.
“These puzzle books are full of codes,” Ty told him. “I haven’t cracked them yet. I found an iPod full of recordings I’m pretty sure he took by using these,” he went on, pointing to a pair of cuff links and broken reading glasses. “I’m not sure why or for who, but the Italian authorities have a stake in this too. All I know for sure is the FBI has put their boot up somebody else’s ass on this one, and we’re fucked, because no matter how much I want to, I still don’t speak Italian.”
Zane stared at Ty as he took it all in. This was what Ty had tried to tell him last night. Zane rubbed one hand over his face. “We’re stuck in someone else’s sting,” he muttered. “Shit. This assignment has been totally fucked up from the beginning.”
“Exactly,” Ty muttered. He tossed the books down and threw himself onto the sofa gracelessly. The tired bent to his shoulders was more obvious, and it seemed like maybe he’d been up a lot longer than Zane had suspected. It was possible he’d never gone to sleep.
“So now what?” Zane asked. “You look like you need a nap, but I think we might want to find our team, have them look into the manifest for passports originating from Italy, and call back home to see if McCoy has any clue about this fun little twist.”
“I have searched for the team,” Ty said with a low, precise growl. “They’re apparently Olympic-level stealthy, because I couldn’t find any trace of any of them.”
Zane frowned. “Something’s not right about that. They’re supposed to be close enough for us to call for backup. Calling out their names over the bullhorn isn’t exactly subtle.”
“If they were anywhere near us, they’d have called out the cavalry last night when Dolce and Gabbana were feeding me a gun barrel,” Ty muttered as he examined his fingernails critically.
“Did they really do that?” Zane asked carefully.
Ty looked up at him as if he hadn’t expected him to have heard and then waved him off with his typical easy attitude. It was frustrating at times, knowing how much trauma Ty could hide behind a smile or a joke. “Dolce and Gabbana took the iPod full of recordings,” he told Zane, as if he were somehow up to speed. “But this morning I figured out Del was taking notes with these,” he added as he pointed at the array of Sudoku and crossword puzzle books. “I understood some of what they said to me last night before they started with the English,” he told Zane. “Pretty sure one of them called me a queer,” he added with a wry smile.
“How perceptive of them, Del,” Zane said drolly as he reached for one of the books. “What about the Sudoku?”
“Whatever method he was using, I don’t follow,” Ty admitted as he showed the pages to Zane. “I can’t even decide if I think he’s brilliant for having a coded backup or stupid for writing shit down,” he muttered. He was silent for a moment. “They said it with malice,” he finally added, obviously unable to let go of it.
Zane looked up from the squares full of letters to study his partner intently. “I told you you’re a damn good actor.”
Ty returned his look seriously, his gaze unwavering. “I’m not really acting much anymore, Zane.”
Zane swallowed on the nervous flutter that stirred to life in his chest. He sensed there was more to this than just the words. “And you don’t like it,” he said neutrally, not wanting to influence Ty one way or the other.
Ty held his eyes, appearing to hold his breath too as he considered his answer. “I don’t like the way some people look at me,” he admitted with difficulty. “But fuck them,” he added with certainty. “I’m the one I look at in the mirror at night.”
Zane huffed quietly and moved to stand behind Ty, sliding his arms around his waist to gather him close, hoping desperately that Ty didn’t push him away. “I don’t like the way some people look at you either,” he murmured against the side of Ty’s neck.
Ty turned his head, his cheek pressing against Zane’s nose. “I don’t think we’re talking about the same people,” he said wryly. His voice grew more serious. “The ones who look at us like we offend them. Those are the ones I’d like to deck.”
“I understand,” Zane said. The “us” in that sounded pretty damn good, and though Zane could smell a possible discussion there, he’d had enough of serious life topics for the month, much less the day. “Ignore them. They don’t know what they’re missing out on.” Ty burst out laughing, then clapped his hand over his mouth to stop himself. Zane chuckled and nipped at Ty’s neck before he said, “So they pass on ogling the best-looking ass on the ship. My gain.”
