Lost in a Moment (Trials of Fear Book 4)

by Nicky James

  Sensing he needed a distraction, I sat across from him and fished for a topic of conversation that didn’t involve talking about his accident, his restricted new life, and whatever was ailing his mind.

  “I was meaning to ask you before all this shit happened if you’d be interested in going to a storage locker auction with me.”

  Gray was familiar with my hunt for antiques. There wasn’t an avenue I hadn’t explored when searching for rarities to display in my shop. I went to yard sales in every major city from here to Toronto. Scoured eBay and Kijiji and any other online vendors available. Traveled to estate auctions and antique shows across the province, and bounced city to city for storage locker auctions or any other shows that might score me a rare gem.

  “Where is it at?” he asked.

  “Oakville. It’s not until the end of June, but it’s supposed to be a good one. The location is in the heart of the city’s wealth so the prizes could be outrageous. You know some rich old snoot packed away something of value and forgot about it. It will be mine.” I chuckled to lighten the mood. “Maria found the auction advertised a few months back. There are fifteen abandoned lockers to bid on.”

  Gray’s features softened with the shift in conversation, and he studied me with open admiration I’d seen on his face plenty growing up. This was better than that weird mood that had captured him a minute ago. “Yeah, I’ll go. I love watching how excited you get with that shit.”

  “Nah, you love digging through the junk. Admit it.”

  He chuckled, and my heart calmed. Fear that this accident had taken a part of my best friend eased. He was still there, buried under the surface somewhere. I’d coax him out little by little if I had to. Gray was too vibrant a man to be sucked under by depression.

  I worked hard to keep him smiling until the oven timer dinged, informing us dinner was ready. I plated us some food and added bagged salad to both plates as well.

  Twice during our meal, Gray’s fingers drifted across the table toward his phone, but he clenched his fist and moved the hand to his lap without pressing the button. It was odd. The chiming clock at eight made all his muscles tense, and he quit eating for a beat before blowing out a breath and continuing.

  After dinner, I distracted him with some TV. We laughed when Ringo walked over top of the remote twice, turning off our program. It was like the damn cat knew what he was doing. Bastard.

  By ten, I was too exhausted to stay up.

  “It’s late. I don’t know about you, but I’m done. I’m gonna crash.”

  “Yeah,” Gray said, his gaze slipping past me to the antique clock. With a deep frown, he nodded. “Go ahead and use the bathroom first. It takes me forever to do anything.”

  Keeping half an eye on the distant look in Gray’s eyes, I strayed out of the room to my bedroom. Shuffling through my wardrobe, I searched for something to wear to bed. I wasn’t accustomed to pajamas. I slept naked. Having Gray beside me made that unacceptable.

  Maybe it would be weird sharing a small bed with him. We hadn’t done that since we were really young. Not even as teenagers had we occupied such close quarters. Gray had announced his sexuality when we were just starting high school, and although I’d been okay with it, I’d been slightly weirded out at the same time. We were fourteen. What fourteen-year-old wouldn’t be?

  So, instead of sharing a bed after that, I’d insisted that our sleeping arrangements during overnights were more distant. As in, Gray slept on a sleeping bag on the floor. It was ridiculous. Gray was my best friend. It wasn’t like I didn’t trust him, but I had been a stupid teenager with a slight fear of my reputation being ruined because my best friend was openly gay.

  We were thirty now. I could share a bed with him. It wasn’t a big deal.

  Finding a pair of boxer briefs, I headed to the washroom for a quick shower. When I finished, brushed my teeth, and dressed in only underwear, I returned to the bedroom. Gray wasn’t there. I popped my head into the living room and found him sitting in the dark with his eyes trained on that damn clock.

  What the fuck?

  “All yours,” I said, breaking him out of his trance.

  He jerked his head around. A pinched smile came and went. “Thanks.”

  As I lay in bed, I listened to him use the bathroom before he came into the bedroom. I’d left the bedside lamp on, and it illuminated him in a soft yellow glow. He maneuvered himself awkwardly around the room to collect sleep pants from the dresser where we’d stowed his clothes, then he sat on the edge of the bed I didn’t occupy. I’d shuffled far to one side so he’d have plenty of space.

  He removed his T-shirt, exposing his broad back which was decorated in a number of tattoos. Gray was fit and defined. He worked out at the gym multiple days a week before work—or had before the accident. It was something he’d been trying to encourage me to do for years, but I always turned him down.

  I wondered how his amputation would affect his gym time. Would he give up? His mind seemed so fragile and vulnerable at the moment, I worried he’d see working out as a thing of his past.

  Wiggling side to side, Gray edged his joggers down and off. Before I could look away, I caught a glimpse of his bare ass from behind as he sat naked on my bed. Clearly, he wasn’t nearly as concerned as I was about sharing space.

  For a brief moment, Maria’s words returned to me.

  He’s probably been pining after you since puberty.

  No. Not Gray. He wasn’t like that. If that was true, he would have said something. Wouldn’t he?

  I flashed a quick peek in his direction, grateful to find him squirming into his pajama pants. He pulled the fabric up over his amputation and removed the shrinker sock, examining his residual limb with a frown before fitting it back in place.

  “Are you in pain?”

  “I’m always aching to some degree.” He peered over his shoulder and flashed me a sad smile. “It’s so fucked up. Half the time, I could swear it’s still there, but it’s not. It’s messing with my head.”

  He covered the limb and knotted the lower half of his pajamas on the right side. Shifting higher on the bed, he slipped under the covers with a groan.

  I clicked off the light, plunging the room into darkness. Gray sucked in an audible breath and sat bolt upright. His hand found my upper arm in the dark, and his fingers dug painfully into my flesh.

  “I… can we open the blinds?”

  I paused, assessing his sudden panic and peeled his fingers from my arm. “Yeah. I’ll get it.”

  I tugged the curtains aside and opened the horizontal blinds before deciding to raise them altogether. The street lights gave the room a silver glow, accenting corners and edges enough you could make out most of the room.

  I returned to bed, part of me wanting to ask what the deal was but sensing Gray wasn’t up to sharing. We lay side by side, neither of us speaking. I was all too aware of Gray’s close proximity. The heat of his body warmed me without touching me. Part of me thought I should shift over, but there wasn’t any more bed, and I’d land on the floor.

  “Is this weird?” I asked, my over-conscious mind measuring the inches separating us.

  “Is what weird?”

  “Never mind. Nothing.” Ignoring the heat of his body, I rolled to face away from him and closed my eyes. It’s not weird. It’s just Gray. “Goodnight, Gray.”

  He didn’t respond.

  The clock chimed down the hall, and somehow, even without looking, I knew he tensed up.

  “I could take you to the gym a few days a week. Maybe not in the morning, since I have to work, but after dinner maybe. You could show me a few things. Whip me into shape like you’ve always wanted.” I was grasping at straws, searching for anything that might steer his mind away from whatever caused him to be so agitated every time the clock chimed.

  “You hate the gym.”

  “Cuz I’m a lazy fuck. It would be good for me, and I know it’s an important part of your routine.”

  “Was.”


  “Why was? You can still work out. Did they tell you that you couldn’t?”

  Silence.

  When he refused to respond, I glanced over my shoulder. His brow was furled as he stared at the ceiling.

  “Don’t give up on shit that’s important to you just because of a small setback. You’ll need all those damn muscles more than ever now.”

  A humorless laugh escaped his lips. “Small setback. Yeah. We’ll see.” He wiggled to his side and showed me his back, marking the end of our conversation.

  Chapter Seven

  Grayson

  A week sharing a bed with Beck had taught me a few things.

  One: He was a thrasher, clearly not used to sharing his sleep space. Our man-sized bodies were constantly in each other’s way, and I’d taken multiple elbows to the face.

  Two: He talked in his sleep. Nothing that made sense. Mostly the things I heard were strings of words that didn’t go together, but the damn guy could carry on a full conversation of nonsense and laugh while I lay awake beside him listening.

  Three: The antique clock and I were not friends. Every hour on the hour, its chimes resonated through my bones almost painfully, drawing up the worse feelings of anxiety and panic I’d ever felt. My teeth ached from having clenched and ground them so often. Somehow, the clock’s existence plunged me back into that timeless darkness over and over, and I found myself obsessed over counting the chiming hour and double checking that it reflected the same on the digital readout on my phone. As many times as I told myself to knock it off, I couldn’t stop the obsession. And the ticking…

  Finally, four: Beck’s close proximity every night was going to be the death of me. Especially when he ended up squirming around and landing against me, cuddled to my side. Did the guy not own a pair of pajama pants? Underwear? Really? Was he aware of how thin the material was and just how much I could feel? More than a few times, he’d wrapped an arm around me unknowingly, and my dick ached imagining impossibilities and fantasizing about scenarios that could never happen. It was torture.

  I spent every waking hour in a state of exhaustion. My sleep, when I managed a few hours, was filled with nightmares.

  Yawning, I hobbled to the counter to pour another mug of coffee while I waited for Beck to come back up from the shop. I had an appointment with my OT this morning and was being fitted with my temporary prosthesis.

  I’d finally found a comfort level with the crutches. Now, I’d be back at square one, getting used to a whole new leg. What should have been exciting was filling me with anxiety.

  I fell heavily onto the chair, wanting nothing more than to return to bed. I fucking hated this new life and wished I could rewind time. Go back to that night and not go into the basement. But time didn’t go backward. It pressed forward at an alarming rate I couldn’t control. It didn’t care that I wasn’t ready to face each new day. It was oblivious to my hatred for the path I was on.

  As I sipped my new coffee, I tapped a metronomic rhythm on the table, matching the ticking that came from the clock in the living room. Like it wasn’t bad enough the stupid thing chimed every hour but the ticking seconds grated my nerves.

  When I’d first come to Beck’s, I’d only registered them on occasion. Now, they rang louder than a Chinese gong, vibrating through my body and causing a splintering headache most days. With their awareness, came an awareness of every single noise in the apartment. The tap dripping, the window creaking if the wind blew, the rustling of shreds of paper when George decided to rearrange his living quarters, the hum of the refrigerator, the clock, the clock, the clock.

  Tick, tick, tick…

  I slammed a fist against the table and gritted my teeth before checking the time on my phone. Where the hell was Beck? I needed to get to my appointment. I shouldn’t be sitting here doing nothing while time fell away minute by minute.

  Standing, unsure where to put myself but needing to move, I used my crutches to get into the living room. The fish tank hummed. The clock ticked.

  Faster.

  Louder.

  As I approached the couch, my movements seemed to race. It was the oddest sensation. Like I was moving in fast forward, even though I knew I wasn’t. The world zipped by faster than I could process, and I fell before I knew what was happening. The coffee table broke my landing, jabbing into my hip and sending hot searing pain to shoot down my leg.

  “Fuck,” I cried, gripping my side.

  On my ass, I peered around in confusion, but even as I moved my head, everything zoomed and raced. It turned my stomach, and I clasped hold of the table to try and slow it down. What the hell was happening?

  Closing my eyes, I held myself as still as possible, ignoring the throb in my thigh and the squawking bird in his cage blaming Ringo for my mishap. My skin blazed with heat. My pulse thundered in my ears in deep whooshing beats. Faster. Matching the ticking clock. Racing.

  I covered my ears to try and slow it all down, but it was no use. The incessant reminders of passing time hammered inside my brain. Unrelenting. Faster. Louder. Until I was gulping great lungfuls of air.

  “Gray?”

  I startled and whipped my head around to Beck who stood in the doorway to the kitchen. Out of breath, I struggled to act normal so he wouldn’t suspect anything.

  “Lost my footing,” I explained, gripping the coffee table and grunting through the pain as I pulled myself upright. My arms shook, and I fumbled with the crutches I’d dropped.

  Beck raced to my side and held my arm steady as he helped me fix them under my arms.

  “You’re shaking. Did you hurt yourself?”

  “Nah.” I pressed my teeth together until I was more steady.

  The clock chimed the hour, and I flinched, tensing and fighting the urge to cover my ears. Or scream. Beck watched me closely, a frown marring his face.

  “Are you ready to go?” I asked, hoping to divert his concern.

  “Yeah. Are you?”

  “Yeah.”

  I waited for Beck to turn away before scanning the room, deciding if that odd racing feeling was still happening. The motion seemed normal again. The world had slowed down. Whatever had happened seemed to have passed. Had it happened at all, or was I imagining things?

  The stairs remained tricky, so I didn’t deny Beck when he offered to help. Over the past week, I’d only ventured up and down three times and always with assistance. I hoped with a prosthetic limb life would be easier. Being stuck in Beck’s apartment was starting to feel confining. Too many times, I’d become convinced I was losing my mind. Something fundamental had shifted since the accident, and I couldn’t seem to get back on track.

  Our drive to the OT’s office was quiet. After Beck parked, he shifted in his seat and pinned me with a worried stare before I could hop out.

  “Do you want me to come in with you?”

  “I’m a grown ass man. I think I can handle it.”

  “I was only thinking along the lines of me learning things I might be able to help with… if needed. You know, when you get— Never mind. I’m gonna swing across town to the junk shop and see if they brought in new stock.”

  I hesitated, guilt creeping in at my curt dismissal. Beck was only trying to help, and I’d been continually shutting him down.

  “How about I text you if there is stuff you should be present for. You can swing back early and join us.”

  His half-smile was the only response I was going to get.

  I wiggled to the edge of the seat and used the door as leverage as I pulled myself upright. Beck reached into the back and fed my crutches out to me one at a time.

  “Thanks,” I muttered, hitching them in place and moving out of the way so I could slam the door.

  Beck drove off, and I took a minute to enjoy the crisp spring air and hum of traffic before entering the building. The change of scenery was refreshing. Cars zipped by, their engines rumbling. New leaves brushed together in the breeze, rustling in the trees overhead along the promenade. A man on a bike rol
led down the sidewalk, his bell tinkling as he flew past a pair of teenagers standing by the bus stop.

  My gaze bounced from one place to another. There was no ticking clock and no nerve-grating chimes, yet the buzz of anxiety crawled relentlessly under the surface of my skin. The more I focused on it, the faster my heart cantered.

  I clutched my pants over my pocket where my phone resided. The urge to check the time was fierce. As the rushing sensation threatened to return, I pinched my eyes closed for a second to stop its assault.

  Before it could get worse, I cautiously maneuvered inside the building, doing all I could to turn off my brain.

  The receptionist took my name, and I found a seat in a plastic chair in the waiting room. I shuffled out of my light jacket and set it beside me. Then my senses went on alert.

  A clock on the wall ticked in a similar fashion to Beck’s, and the instant I registered it, adrenaline flooded my body.

  Every second that passed was marked by its resonating sound. It echoed around the room. The longer I waited for my turn, the greater my desire to flee. I couldn’t sit there all day. Time taunted me, reminding me that it was wasting away while I did nothing.

  Sweat gathered under my arms and along my spine. Was it getting hotter inside?

  “Grayson Brooks?”

  I snapped to attention hearing my name. A woman with pale blue eyes and a sandy blonde bob smiled back at me.

  “That’s me.”

  “Come on back. My name’s Aurora.”

  Using my crutches, I got myself upright and shook off the growing apprehension before following her into a spacious back room loaded with all kinds of equipment. It helped to have a distraction. Whatever the hell was wrong with my head seemed worse when I was alone.

  “You’re getting around really well on those crutches,” Aurora said as I made my way to a chair off to the side of the room.

  “It’s getting easier.”

  “Well you’ll be happy to know, using your prosthesis will be easier still. You’ll feel like you’ve regained a lot of what you lost.”

  “Here’s hoping.” I wasn’t as optimistic as I made myself sound. There was no way my life would ever be normal again.