It was agreed that Fabian and Simon would help Adrian back to his room—an easier task now that he was conscious again, and Cassius would stay behind to bring the room service order over once it came.
“You’re going to be just fine,” Fabian said as he helped Adrian to his feet. “We’ll get you all changed and tucked into bed, and I’ll even pack up your bags ready for morning and it’ll all be fine.”
Simon looked back over his shoulder as they guided Adrian out of the door, making eye contact with Ian long enough to convey just what he thought of the whole affair. Ian watched them leave without saying a word, knowing full well he’d get an earful about this inconvenience to this evening on the morning’s flight out.
Cassius sat down on the bed, holding Adrian’s t-shirt, folding it uselessly as Sam, Drew, and Ian looked on, each judging the situation in their own way. The four of them were quiet though, quiet enough that it began to feel uncomfortable.
“So, he looked like something attacked him,” Ian said, breaking the silence. The other three looked at him, similar expressions on their faces. “Like, a dog or something. Or a bear.”
“He didn’t get attacked by a bear,” Cassius muttered, his fingers digging into the soft cotton cloth.
“Of course he didn’t,” Ian scowled, a bit playful. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that it was impossible…Still, it was all strangely familiar to him, brought back memories of a night when one of them got bitten by a wild dog. Ian sniffed sharply and shook his head. “He looked pretty terrible. And that cut or whatever it was on his neck looked like it was possibly infected or something. I think he should see a doctor, maybe just go home.”
“He can’t go home!” Cassius said firmly, surprising the others. “He…look, whatever happened, he’s going to be fine, okay?”
“Cass…” Drew said, voice calm, low. Beside him, Sam’s pulse was racing.
“He just needs to sleep it off, get some antibiotics and liquids and he’ll be fine,” Cassius insisted, voice raised.
“He needs a doctor,” Ian said with authority. “I’m fucking worried about him, okay?”
The room service arrived then and Drew went to the door. Cassius closed his eyes tight, only opening them again when Sam reached out to pull him to his feet.
“Come on,” Sam ordered. Cassius looked up at him, eyes wide, like a child called out for misbehaving in class. They stared at each other for a few long seconds until Cassius began to squirm under his gaze. It was only then that Sam gave his friend’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “He needs medicine and we all need some sleep.”
Cassius nodded weakly and rose to his feet.
“And you and I are going to have a very serious conversation on the plane,” Sam added quickly, under his breath, just soft enough so Ian didn’t hear. Cassius shivered, and the three Rockfort men left Ian alone to sort out the events and tidy up the room.
* * *
John showed up about fifteen minutes later, pleasantly buzzed and laughing and ready to quickly retire. “You look like you’ve had one hell of a night,” he chuckled, pulling off his shirt as he climbed into his bed. Ian could only manage a small sigh in agreement. “Eh, well, get some sleep. Long day of travel ahead of us, you know.”
“Tell me about it,” Ian said, dragging his hands over his face. What a long fucking day. What a long fucking week. It had just been one stupid mishap after the other from the time they checked into the hotel. The sooner they got out of this place and on their way, the better.
Yawning, Ian snuggled up under his blankets and checked one last time that the alarm clock was set, not noticing at all that his phone still sat untouched beside it, with several unanswered messages from Carson, all just waiting to be read.
* * *
With Adrian tucked safely into his bed, Simon and Fabian were left with a choice—either they part ways for the night, or they sneak off someplace quiet, where they could be alone.
Simon suggested the pool deck. They could dip their feet in the water, or maybe go skinny dipping.
Fabian instead let out a long yawn, and that plan was tabled. “Let’s go back to my room,” he said, leaning against Adrian’s door, voice hushed, like they were sharing a secret. His cheeks were a bit pink, brown eyes wide, wanting.
“I never thought you’d ask,” Simon sighed. With anyone else, he’d probably be leering, or at the very least beaming, but with Fabian, things had always been different. For as much of a show as he regularly put on, for as flirtatious and lewd as he could be, he knew when to put a stop to it and be real. And there was no one he’d rather be real with than Fabian.
The blond smiled at him and took his hand, and off they went, Simon’s insides turning into mush the entire time.
But everything was innocent, everything tame. The room was dark when they got in, and quiet save for the soft sounds of Tyrone snoring. Simon’s heart sank.
Seriously? They weren’t going to do anything with Tyrone in the room. But then Fabian took his hand again and pulled him toward his bed, and before he knew it, they were curled around each other, cuddled up and soundly asleep.
* * *
They didn’t say anything until they were safely locked away in their hotel room. Once the door was bolted shut, Sam looked to Drew, eyes flashing dangerously.
“He’s turned him.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” Drew said as he sank onto the bed.
“I know that’s what he’s done, Drew,” Sam snarled. Drew frowned. Sam quickly turned away from his lover and pulled off his shirt. “What else could have done that then? What else could have left those marks on Adrian’s body?”
“Any number of things. A fox. A large, angry cat. An actual dog.” Drew continued, kicking his shoes off and onto the floor. “There could be a completely reasonable explanation for why he’s all beat up like that. Besides, the full moon isn’t for another night. Don’t werewolves require a full moon to transform?”
Yes, that was the question of the hour, and Sam had no way to explain that part away. So perhaps all of those bites and scratches were the handiwork of some crazed, rabid animal or something of that ilk. He just couldn’t say for sure. Not knowing was what troubled him more than anything.
“Maybe it’s nothing serious,” Drew continued, turning back the blankets, looking back to Sam, beckoning. Sam went to his side without hesitation. “Or maybe Cassius really does know what happened. Whatever the answer is, we’ll find it and take care of it. You never need to doubt that, Sam.”
Sam let out the breath he’d been holding and nodded, and the two of them crawled into bed together, limbs entwined as they were used to. His mind was still a mess, with too many questions to answer, and an unshakeable sense of dread in the forefront of his mind. This could all become very dangerous for them, if his gut suspicions were right. But he had to relax, had to try to get some sleep. It would do no good to stay up the entire night and worry.
Before he drifted off to sleep, he turned his head and realized the bed across from theirs was still empty.
“I wonder where Carson is,” he mumbled absently, rolling over to bury his nose in the crook of Drew’s shoulder.
“Go back to sleep.” Drew grunted, pulling his arms tighter around Sam, effectively ending that line of questioning. Sam considered enacting some defense of Carson then, but felt himself suddenly overcome with the need for sleep. Yawning, he decided he’d worry about Carson’s whereabouts in the morning.
Chapter 30
Caught
Carson awoke with a pounding headache and the desperate need for a glass of water. The clock on the bedside table said it was just before five in the morning, which gave him maybe ten more minutes to sleep if he was feeling especially lazy. He was sweating and he felt like shit, and it took a few seconds before he remembered that not only had he been drinking his sorrows away, but he’d also suffered a pretty impressive head wound. He figured he could use a little extra shut eye. If anyone deserved it, it was probably hi
m.
“Ugh,” he groaned, rolling around in bed, burying his face gently into the soft, welcoming pillows. Ten more minutes of ignoring the world and then he’d wake up and face the cruel blight of dawn. Ten more minutes and he’d check his phone for messages while shoving his clothes back into his suitcase. Ten more minutes, and then he’d—.
He sat up straight and looked around the room, catching the faint hint of light from under the bathroom door, the sound of the shower running. Carson narrowed his eyes as he looked around the room, a strange and terrible worry coming over him. His suitcase wasn’t where he’d left it. None of his things were around. Nothing in the room was his at all, except the pile of yesterday’s clothes left in the middle of the floor. No, this wasn’t his room. Still he recognized the room, of course, and not just because it looked like every other hotel room ever. This was Garry’s room.
He blanched, looking down at himself and gasped at his own nudity. He looked over to the other bed, perfectly made still and gasped again. Then to the other pile of clothes beside his—Garry’s clothes. Then to the condom wrapper on the table beside the lamp.
“Oh my god…”
Had he and Garry had sex? He and Garry? Panic started to set in and Carson felt somewhat lightheaded. He closed his eyes, tried to relax, tried to remember everything that had happened before he’d fallen asleep. He remembered the match, the hospital, winding up in the lobby, getting into the elevator, being pissed at Ian, then going up to Garry’s room and…
“Fuck!”
Through the wall he could hear Garry humming something. Carson whimpered and stood up, wrapping a sheet around him as he started to gather up his discarded clothes. He had to get out of there, had to get back to his room, had to take a shower of his own and get his head on straight before he did something else he might end up regretting.
Then, there was a noise from the front door, and suddenly it swung wide open.
“Oh my god!” Carson hissed, holding the covers up over his bare chest, his clothes falling from his hands back to the floor.
“Oh my god!” Simon choked, looking weary and exhausted as the door slammed shut behind him.
“What are you doing here?” Carson stammered, floundering helplessly, trying to keep some shred of his dignity intact.
“This is my room!” Simon huffed, pointing to his suitcase, propped neatly in the corner. “I’m just here to pack up my shit.”
“Oh,” Carson said softy. In the bathroom, the shower was still going.
“What the hell are you doing here, Carson?” Simon asked, apparently cured from his moment of shock, making his way to his bag, performing a cursory check for any stray items left unpacked.
Carson felt his face go red and he delicately reached his hand to knock the wrapper off the nightstand and to the floor once Simon’s back was turned. “Oh, um, I wasn’t feeling well so I decided to crash here.” It could’ve been the truth for all Simon knew, and Carson was banking on Simon not wanting any of the details.
Except it was Simon, so of course he wanted the details. Simon looked back over his shoulder, biting back a grin which could only be described as predatory. “You should’ve come by Ian’s room. I’m sure he would’ve loved to have taken care of you last night.”
Carson’s heart sank into his stomach. In his haste to escape, he hadn't even given himself a chance to think of Ian. He was still angry with him, hurt at being stood up, even more hurt that he’d seen Fabian leaving from there just a few hours before. But now he had to wrap his head around what he’d done now too, and with his very own best friend. For years he’d wanted Ian, and when he thought maybe he finally had a shot with him, what had he done at the first sign of trouble? He’d probably done the most hurtful, stupid thing a person could ever do. Carson’s face started to crumple a little.
Simon’s gleeful expression fell away too, immediately sensing that something was wrong. He rocked back on his heels, brows furrowed in concern. “Hey, Carson, what’s wrong?”
“I…” Carson shook his head, cheeks burning.
Just then, the bathroom door opened and Garry emerged in a cloud of steam, towel hung loose around his hips. “Hey, babe, what’s going…” He stood there frozen, satisfied grin fading quickly as his eyes met Simon’s. “Oh.”
Simon looked from Garry to Carson, then to the piles of clothes left carelessly on the floor, to the beds (one untouched, one destroyed), then to the metallic condom wrapper on the floor, helpfully catching the glint of lamplight. His eyes narrowed, arms crossed sternly as he looked back to Carson. “Look, Carson, I’m an easy-going guy.”
“Simon, this isn’t what it—” Carson started, gripping tightly to the sheet.
“I know you all think I’m vapid as hell, and I’ll grant you that this preconceived notion has served me very well from time to time.”
“Simon,” Garry growled as he took a step toward him.
“But I can see what is right in front of me, and moreover, I can fucking smell it in here,” Simon carried on, unperturbed. Ignoring Garry, he glared at Carson. “You two fucked. And that’s not a problem. It’s not anybody’s business but yours, right? It’s what I’d normally say, except the thing is, all three of us know where you were supposed to be last night, Carson. And all three of us know you weren’t there. So, here’s the deal. You’re going to either tell Ian that you’re not interested anymore, if that’s the case, or you’re going to tell him what you did.”
Carson’s head suddenly hurt even worse than before, his breathing went shallow and rapid, eyes huge as he felt his whole life fluttering away. How could he have been so fucking stupid? How could he have done this? He stared into Simon’s eyes, searching for guidance, sympathy, anything which might help him figure out what to do. And what did he see reflected back? A whole lot of nothing. Okay, not nothing. He saw emotion there, but it all seemed so complicated, he wasn’t sure he could fully figure it out thanks to the head trauma. He felt his lip start to quiver slightly, and suddenly Garry was at his side.
“So tell Ian he can fuck off.”
Carson blinked in shock, taking in a sharp breath. “What? No!”
“You don’t need him, Carson. He’s a jerk. He stood you up.”
Garry was looking at him, almost pleading, like if he said it, it had to be so. It was partly true, Ian had stood Carson up, but he wasn't really a jerk. He could be so sweet, so thoughtful. Carson knew him to be one of the most genuinely loyal people he’d ever met. He’d let himself fall in love with Ian four years ago, and it took him a long time to admit it, but he’d finally made his move. And now it was all over, for a tryst with his oldest and dearest friend.
Garry, who’d loved him and been by his side since the moment they’d met, who’d always brought him back to reality, who’d been the funniest and most fun person he’d ever known. They were the best of friends, they were brothers. And now they’d crossed a line which couldn’t be uncrossed.
Carson looked at Garry and tried to swallow back everything, tried to play it cool. Across the room, Simon stood there, watching them both with a cool disdain.
Fuck, what was he going to do?
* * *
Ian went out of his way to look for Carson, to try to check up on him, to apologize for blowing him off. He knew he owed him more than an apology, what he’d done was more than a little terrible, but he was certain that once Carson knew the reasons behind their missed rendezvous, he’d be understanding. Maybe they could even sit with each other on the flight and make up for lost time and the missed opportunity.
But alarmingly, Carson was nowhere to be found. It was like he’d dropped off the map, like he was intentionally going out of his way to avoid Ian and the rest of his team. Ian found himself growing more and more worried about him. Had his head trauma been bad enough that he needed to leave the team and seek medical treatment back home? As they mulled around the airport terminal, he approached Perry with his concerns.
“Oh, he’s fine,” Perry sigh
ed, waving a hand dismissively. “He’s probably off with Garry at one of the bookstores.”
Ian’s lips formed a thin line, and he looked thoroughly unimpressed. “But what about his head? He’s okay to travel, isn’t he?”
“Carson is just fine, there’s no need to be so overprotective of him.” Perry looked across the terminal, to where Cassius and Adrian sat, the latter still looking pale and generally out of sorts. “Now, Adrian on the other hand…”
Ian turned to look, his frown intensifying. Yeah, no, Adrian still looked like hell. Quite frankly, Ian was shocked none of the coaching staff seemed at all concerned with his pallid color and inability to sit up straight. He was slumped in his chair, gaunt and nursing a large bottle of water. He looked like he needed a round of antibiotics and a hospital stay.
“He’s got the flu,” Ian said. Perry raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “He’ll be fine.”
“And so will Carson” Perry said, his eyes lighting up as he turned back to Ian. “Now, before I let you go, I wanted to run a few ideas by you regarding the line up next week…”
Ian sighed and steadied himself, and as he listened to Perry drone on and on, he decided that maybe Perry was right. Maybe he did worry too much. Carson was a grown man, not some helpless idiot. He could take care of himself, and besides, he could handle the small interruptions and bumps along the road of life. They’d talk when they could, it wasn’t a big deal. Carson would understand.
* * *
Cassius’s stomach felt like it was sinking, like it had already sunk to the bottom of the ocean, never to be retrieved again. He felt so anxious, so sick, so completely overwhelmed by the prospect of getting lectured by Sam, that a tiny part of him considered faking some serious illness and pulling out of the game altogether. He honestly might have, if Adrian had not regained enough strength to bolster his confidence again and get his head straightened out.
Howl At The Moon: MM Shifter Romance Page 21
