Mad & Marvelous

by Elizabeth Varlet

  “Like you could take us, remember Ansel knows a dozen ways to kill a man with his bare hands.”

  “Maim, not kill.”

  Z waved a hand in the air. “Same difference. You were trained by an ex-Navy SEAL. Hop would be toast.”

  After that they debated who’d win against whom in various battle scenarios, with Hop always losing. He didn’t let his brain drift again, doing his best to participate in the conversation. It wasn’t as if he wanted to lie to them, but they weren’t just his secrets to spill. Plus, his friends would never understand what drew him to Rafe, not after the incident at their audition.

  * * *

  Much to Hop’s consternation, Rafe did as he’d asked and gave him space. No text at all on Sunday meant Hop had barely slept. Then Monday morning, he’d gone to work to find five different people had the flu.

  Tuesday night he started feeling like shit. Little sleep and a persistent virus did that, he guessed. But what really upset him was how much he missed Rafe.

  He didn’t need a man to make him happy. He’d been perfectly fine before he’d gotten involved with Rafe. So why now was his mood tuned to Rafe’s? It wasn’t fair.

  Somehow, he dragged himself out of bed on Wednesday morning and into the kitchen to find a note his mother had left for him. Right. He’d forgotten she was out of town until next week for a work retreat.

  All of a sudden, the apartment felt too big and the responsibility of taking care of himself too daunting.

  Hop gritted his teeth and took several deep breaths. He wasn’t this pathetic. He could be by himself. He stayed with his mother because it was easier, but perhaps it was time to get his own place, if only to prove that he could be self-sufficient.

  It wasn’t normal to feel so lost without people around. He shouldn’t ache to call Rafe just to hear his voice. He shouldn’t need his mother to make him chicken soup.

  Too bad there wasn’t an instruction manual on how to be an adult.

  He had a temperature. He was sweating through his wool pajamas and shivering at the same time. There was no way he’d be going to work for the next few days. He called to let Samantha know.

  That done, he sent a text to Tam. If he got dizzy just standing, there was no way he’d be able to dance. Luckily, they had provisions for situations like this, so he didn’t feel too bad.

  Hop made himself tea and plopped in front of the television with tissues, cold meds, and a bottle of water. His mother called to check in around noon. He didn’t tell her he’d gotten sick. There was nothing she could do about it and he wanted to handle it on his own.

  To prove he could.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The first night Hop didn’t show up at Switch, Rafe figured Hop was avoiding him. But when he didn’t turn up for the Sassy Boyz’ performances again on Thursday night, Rafe couldn’t take it anymore. Space was one thing, but a complete shutdown of communication was another. They needed to talk. Hiding wouldn’t help either of them.

  He found the Sassy Boyz in the dressing room between routines.

  “Where’s Hop?”

  Z glared at him. “Why do you care?”

  “He’s been missing for two days, as his employer I have a right to know why he’s not at work.”

  “What are you going to do, fire us again?”

  “No.” Rafe scrubbed a hand over his face. It was rough with a beard he hadn’t bothered to shave. “Where is he?”

  “He’s sick,” Ansel said. “He’s staying home so he doesn’t give it to us.”

  “Yeah, so don’t go jumping to conclusions and being a dick.”

  “You have balls,” Rafe said.

  “Yep, two. Don’t let the heels and makeup fool you. I can still kick the shit out of any asshole that messes with my family.”

  Rafe nodded, oddly pleased with Z’s protective behavior. “Good, that’s good.”

  “Boss, something wrong?” Mark came in, eying Rafe with curiosity.

  Rafe cleared his throat and straightened his tie. “No, just checking on Hop.”

  Ansel squinted at him, his head tilted like he was considering something. “His mother is out of town.”

  Hell, this was worse than he’d thought. “Okay, got it. Thanks.” On his way back to his office he pulled out his phone and sent the text he should have sent long ago.

  Are you okay?

  The reply came fast, which loosened the knots inside a bit.

  Still trying to work things out.

  Whatever needs to be worked out, we can do it together.

  I have to do this myself.

  Why?

  Because I can’t depend on you all the time.

  Yes, you can.

  Rafe paced, waiting for Hop’s answer. It never came. Sucking in air became a struggle, as if he were standing in the middle of Times Square on New Year’s Eve.

  Are you with your mother?

  Yes.

  Before he could think about what he was doing, he’d shut down his computer and grabbed his briefcase. Hop was sick. Hop was alone. And for some reason, he didn’t want Rafe to comfort him.

  Rafe needed to know why.

  Within twenty minutes, his knock echoed down the empty hall of Hop’s building.

  “Who is it?” Hop asked.

  “Open the door.”

  Even through solid wood, he heard Hop’s curse. It took several long seconds before the chain slid from the lock. The door swung open to a bright living room. Hop wore fuzzy pj’s and was wrapped in a blanket, his nose red from blowing.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Rafe pushed his way into the apartment and locked the door. “We’ll deal with your lie later, first we’ll get you healthy.”

  “Rafe, you can’t be here.”

  “Where is your bedroom?” Rafe asked, walking down the hall before Hop could answer.

  “Rafe.” Hop trailed after him. “Please leave.”

  It wasn’t hard to find Hop’s room. He recognized it from their video chats. “Lie down. I’m going to take care of you and then we’re going to talk.”

  Hop pulled his blanket tighter around him like a shield. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Of course you can.”

  “Then why won’t you let me?”

  “Because you’re mine.” Rafe took his hand and guided him into bed. “Let me do this for you. It doesn’t mean you’re not capable of doing it on your own, just that you don’t have to.” He tucked Hop under the covers and pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead.

  As he was about to leave, Hop grabbed his hand.

  “Rafe?”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “Thank you for coming.”

  “You have no idea, pet. No idea at all.” How fucking much I’ve missed you.

  * * *

  In all honesty, Rafe kind of sucked as a nursemaid. But the fact that he was there at all was enough to keep Hop from complaining. He knew he was a terrible patient. He hated being sick and had a tendency to take it out on whoever was nearest. Usually it was his mother. She had the humility of a saint and the fortitude of an army general.

  Rafe did not.

  When Hop refused to take his meds, Rafe threatened to spank him. Like that would work, when sex and punishment were the last things on Hop’s mind. Rafe’s version of soup tasted vaguely like chicken-flavored water.

  Hop frowned into his bowl. “Where are the stars?”

  Rafe held a hand to Hop’s forehead. “You’re not that warm, you shouldn’t be hallucinating.”

  “Mom always makes chicken and stars when I’m sick.”

  “Do I look like your mother?”

  “Why are you even here if you’re not going to try?”

  Rafe threw his hands in the air and left the room. Twenty mi
nutes later, he returned with a steaming bowl of chicken and stars soup.

  Warmth filled Hop’s chest. “How?”

  “You’re lucky your mother had a can in the back of the cupboard.”

  Hop ate the soup. When he was done, Rafe made him drink a cup of chamomile tea. Then he turned off the lights.

  “Stay, please?”

  “Are you sure?”

  Hop reached out a hand and Rafe’s palm found his. Their fingers twined together. Rafe settled above the covers and curled around Hop’s back.

  “Are those sketches on the wall fashion designs?” Rafe asked, his voice quiet in the darkness, more like a caress of breath over Hop’s ear.

  “Yeah.”

  “They’re good.”

  “It’s something I do when I need to relax.”

  “Have you ever shown them to anyone?”

  Hop snuggled back and pulled Rafe’s hand closer to his lips. “Who would I show?”

  “I don’t know, a designer?”

  “’Cause they’re standing around on the street corners waiting for punks like me to accost them with amateur sketches? No. It’s just a hobby.”

  Rafe made a sound in the back of his throat and kissed Hop’s head, letting the subject drop. They slept like that until sunrays filtered through Hop’s window and the pressure in his bladder could no longer be ignored. Hop rolled over.

  In sleep, all of Rafe’s guises disappeared. He was no longer the powerful businessman; he wasn’t a Dom; he wasn’t even the puppet of a cruel master. In sleep, he was just a man. Wrinkles marked his years and faint scars conveyed the toll life had played. He had weaknesses and fears, just like everyone else. As much as he appeared to be a godlike king among kings while he was awake, right then, he was no different than Hop.

  This glimpse behind the curtain did nothing for Hop’s ever-weakening walls, however. And lying around admiring his lover wouldn’t help his most pressing needs.

  As gently as possible, Hop slipped out of bed and crossed the hall to the bathroom. His temperature seemed to have receded, he no longer felt like he’d fall over if he stood for too long. That was an improvement. His body still ached though, and his sinuses were stuffed. As he washed his hands, he looked at his reflection in the mirror.

  Rafe had seen him like this?

  Shit.

  His hair was snarled in knots, he had snot crusted on his shirt, and his eyes were puffy. He didn’t even want to think about his splotchy skin or his dry lips. This was not the image he wanted stuck in Rafe’s memory. He turned the hot water on in the shower and started undressing. He was naked and stepping into the old porcelain tub right when a particularly strong wave of dizziness attacked. He grabbed for the wall, but his hand slid on the wet tile at the same time his foot skidded out from under him. He fell with a clatter and a loud thump.

  Rafe ran into the bathroom. “Jesus, are you okay?”

  Hop held his head, tears streaming down his face mixing with the water. “I wanted to shower.”

  “Oh baby, did you hurt yourself?”

  Hop nodded. Rafe stripped with record speed. “Come on, let’s get you up.” Rafe maneuvered behind him for leverage and helped Hop stand. “Hold on to me.”

  Hop wrapped his arms around Rafe and rested his pounding head on his chest.

  “Want me to wash your hair?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Keeping one arm locked around Hop, Rafe reached for the shampoo and squirted a dollop onto Hop’s head. Like before, Rafe’s fingers were amazing as they worked the soap through every strand of hair.

  And another piece of Hop’s heart fell into Rafe’s unknowing hands.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  They were eating breakfast in the kitchen discussing their plans for the day—Rafe had to work, but he’d promised to come back later—when they heard the unmistakable sound of keys in the lock. Hop’s eyes went comic-book wide, his mouth dropped open on a curse, and he stood so fast Rafe worried he’d fall again.

  “My mom, fuck!”

  “Calm down.”

  “Hide.”

  “I’m not a teenager and we’re not doing anything wrong.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  Rafe grabbed his shoulders. “Breathe, pet. It’s okay.”

  “No, it won’t be okay, Rafe, because it’s you.”

  “Me?” They ran out of time. The squeak of the front door opening meant they’d have to face his mother head on.

  “Honey?”

  With a panicked look over his shoulder, Hop went through the archway into the living room to greet his mother. “What are you doing home? I thought your retreat was for five days.”

  “It is, but I could hear in your voice that you weren’t feeling well, so I came home early. I know how you get when you’re—”

  “Hello, Ms. Lovette.” Rafe’s smile was forced, he could feel it.

  “Oh.” She blinked at him, then darted her gaze to her son, a crease forming between her brows.

  “You remember Rafe, right?”

  “Of course,” she said absently. “How could I forget the man who brought you home every time you got into trouble?”

  Hop flinched. “It wasn’t like that.”

  She whipped her scarf off and pinned Rafe with her perceptive eyes. “What mess are you cleaning up now, Mr. Marson?”

  “You’ve misunderstood, Ms. Lovette.”

  “Have I? Then enlighten me, what the hell are you doing in my home?”

  Rafe glanced at Hop, who looked like he was about to fall over. He crossed the room to prop Hop up with an arm around his waist. “You need to sit?”

  Hop shook his head and winced. “Maybe.”

  Rafe guided him to the sofa, pulled off the throw and tucked it around his lap. “Tea?”

  Hop looked at him with an unwavering gratitude that would be impossible to forget. “Thank you.”

  He only spared a glance for Hop’s mother as he returned to the kitchen to prepare Hop’s tea.

  “It’s been him this whole time?”

  “Mom, listen—”

  “Tell me the truth. I can’t take any more lies.”

  “We’ve only been seeing each other for a few weeks.”

  “So it was him last time?”

  From his place in the kitchen, Rafe could see Hop on the couch. He could see the way he swallowed at his mother’s question and the tint of red flushing his face. “Yes.” He dipped his head, hands twisting in his lap.

  “It all makes sense now,” Ms. Lovette said. “How did he come back into your life? When?”

  “He owns the club where Sassy Boyz got the new contract. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I knew how you’d react.”

  The kettle whistled. He poured the water into Hop’s mug and returned to the living room.

  “You should leave, Mr. Marson.”

  Rafe sat next to Hop and handed him the tea. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Did he tell you what happened to him because of you? Did he tell you how close he came to dying?”

  “He did.”

  “Then how can you sit in my living room like you didn’t do anything wrong?”

  “I’m sorry about everything that happened in the past, but I wasn’t the one who hurt him.”

  “It was never his responsibility to save me, Mom. I made my own choices.”

  “As soon as he shows back up in your life, you start spinning out of control again, coming home with bruises and...” She flicked her wrist. “You said you’d be careful.”

  “I have. I am. Mom, it’s my gift to give and I’ve given it to someone worthy. I trust him more than I trust myself.” The certainty in Hop’s voice shocked everyone.

  Rafe tucked a stray strand of hair behind Hop’s ear, drawing his attention.
“Thank you.”

  Hop’s smile was tentative but sweet nonetheless. And for a moment, they were alone in the room looking into each other’s eyes.

  “Oh,” Ms. Lovette said, breaking the spell. “I see.” She sounded devastated, but also empathetic. She picked up her scarf, wrapped it around her neck, grabbed her purse from the chair and left the apartment.

  * * *

  When Rafe finally made it into the office, he found a message from Roland’s secretary waiting for him. Another summons.

  Not what he wanted to deal with after the turmoil of his morning, but he had no choice. Tomorrow Prince would arrive in New York for the dress rehearsal, and until then Rafe had to maintain the status quo, even if it meant kissing Lockwood ass.

  He called in his wine order and rearranged his schedule.

  Leaving Hop had been hard, much harder than it should have been. Work had always been his top priority, but this morning he’d been willing to ignore his responsibilities in order to take care of someone else. It’d been Hop who pushed him out the door.

  For the rest of the afternoon, he lost himself in the repetitive tasks that made up each and every day. When six o’clock finally rolled around, Rafe was as ready as he could be for whatever Roland had to throw at him. He left Mark in charge and swung by the liquor store to pick up his order. At seven on the dot, Rafe stood on the Lockwood doorstep, mask securely in place.

  When Fred opened the door, Rafe began his usual greetings but something in the older man’s eyes stopped him.

  “What is it?”

  Fred shook his head, eyes shifty. It put Rafe on edge.

  “Ah, there you are.” Roland came around the corner as Fred was taking his coat. “Come in, my boy, I want to introduce you to some friends of mine.”

  Okay, had he entered the twilight zone somewhere between Park Avenue and 72nd Street? What the hell was going on? Following Roland into the never-used parlor, Rafe handed the box of wine to Fred. Roland never gave a shit about it anyway.

  “Good luck, sir,” Fred whispered before disappearing down the hall.

  “Rafe Marson, meet James Baylor and his daughter Rebecca.”

  “Hello.” Rafe shook their hands in turn.

  “Rafe here is my protégé. He’s got quite a talent for numbers and an eye for good business opportunities.”