Charlie sat next to him, her hip nudging his knees aside. “Maybe under ordinary circumstances, but you were a little out of it. I think they overdid the pain meds. You were . . . um . . . quite vocal, but not very coherent.”
“God, they didn’t give me Vicodin, did they? Tell me they didn’t give me Vicodin.”
“They gave you Vicodin.”
“Gah!” Gideon flung his uninjured arm wide, but kept the injured one tucked across his middle. “That crap turns me into a blithering imbecile. Then . . .” He glanced at Charlie, hoping against hope that he hadn’t—
“Yep. You puked. Alex held your head. It was sweet.”
“‘Sweet.’” Gideon flipped the extra pillow over his face. “Kill me now.” The mattress shifted and the cool spot by his knees signaled Charlie’s retreat, hopefully to retrieve a weapon to put him out of his misery in the most humane way possible.
“I’ve got coffee on. You want some?”
Gideon checked in with his stomach, which seemed cautiously agreeable, and mmmphed an affirmative into the pillow. His eyelashes brushed the manly navy plaid, and something that had been lurking in the back of his mind popped up and flipped him off.
“Charles,” he said, voice muffled by cotton and down, “why didn’t Lindsay tell me she had a gay brother?”
“Why would she?”
Gideon tossed the pillow off and gave her a seriously, dude? stare. “Hello? Gay man here. Gay man there.”
“Think about it. All your lasting relationships are with women. Gay men you pick up and discard like Sims expansion packs. Why would she want that for her brother?”
“Did you know he was gay?”
“Well . . . no. But I haven’t seen him since Lindsay dropped out of UO.”
“God, maybe he’s closeted. He could definitely pass. He fooled me for over a week.”
Her plus-sized smile lit her face. “Gay sonar on the fritz?”
“Shut up.”
She laughed, the infuriating woman. “There’s an extra toothbrush in the bathroom and some of Daniel’s clothes. You can take a shower, but you’re not supposed to get your stitches wet, so I put a plastic bag in there for you.”
“A plastic bag? Darling, you know perfectly well that plastic does not touch my skin. Send in the cabana boy.”
“We’re fresh out, so you’ll have to suck it up and deal.” She offered her hand, and he pulled himself upright, ignoring the way his head swam and the pain spiked behind his left eye from the Vicodin hangover. His throbbing fingers were almost incidental.
He stared at the acre of gauze wrapped around his hand. “How many stitches?”
“Five, plus a couple of butterfly closures. You’ll live to jack off another day.”
“Charles! Watch your language. Is this He-Man’s influence?”
“No, dear. It’s years of exposure to you.”
He stood up, fighting a wave of dizziness accompanied by a twinge of his earlier—thankfully forgotten—nausea. “Then you should know better than to steal my best punch lines.”
After struggling through an awkward one-handed shower, Gideon wandered into the living room, Daniel’s sweatpants cinched around his waist in an unsightly bunch that was (luckily or unluckily, depending on your point of view) masked by the oversized orange T-shirt.
“Good lord, Charles, how big is your man? I think you could fit inside this shirt along with me and we’d still have room for a random beer belly or two.”
“That’s not his. I picked it up at the last data warehousing conference.”
Gideon stretched the front of the shirt and checked it out. The cheerful Hadoop baby elephant looked freaking sinister upside down. “Of course. I should have known He-Man would never suffer from the voracious geek appetite for vendor swag.”
Glancing up, he did a classic double take—what he’d thought was a noirish black wall accent was actually a ginormous flat-screen TV. He peered at her over the top of his glasses. “Is he compensating for something?”
“Trust me. Not a thing.”
Opposite the mega-screen, a mile-long smoosh-cushioned sofa shouted its new-leather aroma to the world. “The remuneration for online tech nattering must be improving.”
Charlie grinned. “Yep. Although he’s not afraid to let me pitch in.”
“God. This is serious.” Gideon collapsed onto the brown leather, and it sighed as the cushions conformed to his ass. “You’re—you’re furniture parents.” He pointed his unmummified forefinger at her. “If you tell me this man-lounge was your idea, I’ll drag you to a deprogramming counselor faster than you can say ‘Linux.’”
She chuckled and sat down sideways, facing him. “He picked out the sofa. Didn’t matter to me.”
“The next thing you know, you’ll be investing in shared cloud storage and sweet little twin laptops,” he grumbled.
Her expression morphed into an emoticon of impending doom. “Um . . .”
His nausea staged a comeback. He slid down until he was almost reclining on the sofa’s wide seat and closed his eyes, the better to deny the evidence. “You’re moving in with him, aren’t you?”
“We’ve discussed it.” Charlie’s tone was wary, but then, she’d known him for a long time. “If you’re worried about your rent increasing, I had lunch with Toshiko yesterday and she said she’d take my room.”
“That’s right. She eats. I’d forgotten,” he croaked around a lump the size of his fist. “I thought she consumed free radicals from the atmosphere, or plugged in from time to time to recharge.”
His finances weren’t his biggest concern, although they were a freaking huge second. Charlie was his family. In a weird and convoluted way, they were simultaneously parent and child to each other, depending on the circumstances. Life without his darling girl in the house? She was already slipping away, her time consumed by her brilliant new career and her hunky new boyfriend.
He pushed himself to his feet, which was surprisingly difficult to do with one less-than-functional hand. Thank God and little green aliens he was left-handed.
“Can you give me a ride home, Charles? I can’t show up at the jobsite like this. The other kids’ll roll me for this awesome T-shirt.”
She sat forward, her face serious. “You can’t go back yet. Your hand—”
“I’ve endured worse agony the day after a particularly injudicious multi-margarita night.” He raised his injured hand in the royalty wave and repressed a wince at the pain-pulse in his fingers. “I’ll live.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I knew you’d say that.”
“Of course you did. I never flee at first blood. Fear not, for I shall vanquish the dastardly Luddite. Avaunt!” He lunged, parrying with an imaginary blade, keeping the injured hand up in an en garde position, because Ow, damn it, ow.
Charlie’s mouth twisted to the side. “That guy is a real piece of work.”
“Tell me about it. He missed his calling. He’d have been a big hit as the headmaster in some Dickensian boarding school/orphanage, the kind that serves brimstone treacle for breakfast, lunch, and high freaking tea.” He lowered his invisible rapier. “Wait. How do you know?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Because I got his number from Alex and phoned him. You’re banned from the site for three days. He said he’ll have your list for you on Tuesday.” Charlie frowned. “What did he mean, list?”
Gideon’s belly executed a double barrel roll. “You called the micromanager from hell? How could you? My time is limited enough, and you just cut off a quarter of it.”
“Jeez, Gideon. Walk away from this job.”
“If only life were so grand. Unfortunately, the contract includes liquidated damages. If I don’t deliver on time, not only do I not get paid, but I owe them.” His fingers were the least of his worries. “Take me home. Please. So I can find an appropriate sword to fall on.”
She clambered out of the sofa’s leather embrace. “Okay, but no cheating. Alex said he’d stop by the apartment
later and check on you.”
Gideon’s hand flew to his hair, which was tragically free of product. “Alex? Why didn’t you tell me? He can’t see me like this. I need another shower and clothes that actually fit. When did he say he’d be by?”
“Don’t freak out, G,” she said, chuckling as she pulled her keys out of her giant shoulder bag. “It’s not like you’re having sex with him.” Her eyebrows achieved liftoff. “Oh my god. You are! You’re having sex with Lindsay’s brother? Are you nuts?”
He raised his chin with a sniff. “If you’ll note, I’m not having sex with anyone at this precise moment.”
“Hedging.”
His shoulders sagged. “Okay. Fine. So I’m weak and the man is hotter than a bootlegged video game. Sue me.”
She shook her head and took a gigantic breath. “Believe me, buddy, it’s not me you need to worry about.”
Alex’s eyes felt grittier than number-twelve sandpaper. The cup on the kitchen table in front of him was only half-empty, but he’d inhaled so much coffee in the last forty-eight hours, he couldn’t force down another mouthful. He pushed it aside and rested his head in his hands.
Every minute he hadn’t been at the jobsite, he’d been dealing with his dad, whose meds were still turning him into a night owl. If it weren’t for Toshiko, who’d stopped by every day for at least four hours since her first visit, Alex wouldn’t have gotten any sleep at all. He’d wanted to check in on Gideon, but he hadn’t had a moment to spare, and although he’d loaded Gideon’s number into his own phone at the ER, he didn’t want to call.
He couldn’t get past the notion that if he hadn’t goaded Gideon, and then given in to misplaced jealousy, the accident would never have happened. True, Gideon hadn’t seemed to blame him. In the ER, he’d even sounded as if he was open to taking things further.
But was it worth the risk? For both of them?
Alex pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. A guy like Gideon deserved better. Furthermore, Gideon was well aware of his own worth, and it was only a matter of time before he decided Alex wasn’t up to his standards.
Maybe it’s better to end it now.
A chair scraping next to him, accompanied by the faint tickle of jasmine perfume, announced his sister’s arrival.
“Are you okay, Alex?”
He conjured up a smile and hoped his eyes weren’t too bloodshot. “Never better.”
“You don’t look it.”
“Just a little tired. Dad’s decided he’s on the graveyard shift or some shit.”
“You don’t have to stay with him.”
“Yeah, I do. He gets upset if Mom shows her face.”
“I could—”
“No. You’ve got enough on your plate. Your job. Being here all evening. Besides, I want you to keep an eye on Gideon.”
Lindsay’s eyes narrowed, and Alex suddenly recalled preteen Lin, dressing her Barbies in ninja gear and kicking the shit out of his GI Joes. “Why do you want me to do that?”
“He’s crazy stressed with this job. He’s gonna go back before he should. He needs—”
“Alex. Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t get hung up on Gideon.”
“Since when do you interfere in my love life?”
She shrugged. “I don’t have to when you don’t have one.”
“Don’t sweat it, babe. I promise not to get hung up on Gideon.” Because I’m already there.
Lindsay’s speculative stare told him she wasn’t totally buying his bullshit. “Uh-huh. Just don’t lose sight of what’s important. We need to be here for Daddy.”
“Preaching to the choir.”
“Okay, then.” She stood up and walked out of the room, smiling tiredly at Ruth as they passed in the doorway. “Interesting fashion choice, Mom.”
Alex frowned at his mom’s faded blue scrubs. “Uh . . . Mom? You’re retired, remember? You’re allowed to wear real clothes.”
She cleared away his abandoned cup. “I tried something new this morning. Your father knows he doesn’t feel right, so I thought he might accept a medical caregiver more readily than . . . well . . . a civilian.”
“You’re not his medical caregiver. You’re his wife.”
“I know, but he needs the caregiver more. And it worked. He let me help him get out of bed.” She squeezed his shoulder. “It’s the answer to your sleeplessness, honey. We’ll share the night shift from now on.”
“How’s that gonna work? You’re on deck all day, plus when I’m at work, You’re just as sleep-deprived as I am.”
“Not anymore, and it’ll get better. Toshiko’s offered to stay longer—as long as we need her, every day.”
Alex’s eyebrows shot up. “How does she have the time? Doesn’t she have her own job to do?”
“She says her work hours are flexible, and she’s— Well, she said it’s not an issue.”
“Why would she do that for us?” At his mom’s frown, Alex held up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong—I think it’s great that Dad’s taken to her like he has, but she’s not family.”
“Isn’t she?” Smiling crookedly, she drifted to the counter. “Your father doesn’t inquire after you or me or Lindsay, but when Toshiko isn’t here, he asks where she is.”
“That’s . . . Wow. Weird.” Alex wasn’t sure how he felt about farming out responsibilities that ought to be their own. “Shouldn’t we, well, pay her or something?”
“I offered. She was quite adamant in refusing.”
He grinned. “I’ll bet. How many hundred-dollar words did she use to shut you down?”
“At least half a dozen.” She poured herself a cup of coffee, lips pursed. “I think her manner may be a defense mechanism—she’s obviously got a heart as big as the ocean, but for some reason she’s afraid to show it. She may get as much from us as we get from her.”
“Yeah? In that case, I guess we should welcome her to the family.” Because God knows we could use the help.
Geekspeak: URL Redirection
Definition: Aka URL forwarding; rather than opening the entered URL, the browser opens (redirects to) a page with a different URL instead.
The Wallace Rules of Engagement stated clearly that leisure was to be stolen, not mandated. Otherwise, how was it any different than work? Relaxation as a job? Ugh. Gideon sucked at it. How was he supposed to face the next three days with nothing to do? By day three, he’d be ready to swing from the chandelier, if they had one.
Alex had told Charlie he’d come by, though. Gideon wasn’t certain whether the flutter in his chest when he remembered that—oh, every two minutes or so—was anticipation or dread. Maybe a little of both, since he vaguely recollected making a few highly revealing comments when he’d been out of it. Exactly how much had he confessed?
And would Alex be revolted or encouraged by whatever the hell it had been?
With every creak of the stairs, every car that slowed in front of the house, Gideon’s pulse sped up like an overclocked chip. He might have run to the window six or seven times to check the street, or perhaps cracked open the apartment door to peek at the landing, but only the most refined modern torture would pry that information out of him.
But by five o’clock, the start of the evening shift, he hadn’t gotten so much as a generic text message from Alex, although both his roommates had let him know they wouldn’t be home.
Fabulous.
After the vastly entertaining tasks of reorganizing his sock drawer and arranging all his shirts in strict color-spectrum order, Gideon decided to damn the Luddite, pretend that web design contract was his and start working on it. If he ended up going down in flames in the hardware phase, at least he’d have staved off death by total fricking boredom.
In between checking his phone every five minutes—Alex had to take a break now and then, didn’t he?—Gideon expanded the notes he’d started on the Haynes Industries’ website before his losing cage match with the box knife. He logged its inconsiste
ncies and—ewww—hideous design faux pas.
The next day was more of the same. No Charlie, no Lindsay, and no Alex. The flutter in his chest had started to feel too much like panic—and what the hell was that about? Since when did he pine over a guy?
He ignored his silent phone—mostly—and knocked out wireframe mock-ups of his plan for the site redesign. He forwarded the whole proposal with a few thoughts for your review email to Jared—without cc’ing the Luddite. Ha! That’s right. I’m a rebel.
Somehow, it didn’t help him sleep that night.
By late afternoon on day three, Gideon had had enough. It’s Sunday, for pity’s sake. The jobsite was off-limits by order of the Luddite, so Alex didn’t have work as an excuse for his continued radio silence.
He promised. No harm, he said. This feels like harm to me.
The pain in his fingers was negligible now. It was stupid for him to be confined to quarters this way. Gideon Wallace so wasn’t the type of princess to languish in the tower, waiting for his prince to ride up on his freaking white charger. It was time to take this to the mattresses, preferably his own.
He checked his hair in the mirror by the door and made sure these jeans made his ass look good. Of course they did. All his pants made his ass look good, even those paisley nightmares, or else he wouldn’t have bought them in the first place.
He hopped in his MINI Cooper and zipped over to Southeast Portland, to the address he’d had kicking around in his phone contact list since Lindsay had dropped out of UO, before Gideon and Charlie had graduated and joined her in Portland. The street was one of those classic Westmoreland neighborhoods with craftsman-style cottages and neat postage stamp–sized front lawns. The spreading dogwood and maple trees lining the road were sad and bedraggled now, with only a few random leaves clinging hopelessly to the branches, fighting the inevitable pull of gravity.
He parked in a tight space a couple of houses down from the Hennings, grateful as always for the MINI’s cute little butt. A vintage muscle car sat in their narrow driveway, and as Gideon got closer, he realized what it was.
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