Synful Dreams [Syn’s Playground] (Siren Publishing Classic ManLove)

by Shea Balik

  “Is there any way we could wake PJ up? Let him make the decision?” Syn asked. He really didn’t want to have to be the one to give the go-ahead to amputate PJ’s leg. Nor did he want to risk his life by agreeing to the surgery. Now he understood why Daniel had appeared ready to leap to his death when Syn arrived. The weight of either option wasn’t for the faint of heart.

  Dr. Pabon shook his head. “Unfortunately that isn’t possible. He might wake up before a decision has to be made, but there isn’t any way for us to do that.”

  Damn. “Fine. Give me the advantages of having the surgery and disadvantages.”

  Dr. Zari harrumphed. “I don’t have the time to waste talking to you. I have other patients, after all.”

  Syn stared hard at the irritating man. “If you want to do the surgery you will make the time, got it?”

  Dr. Zari opened his mouth clearly about to argue but wisely shut it and nodded. “Fine, but I only have a few minutes.”

  “Then you better get started, hadn’t you?” Syn replied back just as irately.

  * * * *

  “Do you think we made the right decision?” Daniel asked for the hundredth time that morning. He’d also asked it every five minutes the night before.

  Syn answered the same way each time. “PJ would have wanted us to try.” He honestly didn’t know if that was true or not. He hadn’t seen PJ in thirteen years. What did he know what PJ would have wanted? But the man PJ was when Syn lived with him was a risk taker. Someone who jumped in with both feet.

  No matter what Syn wanted to try, PJ was all in without ever once questioning the wisdom of what they were doing. Then again, instead of taking the chance on them, PJ had chosen the safer route and moved back home. Even knowing that wasn’t exactly fair to think, Syn worried he’d never really known PJ at all, and that he’d just made a huge mistake.

  What if he died on that table? Would it really have been worth saving his leg? Suddenly all of Syn’s decisions came into question as he struggled to live with the one he’d made regarding PJ’s life. He’d screwed up so many times already. What if this was another one?

  Panic rose within him and Syn did the one thing he’d thought only the weak willed did. He paced. Long furious strides ate up the small waiting room as he went from one side to the other.

  He hadn’t made the decision easily, or quickly. After listening to both surgeons explain the pros and cons of saving PJ’s leg, a battery of tests were run to see if his condition was improving. His vitals had been stabilizing, but PJ was still in critical condition.

  Then, as if by some miracle, just as Syn was leaving to help Daniel feed Emma and put her to bed, a change in his vital signs had occurred. It wasn’t much, but the effect would give him a better chance of survival. Syn latched onto that hope like a lifeline.

  He just didn’t think he could live with himself if he didn’t give PJ a chance to keep his leg. It might only be a leg, and in the scheme of things not as important as his life, but Syn also feared if he took away PJ’s way of life any possibility of their future would be gone.

  With each minute that ticked by, Syn’s doubts only continued to rise. Back and forth his legs continued to move across the room, refusing to slow down or stop, fearing if he did it would somehow cause the unthinkable to happen, and the surgeon would walk through those doors to tell him PJ didn’t make it.

  A sob worked its way from deep within, pushing its way up his throat until it burst from his lips. What was he going to do if he lost PJ? He stumbled and suddenly his legs wouldn’t hold him any longer. Syn crumpled, sinking to the cold linoleum floor.

  “Syn?”

  He could hear Daniel’s voice, but it was too far away to make out anything else he was saying. Arms came around him and Syn found himself holding onto to the one other person who loved PJ as much as he did. Both of them praying that PJ would make it through and come back to them.

  Chapter Seven

  A steady beep slowly penetrated the fog that wrapped around PJ. He wanted to just sink back into the warm embrace of darkness but there was something else, another noise that was forcing him to listen.

  “Come on, little love, open those pretty eyes for me.”

  The deep cadence of the voice that spoke was so familiar that PJ wanted to find its source. He just wasn’t sure he could open his eyes like the voice wanted him to do. It was like there were lead weights on his eyelids, forcing them to remain closed.

  “Please wake up,” that so familiar voice whispered fervently.

  The need to reassure that voice was stronger than the pull to drift back into the darkness. Pushing through the fog, PJ willed his eyelids open. It took three tries before the blinding light of the room had him slamming his eyes closed once more.

  “PJ?” There was so much hope in that voice that PJ had to see for himself who it was that spoke.

  Once more he cracked open his eyelids to peer up at the one man who had owned his heart from the moment they’d met. The one person who PJ would do anything for. “Syn.” It came out more like a whimper of sound as his throat was just too parched to force any real sound from it.

  “Thank God,” Syn whispered as if he’d been praying. Then Syn’s hand came up and cupped PJ’s face, just like he always did. The touch was so familiar, yet alien at the same time.

  PJ’s brain tried to figure out what was happening, but he just couldn’t hold a thought for more than a moment before he lost it to the fog that was creeping back over him. Even as the darkness tried to drag him back under once more, PJ strained to stay awake. He had no idea why, but he didn’t want to close his eyes in fear of Syn disappearing.

  “I’m here, little love. I’m not going anywhere,” Syn promised.

  PJ hoped that was true, for from one heartbeat to the next, the blackness that had been trying to pull him back into its embrace succeeded in doing just that.

  * * * *

  Voices filtered into PJ’s brain, waking him from the best dream he’d had in a long time. Syn had been there, holding him, telling him how much he loved PJ. After Syn had moved to New York and PJ moved back home, he’d had the dreams often, but over the years they had diminished until they had stopped altogether.

  He was tempted to yell at whoever had woken him but PJ was a realist. As much as he wanted nothing more than to sink back into his fantasy of Syn being there, it wouldn’t help PJ get on with his life. Then again, considering it had been thirteen years and PJ still wasn’t over the man, PJ wasn’t sure he’d ever move on.

  “You’ve already operated on him three times. Just how many more operations are you going to need to do?”

  PJ froze. It couldn’t be. Could it?

  “As I already explained, there was extensive damage both from the bullet wound to his knee and the impact of the fall to his ankle. We’ve had to do a lot of repairs to both areas.”

  Instantly, PJ didn’t like whoever was talking as he blabbered on about fractures, pins and blood flow. PJ had no idea most of what he said but the man’s tone was condescending. He wanted to yell for the man to shut the hell up so the other man could talk. PJ needed to know if it was Syn or if he was just hallucinating.

  “I understand that, Dr. Zari, but you also never mentioned that you would require so many surgeries in order to do your job.”

  PJ’s heart sped up, the beeps coming from somewhere nearby matching the speed. It was Syn. It had to be. But how?

  PJ had no idea but he had to see for himself. Why didn’t he think of that to begin with? He lifted his lids and sighed.

  Before him was the most gorgeous sight he’d seen in a long time. Syn stood there facing off against a man in a white coat. He was just as PJ remembered. Well, almost. He’d filled out a bit more since college, his chest broader and arms a big bigger. And his face had a few more lines, but he was still the same Syn. Fierce, unwavering, handsome.

  What PJ didn’t know was what he was doing there. Or where there was for that matter. The white coat of the man Syn w
as talking to, along with various tubes coming from PJ’s body as well as that awful smell could only mean one thing. He was in the hospital. But why?

  “Syn,” he tried to say, but his too dry throat didn’t do more than make a rasping sound that sounded more like a sigh than an actual word.

  But apparently it was enough, for Syn whirled to face him and everything else disappeared as PJ’s eyes drank him in. “PJ,” Syn whispered. One step was all it took in the small room for Syn to be there, right next to PJ’s bed.

  Warmth flooded PJ where Syn’s hand touched his. “You’re awake.” Syn’s smile chased away all the cobwebs still clinging to PJ’s weary brain.

  How could he feel tired when Syn was there? PJ opened his mouth to talk but his throat was still too dry to make any real sound.

  “Here.” A spoon with an ice chip was suddenly there.

  PJ wanted to cry out in dismay for Syn had to release his hand to offer him the piece of frozen water. But then it was in his mouth, the coolness soothing his parched throat, and PJ could only feel grateful. Another small piece of ice was offered and PJ opened his mouth eagerly.

  Then that hand was back on his as Syn put down the cup and spoon and all was right in PJ’s world. That wasn’t exactly true, for PJ understood he was in the hospital, and based on the conversation he’d been listening to, he needed surgery, but none of that mattered so long as Syn was there.

  The fact that he’d left PJ all those years ago no longer seemed to be important. Even the undeniable truth that they had no future wasn’t worth thinking about at the moment. PJ just wanted to soak in this moment. To enjoy it, for it couldn’t last. For as much as he loved this man with every fiber of his being, they weren’t meant to be together. If they had been, Syn wouldn’t have so easily left him thirteen years ago.

  It was selfish of him to want Syn there but PJ just couldn’t help himself. Too much had happened over the years. Too many nights he’d had to cry himself to sleep. First, because he mourned his parents. Then, as he fought tooth and nail to save the farm his parents had left for their children, and finally, his sister had died.

  But no matter how hard he’d worked, it hadn’t been enough. He’d been forced to sell their legacy. Forced to move his brother and sister from the only home they’d ever known. Forced to come face to face with demons so horrible PJ wasn’t sure he’d ever get past them. But none of that had been as bad as having to live day after day without the one man who had been everything to PJ.

  Yet he’d survived. Barely. But he had survived.

  So if he wanted to live in denial for a time, who could blame him? Reality would come crashing down soon enough. It always did.

  Chapter Eight

  “I said no,” PJ yelled at the poor physical therapist assigned to him. Trina wasn’t a bad person. If anything she was a saint who deserved a frickin’ medal for putting up with patients like PJ. But none of that mattered at the moment.

  PJ was in pain. A lot of pain. And the last thing he wanted was to try and bend his knee.

  “I know, but it’s important for you to keep trying,” Trina said way too patiently, considering PJ had been yelling at her for the last twenty minutes.

  PJ had been shot three times for getting involved in a mugging. Once in the shoulder, which hadn’t damaged much but would be uncomfortable as it healed. The second bullet had ended up in his abdomen and nearly killed him.

  Just knowing that, even though he was on the mend, caused PJ to pause on more than one occasion. He’d almost died. No matter how many times he tried to wrap his head around it, he just couldn’t fathom that fact.

  That second bullet had ripped through his abdomen, damaging his intestines and liver, but it was that it nicked his descending aorta that nearly had PJ bleeding out. The doctors had told him how lucky he’d been to survive. But as he once more tried to bend a knee that didn’t want to move, PJ didn’t feel lucky.

  For it was the third bullet that had caused the rehabilitation he’d be forced to endure for months. The bullet went into his knee, tearing through ligaments. When he’d fallen to the ground, his ankle had taken the brunt when it hit a brick border around a small garden. The bone had shattered and now he had enough metal in his body to set off the alarms at the airport for the rest of his life.

  As much as he grumbled about it, he knew he’d help that lady again for no one deserved to be mugged, especially since she’d been carrying her beloved pet’s ashes home after being cremated. Knowing that didn’t make his recovery any easier. “Ow, fuck,” he shouted. “Stop, just stop and leave me the hell alone,” he screamed at Trina, who just smiled at him as if he were praising her.

  “You did it!” she exclaimed like he hadn’t just been screaming in pain. “Good job.”

  PJ was tempted to hit her. One good punch so she would know what pain was might just make him feel better. Then again, with his luck, he’d end up breaking his hand and be in even more pain.

  Sagging back against the chair he was forced to be in, sweat dripped down his back, soaking into the T-shirt he’d forced Syn to bring. And that was another thing. No matter how much he pushed Syn away, the man kept coming back.

  As if he’d known what PJ was thinking about, Syn walked in with a dozen yellow roses, PJ’s favorite. “Good morning, little love,” Syn said, giving him a kiss on the forehead. “Trina, did I hear PJ accomplished his goal this morning?”

  PJ glared at Syn for asking that, yet ignoring the fact that PJ had been screaming bloody murder at the same time. He had little doubt that Syn had been outside the door during their entire session, listening in. Jerk.

  “Leave,” he said, but was ignored by not only Syn, but by Trina, as well.

  “He’s gained another three degrees of flexion. He’ll be at ninety degrees in no time,” Trina said way too cheerfully as she gathered up her things to leave. “If he keeps this up, he’ll be able to go home in another week.”

  Syn’s face lit up. “That would be great.” Then he turned to PJ. “Did you hear that, love? You’ll be going home soon.”

  “I’m not deaf,” PJ grumbled. “I heard her just fine, but apparently you can’t hear because I told you to leave.” He was being a brat but PJ couldn’t help it. As much as he wanted to get out of this hospital, he just knew it would mean he’d have to get back to reality and stop seeing Syn. PJ just wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

  But Syn just laughed. “Oh, now I think we both know I’m the one who gives the orders around here.”

  PJ silently cursed at himself for the shiver that ran down his spine upon hearing that sinful laugh full of wicked promises. He didn’t want to need Syn as much as he did, but PJ just couldn’t seem to help himself.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Trina said with a wave, leaving PJ alone with the one person who had the ability to turn PJ’s world upside down.

  Only the knowledge that Syn would only leave again one day gave PJ the courage to stand—well sit, since standing wasn’t an option—his ground. “I’m not kidding. I don’t want you here. Don’t you have a job in New York you need to get back to?”

  Firm lips that had given PJ hours upon hours of pleasure curved upward in a lazy smile that had PJ ready to melt into a puddle. “I quit. And until you’re ready to go back to work on our club, I have nowhere else to be.”

  PJ’s brain went offline at that bit of news. He swore he could actually feel the tiny flicker of hope come to life inside of him. But experience taught him the harsh realities of life and he doused it as quickly as he could. That was when the second part of Syn’s statement filtered into his befuddled brain.

  “What do you mean, our club?” That damn flame tried to ignite again, but PJ refused to give it the hope it needed to come to life.

  Syn leaned down until they were nose to nose. “The club you have been designing,” Syn said before placing a soft kiss against PJ’s lips. “It belongs to us. Or it will once you sign the papers of ownership.” Syn stated it so matter-of-factly that PJ�
��s head spun even more and he found himself swaying toward Syn for support.

  Syn didn’t hesitate to take full advantage of PJ’s weakened condition by wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close for another kiss. Already his mind had been spinning, but with Syn’s kiss, it went completely offline until all PJ could do was just feel.

  It was like being transported back thirteen years ago, except…PJ moaned as he leaned into Syn’s broad chest. He was going to melt as Syn’s tongue twined with his own in a sensual dance. This was so much better than PJ’s memories. He wasn’t sure if what he’d remembered had been dimmed over time, or Syn was that much better.

  Either way it didn’t matter, for PJ was lost and if he were honest, he prayed he wouldn’t be found. Not if it meant he was able to stay in Syn’s arms.

  Pain shot through his knee when he’d moved to get even closer. Just like that, reality came crashing through and PJ was once more reminded that this was never going to work. His life just didn’t work that way. No matter what he did, he always seemed to fail when it came to the people in his life.

  Syn moved back, concern etched into his features at PJ’s cry of pain. “Are you okay? What can I do to help?”

  That was just it. He couldn’t help. In the end, PJ’s heart would be shattered and he just didn’t know if he had the strength to pick up the pieces once more. “Please just leave me alone,” he cried, not even trying to hide the tears that were in part due to the shooting pain that was going through his knee at the moment, or if it was knowing that he could never have the one person he’d wanted more than anyone else in the world.

  “I’m not leaving.” There was no room for negotiation in Syn’s tone. No doubt that Syn would get exactly what he wanted.

  PJ envied him for that confidence. The only thing PJ had ever been sure of in his entire life was that he was going to have his heart broken. First with his parents’ death, then losing the farm, then his sister’s downward spiral that led to her death, but most of all it was losing Syn that had taught him he wasn’t meant to have a love.