by Lynn Kelling
A few moments later, though, Brennan compromised with himself. He went to the bedside and tentatively took Evan’s hand. On the bed, Evan slowly opened his eyes. At first he was foggy and didn’t react at all.
Staring at their joined hands, Brennan waited patiently, trying not to compare the moment to the times he’d spent similarly attending to his cancer-stricken mother. Then, he heard, “Bren? Thank god.” Evan’s voice cracked over the words. “It fucking hurts!”
Anxious to help, Brennan asked, “What can I do? I brought your pillow but it looks like it’s not a good time to sit you up and get it under you.”
“No, help me up. Fuck, I hate this. She laid me down to clean around the stitches after she took my temperature and blood pressure and whatever, and I need—I need to sit up.”
“Okay.” Brennan stood at Evan’s side, setting the pillow on a chair so his hands were both free. “Take my hand, let me move you. You stay relaxed and breathe. Nice and slow, okay?”
“What’s going on?” Alek asked from the doorway, coming quickly over to Evan.
“Help me get him up. I want to do it without him straining anything,” Brennan said. “Get his other arm.”
Evan clasped both of their hands and whimpered in anticipation. Jimmy was by the door, looking like he wanted to help but didn’t know how.
They eased Evan upright, bracing his back and holding each of his hands in one of theirs.
Evan screamed once. He was pale and trembling as they got the bed’s angle corrected. Soft, fluffy pillows were set behind him, including his own, the softest of them all. When it was done, he didn’t open his eyes or let either of their hands go.
Brennan listened to Evan’s broken, aching grunts, getting angrier and upset for him.
“We’ve got you, Ev. Just breathe. It’ll get better. I promise. You’re doing so well.”
“When?” he asked. “When’s it gonna get better?”
“You’ve got to give it time,” Brennan told him.
Exhaustion dragged Evan into a restless sleep. Hours later, he woke up. Brennan and Alek were still there, watching over him. Alek was asleep in a chair by Evan’s left side. Spying the object clutched in Brennan’s hands, Evan peered curiously at it.
“What’s….”
“Oh. This is for you,” Brennan mumbled, embarrassed. His sudden shyness provoked Evan to smile.
Grateful to see even a fleeting moment of happiness in his brother, Brennan only somewhat reluctantly set a furry, white bear in his hand. Its belly was embroidered with ‘Get Well Soon’. A cloth bandage was stitched to its head at a cockeyed angle. Evan’s smile grew even wider.
“It was between that and flowers, so…. You don’t have to keep it if you don’t like it.”
Tucking the bear under his arm on his good side, Evan said quietly, “I like it. C’mere.”
Brennan leaned in. Reading the warm affection in Evan’s eyes, he placed a soft kiss to the corner of Evan’s bruised mouth and pushed his fingers through Evan’s sleep-tousled hair, brushing it back. Flustered to be so close, to finally have an unobserved moment in which he had Evan awake and alert, Brennan’s gaze skittered over the angry, ugly wounds, settling on none of them.
“Thanks,” Evan whispered. “You get some rest last night?”
Brennan’s lips curled in a playful grin. “Some. Luka actually carried me to bed from the truck instead of waking me up, if you can believe that. So mortifying.”
“And? What happened?”
“Oh, I slept through until morning. Then, well….”
“Well? You know, I’m gonna have to live vicariously through you for a while, so spill. Gimme the details.”
Glancing around to see if anyone was in earshot, Brennan glimpsed Jimmy out in the hallway, leaning against the far wall. After a moment, Jimmy turned and walked away. There was no one else, but Brennan lowered his voice to barely a whisper anyway and shifted closer to Evan as he spoke.
He described everything as vividly as he could while gently caressing Evan’s skin. When he explained how he took Luka’s cock and his fingers at the same time, and what Luka hinted could happen next—what he and Alek could both do to him—there was visible heat rising under Evan’s previously pale skin, making it rosy and vibrant. It was a hopeful spark of vitality, not a side effect caused by injuries, the medication, or fever.
They sat quietly after that, holding hands.
“Do you think Jimmy suspects anything?” Brennan asked.
“Maybe, but I doubt it. Any more news from Dad? Jimmy mentioned something, but….”
“Not really. He’s trying to get here to see you.”
“Hmm.”
“What? Is that good or bad?”
Evan had no response at first. Then, he admitted, “I honestly don’t know. I don’t know if it’s worth it to see him for a few days just to have him go again, and to have to explain… this.”
“Yeah,” Brennan agreed. “Right now, the most important thing is for you to recover and rest. Everything else can wait. I don’t want you doing anything that stresses you out or makes this harder on you than it has to be.”
Brennan stroked through the junction of Evan’s thumb and index finger. Evan gazed down at the touch and while he was thus distracted, Brennan examined Evan’s fragile state. It was hard to see him there, clearly, under the bruises and physical torment. It was hard to get past the fear that no matter what he did to try to help, he was only going to cause Evan more pain.
He weaved their fingers together and placed a kiss to the back of Evan’s hand. Monitors beeped. Medication and fluids dripped into tubes hooked up to Evan as he lay there, trapped in his broken body.
Chapter 5
Afraid to Touch
Two challenging, grueling months had passed. Evan lay on his back on the hardwood floor of his room, staring at the ceiling, wondering if his sleeping patterns were ever going to be the same again. If it wasn’t the nightmares, it was phantom—or real—pain, yanking him roughly from blissful, peaceful forgetfulness.
He woke earlier than Brennan now. It started when he was still sleeping out in the living room on a chair. He would turn on the TV and try to doze off, but it never worked. The pain from his broken ribs, coupled with a healthy dose of good, old fashioned insomnia, was always too severe to allow it. Now that he was back in the comfort of his own bed, on a real mattress, it was the same damn thing. Not much sleep, lots of questions and nightmares buzzing around his head, and the near-constant noise of his discomfort.
But Evan had begun exercising instead of just lying there like a lump. Maybe that was because of Brennan too—guilt or inspiration. Evan would get out of bed and grab a set of weights from the rack in the corner, and do a few reps in an effort to improve his muscle tone and get his body into even better shape than it was in before the attack. It made him feel better to think he was gradually improving his ability to fight back, should anyone try to overpower him again.
After the free weights, he would do sit-ups and pushups. It was the sit-ups that killed him. Each one hurt him in places that shouldn’t hurt. Nevertheless, he pushed past the sharp twinges, making himself do at least as many as he’d done the day before. He even went out on runs with Luka sometimes, while Brennan stayed behind to meditate.
That was where Evan had seen the most difference—how far he could go before becoming out of breath. Cigarette free for two months, one week and six days, he battled cravings all the time but persevered. Evan could run a mile before needing to stop for a break. Luka, the dutiful personal trainer he was, made sure Evan stopped when he should, leaving him with water and a phone before continuing on for another five miles himself, then doubling back to fetch Evan for the run home.
His physical successes lifted Evan’s mood. It was a joy to take on the challenge and keep pushing for more. He didn’t love the nearly unending pain and the cravings he still had, not only for nicotine but also for the painkillers that were prescribed to him after his surgery.
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Not once had he slipped up, though. His will strengthened along with his body. If it did get to be too much, of all people it was usually Luka who Evan turned to—raging about how unfair it all was. Luka listened, and sympathized, but encouraged him to keep going anyway, like any good trainer should.
“Two hundred seventeen, two hundred eighteen, two hundred nineteen, two hundred twenty.”
Evan collapsed and clasped a hand to his side, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth when another twinge stabbed deeply into his chest, flaring out through his ribs.
“Fuck it,” he huffed, curling up toward his legs yet again, feeling his abdominal muscles clench. He did twenty more before he had to stop for good, and sprawled out, catching his breath.
Struggling to his feet, he shuffled to the bathroom. He popped his head through the doorway to Brennan’s room, and waved silently to Luka who was lying there, awake. Brennan was asleep, snoring lightly, and using Luka’s chest as a pillow.
Luka tenderly ran his fingers through Brennan’s hair, again and again, soothingly as he slept. Evan yearned for a similar kind of comfort which he knew Alek could bring, and Brennan as well.
With his body throbbing from the exercise, sweat dripping down his back and over the new, starkly defined muscles of his chest and stomach, Evan headed to the shower and told himself maybe, just maybe, today would be different. Today would be better. Today, his brother and his boyfriend would stop treating him like an invalid and would finally be willing to give Evan what he desperately craved.
Evan peeled out of his clothes and stood naked in front of the mirror. The water sprayed from the showerhead into the tub, slowly warming in temperature. He traced over the scar on his left side, just under his ribs. It was still dark and fresh, but fully healed over now. He was proud of it, but would be just as glad when it faded more. His nose looked almost the same as it always had, with only a new, slight bump on the bridge. Those were the only physical signs anything had ever happened to him. They seemed insignificant, fully surmountable.
So why, he wondered—not for the first time or the hundredth—wouldn’t Brennan or Alek be with him?
Why wouldn’t they let him press up close to their bodies in bed? Instead, if he tried to instigate more than an innocent embrace, he was met with a scolding look, grunt, or simple, sudden, noticeable tension before they shifted fractionally away.
Why did they both spurn every advance he made toward intimacy? Neither had laid hands on him for anything more than a too-careful hug or perhaps a caress of his cheek, arm, or leg.
It was maddening. It just served to remind him something was wrong with him, and made him feel guilty for being injured.
Of course, Evan knew why. He knew the answers to all of those questions. Alek and Brennan were so afraid of hurting him, it paralyzed them. They were terrified of accidentally knocking an arm against Evan’s ribs or connecting with the wrong spot and provoking that dreaded sharp cry of pain that he only let out when he was by himself, working his muscles until they burned. Though his bruises faded and his broken bones were mostly mended, when Alek and Brennan looked at him, they didn’t only see Evan as he was—healed and recovering. They saw him bloody and dying, weak and wounded.
The only action Evan had seen in months was his own hand, and only when he was sure he had privacy—either in the shower or when the others were busy. That was mainly because of the shame. They wanted him to wait until he’d been cleared by his doctors for normal activity—sexual or otherwise—but Evan felt ready. A couple of weeks before, Evan had pushed himself too hard with a run and wound up back in the emergency room, afraid he’d re-broken a rib.
He hadn’t. He was fine, just sore and sprained but, ever since, Alek and Brennan had been overly cautious. They didn’t approve of his exercising; since he could do that on his own, though, he did it anyway, without their consent. They had asked him to stop running, stop doing sit-ups and push-ups, and got frustrated with him when he ignored their pleas. Their fear for his health created space. His exercising against their wishes made the space larger. But then the old loneliness would set in. For his whole life, Evan was on his own in so many ways. He lived in a rural town, in a house in the middle of nowhere, without friends or much family. His job isolated him in a garage all day. His absentee father isolated him at home. He had no one but Jimmy—Evan’s only friend, a man who was years older than him and, in some ways, more of a father figure than his actual father. After falling in love with Alek and bonding with Brennan, Evan had hoped his days of feeling so intensely alone were blessedly over.
But, they weren’t.
Nothing was more infuriating for Evan than the guilt he saw in Alek and Brennan’s eyes when they would turn him down yet again whenever he managed, somehow, to shed any semblance of pride and ask outright for them to be with him. Evan had asked so many times, as recently as the night before.
He tried Brennan first, before Alek got home, coming up to him in the kitchen. Evan reached out and touched Brennan, caressing his arm and leaning in for a kiss—just a kiss.
“Wait,” Brennan said, sadly, after the briefest touch of his lips. He imagined Brennan’s only thought was about the stitches that had been removed from Evan’s lip weeks ago, or the remembered sounds of Evan’s cries as his bones began to knit back together. He was seeing the past, not the present, and pulled away. It felt like being stabbed in the gut all over again. He wanted to scream at his brother for not trusting him, for not wanting him enough to try. It was because Brennan loved Evan so much that he’d become so hesitant to have sex. It should have been a consolation to know he was loved that much, but the return of the old, agonizing loneliness made it hard to care. Evan knew he was being impatient and maybe a little reckless. Before, it wouldn’t have mattered.
Now, it did. Death had followed Evan home from the hospital. His brother sensed the specter waiting in the shadows, ready to pounce. Evan could see it in his eyes, a holdover from the trauma of failing to help Maggie beat her battle with cancer, knowing she was dying, just waiting for it to actually happen.
Give it time, they said. It’s going to take time. You need to heal. You know we love you.
Funnily enough, Evan knew Luka was willing to provide Evan physical relief. He’d said so himself, in passing. It sounded like a joke at the time, but later Evan had caught Luka looking at his body when he was changing clothes. That was when Evan realized it wasn’t a joke at all.
It didn’t matter. There had been rules established since Evan was discharged from the hospital for the second time. The rules now governed their four lives and prohibited any intimacy between Evan and Luka whatsoever. Brennan had privately asked Luka to promise not to be with Evan for the very same reasons why Alek and Brennan had agreed between themselves not to be with Evan, for now. Evan felt it very likely Brennan also did it out of spite and a streak of possessiveness. But, it made no real difference one way or another why Brennan did it, because Alek had essentially required Evan to be celibate until it was certain his ribs had healed.
“I won’t risk you hurting yourself. I can’t bear to see you in any more pain,” Alek often said.
Or, he’d tell Evan, “We can’t. I’d never be able to forgive myself for hurting you.”
Then there were the more straightforward commands of, “No,” “Don’t,” and “Stop.” They made Evan feel like a scolded dog, when all he’d been seeking was simple affection.
How is someone supposed to go from a life filled with an abundance of sex, to one utterly devoid of it? How am I supposed to not be hurt by them when they shut me out just when I need them the most?
It’s because they love me so much, he told himself. They got scared by the extent of my injuries and the level of my pain. Brennan can’t handle the idea of me getting hurt again, or being the cause of it, and Alek is overprotective because he cares.
It made sense, but it didn’t change the way Evan felt. Once they realized Evan was fragile, breakable, and hurting, t
he safer choice became for them to stay away. But the longer they stayed away, the harder it would be for them to try to come back and take a chance. And the longer they stayed away, the more it felt like he wasn’t a lover or a boyfriend at all, but only the old Evan from before Brennan entered his life—closed off from the world and desperately needing, with only himself to rely on. Over the past few months, so much had changed but at the same time, nothing had changed.
Evan’s shower was a quick one. He scrubbed himself clean of sweat and ran the water through his clipped-short hair before shutting it off. Without another look in the mirror, he went to his room and got dressed. A new bureau now stood beside his old one, full of Alek’s clothes since he had officially moved in. Its presence was, like Evan’s new exercise regimen, one of the rare bright points in his life. It was needed, tangible proof Alek loved him.
Leaving by the back door, Evan went outside to savor his last day of freedom before having to return to the grind of work. His long sick leave from Mike’s Garage was at an end.
This time tomorrow, he thought, hopefully I’ll be under a car or truck, getting my hands dirty—contributing, being useful. It made his heart swell and put a spring in his step. Very much sick and tired of being coddled, Evan wanted to reclaim life and grab it by the balls, whether his newfound family liked it or not.
It had occurred to Evan, though he didn’t like to think about it, it might not be his injuries that kept Brennan from wanting to be with him. Brennan might simply have decided after all what he and Evan had done—have sex—was wrong. Just the possibility of that being true hurt more than any broken bones ever could.
What if Brennan doesn’t want me anymore? What if he’s decided what we were doing was sick and me getting hurt was karmic punishment for committing incest?
