by Christi Snow
Wait a minute.
Ryder’s eyes flew open. Why the fuck was Stig here? Last he remembered, Stig had shunted him off after arriving home from Vegas, making it clear that his life had no room for him now.
He pulled back gently, taking in the man lying fast asleep in his bed. Definitely Stig. He looked younger in sleep...more innocent and vulnerable with the lines of stress eased from his face. Those dark lashes lay against Stig’s high cheekbones, his morning scruff a dark shadow across his jaw. Ryder’s chest clenched.
Despite all the warnings, he’d fallen hard for Stig. Even knowing that Stig had unceremoniously dumped him when they returned to town, he couldn’t find a shred of pride to pull him out of this bed. If this moment was all he could get, he’d take it.
Even looking at him hurt, though. The details of what happened since arriving home were vague, but the lingering emotions were not. Loss...huge, devastating loss consumed him, tightening his chest, making him want to flee from the pain of it.
Stig’s eyes opened slowly. He met Ryder’s gaze and then lifted his hand to cup Ryder’s cheek. “You look like you’re feeling better.” His voice sounded scratchy from sleep. “Do you remember who I am? Are you here with me?”
“Yeah, you’re Stig, and I’m pretty much here,” Ryder answered in a quiet voice. “Either that, or I’m having a phenomenal dream. If that’s the case, don’t wake me up, okay?”
“No worries. You’re awake. Not dreaming.”
“How’d you get here?”
Stig frowned and tilted his head, his hand still on Ryder’s face, something that he was completely okay with. He could happily stay within Stig’s arms forever. But that wasn’t real, was it?
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Stig asked.
Ryder concentrated on his memories although those made the lingering pain in his head throb even more. “The evening after we got back from our trip. I was here, working in my studio on the photos from the wedding. I thought I’d managed to get on top of the migraine, but obviously not.” His body now gave him signals that this migraine had been a particularly vicious one. He wasn’t looking forward to moving and seeing just how bad the aches and pains in his body truly were. “How long ago was that?”
Stig leaned up and brushed his lips across Ryder’s throbbing forehead.
The delay in answer gave Ryder a bad feeling. “How long?”
Stig pulled back with a deep sigh of regret. “A little bit over a week.”
Ryder froze. “What?” he whispered. How could he have lost that much time? He’d never lost more than a day before...except when he’d been hospitalized after overdosing.
He jerked back from Stig in panic. “What did I do? What happened?” But his tired, sore muscles cramped and seized, folding him over with a moan. “Ow!”
Stig wrapped his arm around Ryder’s back. “What is it? Is it your head?”
Ryder breathed through his mouth and slowly unfolded his body. “I hurt everywhere. Muscles...cramping...” Slowly he was able to sit up straight to find Stig pale and watchful. “Why am I so sore? What did I do?”
“As far as I can tell, you’ve just painted. A lot.”
Ryder looked down at his hands. They looked like a painter’s palette, covered with multiple colors and splatters.
“But you’re probably dehydrated, too. You’ve lost a lot of weight, so I’m guessing you’ve been sick a lot.”
Yeah, that was a good bet. The migraines usually brought on horrible nausea and vomiting, and his sore stomach muscles seemed to support that.
“Why are you here? What time is it? Where’s Cari?” He relied on Cari taking care of things when his migraines hit. He was so confused. How had it been a week? He thought he’d reached the worse of his brain issues, but this was a terrifying new development.
He couldn’t breathe. Spots swarmed into his vision.
Stig’s hold tightened on his back, reaching around to rub up and down his arms. “Calm down, Ry. It’s going to be okay. Breathe slowly...in through your mouth...out through your nose.”
It took way too long, but finally, the spots receded from the edges of his vision. Now, his eyes filled with tears. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” Stig’s voice sounded as shattered as Ryder felt. “We’re going to sort this all out. I promise. But right now, you need to relax a little bit. Let’s get you out of bed.” He gently tugged Ryder across the bed to the side. “How about a quick shower? Just getting clean will help you feel better, then we’ll sort everything out, and we can get you something to eat and drink.”
He nodded. “That sounds good.”
“Let me go get your wheelchair. I think it’s in the studio.”
“It’s okay. If you can help to make sure I don’t fall, I think I can walk.”
Stig hesitated for a moment before he scrambled out of bed and offered a hand to prop Ryder up around the waist. He gratefully accepted. But instead of just helping, he practically picked Ryder up.
Ryder chuckled. “While I can appreciate your very nice show of manliness, I think I can handle myself.”
“Sorry.” Stig loosened his grip.
Ryder almost hated that he’d said anything. Being that close to Stig had been nice, even if it did prove just how weak he was.
They slowly shuffled to the bathroom. His legs shook with the exertion, and he leaned heavily against Stig’s side.
Stig propped him up against the sink while he started the water in the shower. Then he turned to Ryder and reached for his shirt.
Ryder batted his hand away. “I got it from here.” The last thing he wanted was Stig bathing him like some sort of toddler in danger of drowning.
Stig stilled, his fingers still gripping the bottom of Ryder’s shirt. Their eyes locked, and Ryder could see the worry in Stig’s expression.
“Are you sure?” Stig’s voice deepened.
That tone and their close proximity had Ryder’s cock perking up.
“I don’t mind helping.” Stig palmed his cheek again.
The compassion and caring in that touch threatening to break him.
Ryder wouldn’t mind Stig helping, either, if it was about something sexy instead of the pathetic task of holding him up because he couldn’t do it himself. He had no idea what happened in the last week, but last he remembered Stig had pushed him away. For now, Ryder needed to keep that foremost in his mind until he knew how Stig had gotten here.
He pulled away from Stig’s reach. “I’m positive. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” He nodded his head toward the door, signaling for Stig to leave.
Stig stood beside him for a beat more before he gave a sharp nod and gently cupped his shoulder. “Okay, but I’m just outside that door if you need me. Just yell.” He left, closing the door behind him.
Ryder sagged, his energy completely depleted from just barely crawling out of bed. Pathetic. He wearily stripped off his clothes and then sank into the shower seat already installed in the tub, reveling in the hot water coursing over his battered body. The threat of Stig coming in and finding him slumped against the tile wall was the only thing that spurred Ryder to soap up. Luckily, exhaustion had taken care of his erection without him having to mess with it.
Fifteen minutes later, he was out of the tub, dried, with a towel wrapped around his waist. He’d forgotten to grab some clean clothes before coming in and couldn’t stand the idea of putting on the filthy clothes he’d been wearing before. He slipped out the bathroom door, hoping Stig would stay in the main parts of the apartment until he got dressed.
The shower had reinvigorated him, and he already felt a bit stronger. While it would be better—and more stable—to walk with his cane, he didn’t have it, so he kept a hand anchored to the wall to keep from falling.
He startled as Stig reached a hand around his waist. He’d been concentrating so hard on maintaining his balance; he didn’t hear Stig come up behind him.
Stig’s palm re
sted on the bare skin on his hip. He froze as the sensations overwhelmed him...Stig’s minty scent, the touch of his warm, calloused palm, the hard press of his muscular chest at his side. Ryder closed his eyes as his erection punched forward to form a huge tent in the front of the towel.
“Stig, I got it,” he bit out through gritted teeth.
“You know,” Stig rumbled low, his breath whispering over the shell of Ryder’s ear, sending a full-body shiver down his spine. “If you fall, it’s probably not going to do good things to your head. Just let me help.”
Ryder turned and met Stig’s gaze—the pleading, compassion-filled expression that hurt to look at because of the one thing that was missing. Stig wasn’t overwhelmed with lust like he was. He just wanted to help. A punch to the gut would be kinder than that knowledge. Stig was completely over him.
Ryder would rather suffer another concussion than be in this position. Turned on. Horny. Rejected. “Hands. Off,” he growled. He’d reached his limit. “Follow me if you must,” he bit out, “but don’t touch me unless I’m about to face plant on the floor.”
Stig let go of him. “Ry...” The tone of his voice sounded hurt.
Ryder couldn’t feel guilty about that. He ducked his head and shuffled toward his room, one hand firmly planted on the wall—anything to keep Stig from touching him again. He just had to get through the explanation as to why Stig was here in his house, invading his space. Then he’d get him to leave, so he could sulk in private.
When Ryder breached the door of his bedroom, he turned to Stig. “I made it this far. I can dress myself. While I’m doing that, why don’t you go get my wheelchair?” He should have shown his weakness earlier and let Stig go get it when he originally offered. “We’ll both be happier for it.” He shut the door in Stig’s face, ignoring the glimpse of pain that flitted through Stig’s expression.
Ten minutes and multiple fumbles later, Ryder reopened his bedroom door and found his wheelchair there. He wearily sank into it and turned it toward the kitchen of his apartment where he could hear Stig banging pans.
Stig lifted his gaze from the stove when Ryder came in. He did a quick scan to make sure Ryder was still all in one piece and then turned back to the stove.
“What are you making? It smells amazing.” The aroma of fried onions had his mouth watering.
“Chicken cheesesteak. I’m assuming your stomach has calmed down. Right?” He flicked a quick glance at Ryder.
He nodded. “Yeah, just hungry.”
“I figured. There’s crackers and milk on the counter to give you something to line your stomach with until this is done. It shouldn’t take too long.” Stig opened the oven door, and Ryder glimpsed buns toasting under the broiler.
“Wow, why haven’t you been cooking for me all along? Who knew you were so handy?”
“Everyone has their moments.” Stig seemed to be concentrating on the pan in front of him, so Ryder searched the surfaces of his apartment for clues about what had happened. It looked like it always did...although there was a small pile of mail that probably needed attention.
“Did Cari quit?”
“No.” Stig opened a few cabinets, found the plates, assembled their cheesesteaks, and then met Ryder’s gaze. “She’s in the hospital.”
Alarm skittered through his veins, but before he could ask the question, Stig gave him the answer. “You know she’s pregnant?”
Ryder nodded even as his eyes filled with tears. She’d been so excited about this pregnancy. “Did something happen to the baby?”
“No, no, nothing like that. She’s just had a worse time with the morning sickness than most. She got severely dehydrated. They’re keeping her there for a few days to rehydrate her and to get her system back on track. I talked to Oliver a few hours ago. They’re trying a new medication for her, and so far, it seems to be helping.”
“But the baby’s okay, right?”
Stig gave him a wan smile. “Yeah, it’s fine.” He nodded down to the plate he’d pushed in front of Ryder. “Eat, and I’ll explain everything else after you have some food in you.”
Everything else—like how he’d lost the last week of his life to the mess in his brain. Suddenly, the food wasn’t quite as appealing as it had been before. But regardless, he dug into the sandwich. There was no doubt his body was depleted which just added to his fatigue. He could see it in his jutting hipbones during his shower, the sunken hollows of his cheeks, and feel the gnawing emptiness to his stomach. He needed fuel.
As the mix of melted cheese, grilled chicken, toasted sesame seed bun, and onions hit his tongue, he moaned. “Oh my god, this is so good.”
Yeah, he was definitely hungry, and nothing had ever tasted as good as this sandwich did. He quickly shoved another bite into his mouth, closing his eyes at the euphoric flavors.
He was halfway through the amazing sandwich before he realized Stig had been suspiciously quiet. He glanced across the counter to the man who stood on the other side.
Stig’s eyes were wide, his mouth hung open a little bit, and a flush had risen up his cheeks.
Ryder set his sandwich down and frowned. “Are you okay?”
Stig shook himself as if just becoming aware. “Um...yeah.” He ducked his head as if embarrassed. “I think I’m going to have to cook for you more often. I had no idea that food could be so...” His cheeks blushed an even brighter red. “Umm...arousing.”
Ryder didn’t know how to take that. He snorted. “Watching me eat worked for you? That’s just wrong.”
“Hey,” Stig scolded. “You were the one making all the pornographic noises and wearing the exact same face you do when you orgasm.”
Now it was Ryder’s turn to be embarrassed. His face heated. “Sorry.”
“No.” Stig’s voice was deep and scratchy with arousal. “Don’t ever apologize for something like that. I like to see you appreciate my food. It’s good, really good. Now, keep eating.”
But during the break between bites, Ryder’s food had settled enough to know he was completely stuffed. His stomach must have seriously shrunk over the last week. “I’m actually full. So, why don’t you explain how you ended up here? The last thing I remember is being at your house after coming back from Vegas, and you didn’t want to be a part of my life anymore.”
Stig blew out a breath. “First, you need to know that since we’ve become friends, there’s never been a moment when I didn’t want you in my life.”
While those were the words he wanted to hear, they didn’t match how Stig had acted when they got home. This wasn’t pity, was it? Because Ryder’s brain had glitched big-time when they got home? “But—”
Stig held up a hand. “Hang on. I know how I acted when we got back from Vegas, but there’s a reason, and I fully plan to explain that to you. But first, I want to move this kind of backward and tell you why. The last week, while you’ve been out of it, I’ve been in contact with Cari. She came to me a few days after we got back. She actually brought me a series of paintings that you’ve created since you got home.”
Ryder frowned. What the fuck? He never ever let Cari see his paintings. Why the hell would she have violated that boundary, and then taken it a step further and given the paintings to Stig? That was a complete and total betrayal of his confidence. How could she?
“She wanted me to see just how far deep into your head you’d gone, and she was worried about you. From what I understand, you don’t normally get this bad.” Stig tilted his head in question.
“No.” He cleared his voice as it cracked on the word. “I’ve never lost more than a day...twenty-four hours at the most.” And that brought up a point. He wasn’t exactly sure how much time he’d lost. “What’s the date?”
Stig frowned as he thought. “Um, December fourth, I think. Monday.”
Fucking hell. They’d gotten back into town on Saturday, November twenty-fifth. He’d lost eight days in the interim. How was that possible? His limbs shook at the possibility of what that could mean. Would
he get so lost in his head that someday, he wouldn’t find reality again?
Stig grabbed hold of his shaking, trembling hand and gripped it tight with one fist. He tilted Ryder’s chin up with his other hand. “I know it’s scary, but relax. You came back. You’re fine right now, and I have a lead on a new treatment that I think can help.”
A new treatment? No, another avenue of false hope. It was too late for Ryder to get better. The damage to his brain had already been done and set. There was no coming back from this. But looking at the hope in Stig’s gaze, he couldn’t be the one to shatter it.
Instead, he refocused their discussion elsewhere. “Why are you here, Stig, when you made it perfectly clear we were over?”
Stig looked away for a moment. His skin paled. “I know who trashed my apartment. It was the Dom...”
The pieces fell into place for Ryder. The same powerless rage that crept over him the night he’d watched over Stig’s wounds was back in full force. “The guy that hurt you? The one you didn’t report to the police?” Anger built under his skin, needing a way out. If Stig had reported that crime then, this never would have been an issue.
Stig swallowed hard but met Ryder’s gaze. “Yes. He’s obsessed, dangerous, and doesn’t care who knows it. He didn’t even try to hide his identity with my house. There were fingerprints and DNA everywhere.”
“DNA?”
“Yes...semen...and blood...and fecal matter. He’s come completely unhinged.”
Unhinged with an obsession for Stig. Ryder was starting to get the picture of what Stig had been thinking. “You were trying to protect me.”
It wasn’t a question, because even as he said it, he knew he was exactly right. Stig had pushed Ryder away to protect him. Damn him. He was a full, grown-ass man. He could protect himself. He didn’t need Stig doing it for him, but one part of his heart melted at the idea that Stig wanted to protect him, to keep him safe. That meant he hadn’t stopped caring.
Ryder stood on still shaky legs and rounded the counter to where Stig stood, looking down. He lifted Stig’s chin so he could see his eyes. “You stupid, foolish man.”
