Touch & Geaux (Cut & Run, #7)

by Abigail Roux

  Ty nodded and glanced at his lover again. Zane hadn’t said anything, but Ty knew he was processing. He’d probably come up in a week or a month or a year and want to discuss it. The thought made Ty’s smile grow warmer, and he brought Zane’s hand up to kiss his fingers.

  “Captain Turner was one badass mother, though,” Nick mused. “And now I understand why they called you Rook when we ran those missions.”

  “What did they call you?” Zane asked.

  “Ricochet.”

  “Why is that?”

  Nick shrugged, smiling enigmatically. “Couple lucky trick shots.”

  “Marine nicknames usually don’t have a lot of thought put into them,” Ty explained. “And they change all the damn time. Nick had like five. I went through about ten.”

  “Huh.” Zane glanced at Ty and smiled. “Rook, huh? I like that. It’s sexy.”

  Ty winced. It wasn’t a name anyone had called him in years. Possibly a decade. He liked the way it rolled off Zane’s tongue, but he didn’t like the echoes of the past that came with it.

  Zane leaned toward him, putting his lips to Ty’s ear. “I think I’ll stick with Bulldog.”

  Ty turned his head to capture a quick kiss.

  “Oh, stop,” Nick drawled. “I’m going into a diabetic coma over here.”

  “I find myself fascinated by it,” Kelly said as he stared at Ty. “I can’t even come up with an appropriate comparison.”

  “Stop trying,” Ty grunted. He brushed his thumb over Zane’s palm.

  They settled back to enjoy the silence of the night, something the Recon team had done so many times over the years. Silence was a commodity where they’d spent most of their time. They had learned to appreciate it. And Zane was a man who inherently knew the value of silence.

  Ty’s mind drifted over the many years they’d spent scratching and clawing their way through battle after battle. He and Nick had been together since the beginning, their promotions never more than a few months apart, their achievements linked in ways not many people understood.

  Sanchez had come next. He’d put in for Recon at the same time as Ty and Nick, and it hadn’t taken long for him to fall into step with them. The others hadn’t arrived until they’d moved up to Force Recon, and then the six of them had been inseparable until the day they’d gone home.

  And then Sanchez had come with Ty to the FBI.

  “I miss him too,” Nick said.

  Ty nodded and swallowed hard. Kelly sniffed.

  “It wasn’t your fault, you know,” Nick said.

  Ty took a deep breath, not surprised that Nick had known exactly what he’d been thinking. “He called me for help,” he whispered. “I didn’t answer it, and two days later he was dead.”

  “Ty,” Zane whispered. “Jesus, is that why you always answer your phone?”

  Ty nodded curtly.

  Zane’s hand tightened in his.

  “You wouldn’t have saved him, Six,” Nick murmured.

  Ty’s throat tightened and he looked away. He covered his mouth with his beer bottle and slumped further into his chair. Zane’s hand in his offered more consolation than their words, though.

  “Eli . . . he went out with his boots on,” Kelly said. He shook his head and took a drink. “That’s the only comfort there is in losing him.”

  “And you know what? Zane took care of it,” Nick added.

  Zane flinched, and he leaned forward to look at Nick. Nick raised his beer bottle in a salute.

  “That’s right,” Kelly said. “Zane handled that shit. Like a boss.”

  Zane barked a laugh. “Thanks. I think.”

  Ty gave Kelly an incredulous glance. “How long has he been drinking?”

  Nick shrugged. “Since we got here.”

  “He’s not climbing back down there.”

  “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘falling,’” Kelly muttered. “Falling.”

  Nick reached across Ty’s lap and tapped Zane on the knee. “We know how you handled it, Garrett. And to us, that means you’re our brother too, you know?”

  Ty watched Nick’s profile as the man settled back in his chair, throat constricting again. Nick calling someone his brother was the ultimate in acceptance from him. There was no higher honor in Nick’s mind.

  “I, uh . . . thank you,” Zane stuttered.

  Kelly leaned forward, holding his beer up. “To Sanchez.”

  Ty swallowed hard and held his beer out. Zane joined with his water bottle. The glass clinked as they each said a solemn, “Oorah.”

  “Happy birthday, buddy,” Kelly said as he stared out into the night sky and finished off his beer.

  It was over-warm and stuffy in their suite, and Zane woke up feeling half-suffocated. New Orleans in late April was pleasant after the chill of Baltimore, but it seemed the air conditioning was having trouble keeping up. It didn’t help that he was half-draped over Ty as they slept.

  He slowly extricated himself from Ty’s arms and sat up, rubbing his eyes before looking down at his lover, who lay sprawled beside him. The heavy curtains blocked the morning sun, and he could barely see Ty as he tossed and turned.

  Ty wasn’t an unusually restless sleeper, a fact at great odds with his waking hours. But now he seemed unsettled. He tossed his head and shifted his legs, a soft groan passing his lips. He rolled onto his side, his shoulders beginning the slow, rhythmic rocking that often kept Zane awake.

  Zane watched him for a few moments, wondering if it was a dream that was causing the grimace on Ty’s face. He got up to head for the bathroom, only to find Kelly and Nick both tangled on the floor at the foot of the bed. He knew they hadn’t made it back to their room last night, but they had both started on the pullout sofa. It must have been uncomfortable as hell to make them move to the floor.

  Nick was using a pillow Ty had tossed him in the middle of the night, and Kelly was using Nick’s stomach to rest his head as he snored. Zane snorted.

  He rolled his eyes and stepped over them to head for the bathroom, where he took his time, brushing his teeth, shaving, savoring the silence of the early morning. He fumbled in the dark for the pile of clothing he’d left last night and grabbed his pants to hunt for his cigarettes, remembering too late that his lighter had gone missing. “Dammit.”

  He was surprised when his fingers brushed the tip of the lighter, though, stuck down in his jeans pocket. He dug it out, and a piece of paper came wrapped tightly around it. Zane scowled as he unrolled it and held it up to the sliver of weak light coming through the part in the curtain to read the words scrawled on it. It was a phone number and the name “Liam” in small, neat lettering.

  Zane snorted. He remembered Liam’s hand at his hip. Had the man pickpocketed him just to make an impression? He’d certainly forced a memorable way of lighting his cigarette. He’d stolen Zane’s lighter, then put it back with the number around it. Impressive. And just a little flattering. Also creepy.

  Zane glanced at Ty, smiling fondly as he thought about just how riled his lover would get if he saw that note. Ty didn’t consider jealousy a part of his emotional spectrum, but it sure as hell was. Zane would always be more flattered by that than a stranger’s number in his pocket. He balled it up and dropped it and his jeans back to the floor. He’d smoke later.

  He had to navigate his way through the tangle of Sidewinder limbs on the floor to make it back to the bed. He was a little annoyed that he wouldn’t be able to greet Ty in the way he wanted, but he supposed he could sacrifice a morning of groping for Ty to have some time with his friends. If they ever woke up.

  Kelly snorted in his sleep and tried to burrow his face into Nick’s stomach, causing Nick to groan and push him away. Neither man woke.

  Ty tossed onto his side, echoing the groan. Zane recognized the signs of a nightmare. Sometimes Ty woke disoriented and dangerous. Other times he woke shaken and frightened. And sometimes he dreamt of pain.

  Zane lay back down on his side and scooted close to Ty, hoping
he might be able to get him to rest a little more without having to wake him up from the nightmare. He placed his hand on Ty’s back and rubbed.

  Ty groaned again, a louder, more pained sound as he rolled back toward Zane. He gasped in a breath, as if surprised that he’d woken, and blinked blearily at Zane.

  Zane frowned. Ty was damp to the touch, more than he would have expected even in the warm bed. “You okay?” he whispered.

  “I hurt,” Ty answered, hoarse and sleepy.

  “Is it your back again?”

  Ty nodded. He reached down to his side, his elbow jabbing Zane in the stomach as he did so, and curled up again. “Feels like you’ve been sleeping on top of me.”

  “I was sleeping on top of you.” Zane slid his hand against Ty’s forehead, surprised by how hot Ty felt against his warm fingers.

  Ty rolled onto his back again, gasping as if his pain had spiked. He kept his knees bent, curled up as if it hurt him to straighten out. He immediately rocked back to his side, not able to stay still, then mumbled something as he slid out of the bed and staggered toward the bathroom in the dark. He tripped over one of the men on the floor and stumbled, causing Nick to cry out and lurch to his feet, ready for battle. Sort of. But Ty disappeared into the bathroom before Nick had gained his bearings.

  “What the hell just happened?” Nick demanded.

  “What is wrong with you gay people?” Kelly moaned, still out of sight on the floor. “Why can’t you just sleep in?”

  Nick looked down at him. “What?”

  “Where am I?”

  Zane sat up, torn between being amused and concerned. He could hear Ty retching in the bathroom. He’d been with Ty through allergic reactions, hangovers, and hospital stays, but not an actual illness. Ty was too damn healthy for the flu. Maybe it was something he ate. Like alligator. Or drank. Like five hurricanes.

  Zane had never seen Ty so hungover he was sick, though.

  Nick ran a hand through his hair and sat on the end of the bed. They could hear Ty in the bathroom, still throwing up. “Is that Ty?” Nick asked.

  Zane nodded. “He woke up sick.”

  “Where am I?” Kelly asked again, sitting up.

  After a few torturous minutes, Ty called out to them, “Check under the pillows!”

  “You okay?” Zane called back.

  “No, just look under the pillows!”

  “For what?” Zane asked as he glanced at Ty’s side of the bed.

  “Gris-gris. Hex bags,” Ty answered, his voice laced with pain. “Look all over the bed. Under the mattress. Little felt bags!”

  “You all right, buddy?” Nick asked. “Still drunk?”

  “Shut up and help him!”

  Zane snorted and shook his head. “Nutbar. I think we would have noticed a little bag of crunchy things, as much as we shook the mattress last night,” he said wryly.

  “Oh God, please,” Kelly muttered. He raised a hand as if to ward off the images.

  “Agreed,” Nick grunted.

  Zane laughed, but he started a slow perusal of the bed.

  Ty was muttering incoherently from the bathroom when Zane found a small felt bag beneath Ty’s pillow, wedged between the headboard and the mattress. He pulled it out and straightened, looking at the little bag with a frown as he reached over and flipped the lamp on.

  “This isn’t good,” he muttered, turning it over in his hand before squeezing it to try to get an idea of the contents. It was roughly two inches by three, tied with a simple cord. It felt like a tea bag, like there was something dry and shredded inside. With a few hard chunks. It looked like the bag in the dead girl’s hand from last night.

  He heard Ty stumble, gasping for breath. He was silhouetted by the light from the bathroom, bent over, clutching his side. “What color is it?” He was completely serious, as if the color of the bag would tell him anything at all. He bypassed Kelly’s legs and lurched toward the bed.

  Zane was starting to feel a little queasy too. “It’s red. Felt, I think.”

  “Wait, someone was in here?” Nick asked.

  “Housekeeping. Had to be,” Zane said grimly. “I knew those towels were folded wrong.”

  Ty lowered his head, biting his lip as he hunched against the wall beside the bed. “Take me to the hospital,” he said. “And let me have the bag.”

  “You don’t really think . . .” Zane let the words trail off and shook his head. It didn’t matter. Ty definitely looked ill, and Zane was more convinced by that than some fantasy about voodoo curses. “All right. Can you get dressed?”

  Ty nodded, but he didn’t actually seem to be listening. He was still clutching his side when he snatched the bag out of Zane’s hand. He fumbled with the string that bound the bag, and peered in. He didn’t have a chance to examine the contents, though. He doubled over with a gasp, leaning against the mattress as his knees started to fold.

  Nick rolled over the corner of the bed to come to his side, and Zane crawled over to put a hand on his shoulder.

  His entire body was trembling, but he was taking deep breaths, trying to fight through the obvious pain.

  “Do we need to call an ambulance?” Kelly asked. He was finally fully awake, though he looked almost as rough as Ty did.

  “You’re the corpsman,” Nick grunted.

  “Well, as a trained professional, I advise we call an ambulance.”

  “No,” Ty gasped. “Fuck the shirt, just get me to the ER.” He let the bag go, leaving it on the bed.

  Zane tugged his jeans on and grabbed the first shirt his fingers touched, one of Ty’s T-shirts. He pulled it on as Nick tried to help Ty into a button-up flannel. Zane grabbed his wallet and Ty’s, then the felt bag, and nodded to Nick. “Time to go.”

  “I’ll help you get him into a cab,” Nick said. Ty threw an arm over his shoulders. “Then I’ll get the boys and we’ll meet you there.”

  “Feels like my insides are being torn apart,” Ty groaned.

  When they hit the lobby, it was relatively empty, but two of the young bellhops soon took notice of them.

  “Does he need help?” one of them asked Zane as they came toward them.

  “We’re going to the hospital,” Zane said, taking a lot of Ty’s weight onto himself as Ty bent in pain. “We need a cab or the hotel shuttle.”

  One of them turned to jog for the entryway and hail a cab.

  “Too many hurricanes?” the younger man asked with a knowing smile.

  “Bad gris-gris,” Ty muttered to him. The man hopped away from him as if he’d said he had the plague.

  “It’s just food poisoning,” Zane insisted.

  Ty growled, pulling away from Zane and Nick to stand on his own and pace several steps. He held to his side. He couldn’t seem to stay still. He would stalk back and forth and then curl as pain overtook him, then start the whole thing again.

  In a matter of minutes, the hotel’s courtesy shuttle was pulling up outside and they were on their way to the hospital. Ty rocked in the backseat, fumbling with the little red bag he’d snatched from Zane’s hand as he tried to get it open.

  “Give me that,” Zane said, taking it out of Ty’s hand and putting it in his pocket. “Let’s not scare the locals any more than we have to until we find out what’s wrong.” When the van pulled up to the emergency entrance, he climbed out of the van and reached back in to help Ty out.

  Ty gripped his hand hard and practically fell out of the van. Someone called to them, asking if he needed a wheelchair. Ty nodded wordlessly. It seemed he wasn’t going another step.

  “I know what it is, Zane,” he gasped. He looked up at Zane, and Zane could have sworn that he was smiling. “Fucking kidney stone.”

  Zane groaned and covered his face with his hands for a moment, ashamed to be relieved by Ty’s self-diagnosis. “And you know this from experience, I take it?”

  Ty practically fell into the wheelchair that was brought to him, and he leaned over and began the incessant rocking again. “Last time was like t
he most pain I’ve ever been in . . . in my life,” he told Zane haltingly. His eyes were watering; he was very nearly in tears. He was smiling, though.

  Zane leaned over and put one hand on each of the arms of the wheelchair so he could look Ty in the eyes. “Considering I know what sort of injuries you’ve had, that doesn’t make me feel better. At all.” He stood up and gestured for the orderly to push Ty inside.

  “At least it won’t kill me,” Ty replied as he was pushed away.

  Ty stared at the ceiling tile and the block of light above him. The nurse had put something he couldn’t pronounce into the IV in his arm about two minutes ago, and the space-time continuum had opened up shortly thereafter. His ears buzzed, his eyes wouldn’t blink, he couldn’t feel his extremities, and there was a low sound in the distance that might have been his own breathing.

  But he no longer hurt.

  The lady who’d taken his insurance information had promised to go retrieve Zane, and Ty was simply reminding himself to continue breathing until he got there.

  “Hey, how are you doing?” It was Zane, finally. Nick and Digger were with him, looking more bemused than worried.

  Ty turned his head slowly, his eyes focusing on Zane with what he could only consider utter contentment. “Better,” he managed to answer. “Kidney stone.”

  “Yeah, somebody’s stoned,” Digger said with a laugh.

  Zane stopped at the bedside, hands in his pockets. “Did they give you something for the pain?”

  “Oh yeah,” Ty practically crooned. He shifted on the narrow hospital bed, pulling the blankets around him to ward off the chill caused by the saline being pumped into him. There was still discomfort all through his lower half, but it was dull enough that he didn’t care. He had even welcomed the catheter they put in because it had been less painful than what he’d been going through. “They took a CT and said it should pass soon.” He held out his hand. “Can I have the bag?”

  “What bag?” Digger asked. He and Nick still hung back by the door.

  Zane looked reluctant to hand it over as he pulled it out of his pocket, pinched between two fingers.