Safe House

by Charley Descoteaux

  Chapter Nine

  KYLE WANTED to be able to walk in the front doors of the camp and up to his room under his own steam, but he barely made it as far as the lobby. By then his head pounded and he felt more spacey than the painkiller he’d taken earlier warranted. Hitting the rock had left him with a concussion, a couple of bruised ribs, and multiple strains, sprains, and contusions. He’d been discharged from the hospital with crutches, but his left arm was too sore to use both of them effectively. Honestly, his whole left side screamed whenever he moved, and it wasn’t all that happy even when he remained still. Nathan didn’t ask before lowering him onto one of the couches in the art room.

  “Thanks.” It embarrassed him how out of breath he sounded, but nobody remarked on it.

  “Rest here for a little while. When you’re ready, I’ll help you upstairs.” Nathan hugged him gently, and Kyle gratefully leaned against him. “Or, if you’d rather not try the stairs, we can set you up in one of the first-floor rooms for a couple of days first.”

  “No, I can make it. Thanks, Nathan.” Whether he’d be happy about the trip was completely beside the point. It was a matter of pride. Kyle was staying in room eight, so that’s where he would go. If he could.

  The next thing Kyle knew, he was waking up on the couch, sunlight streaming through the windows. A blanket and a fire in the fireplace were warming him, and for a fraction of a second, he could have been enjoying a decadent nap—but then his aching body reminded him of how lucky he was that Brandon had been there to fish him out of the river.

  Brandon.

  Officer Brandon Smith.

  Bran.

  It had been stupid to hit the river in February, and without checking the forecast, but Kyle didn’t hold it against Derek. He hadn’t held a gun to Kyle’s head and forced him to go. Kyle’s mind turned slowly, trying to piece together all that had happened the day before, but without any real sense of urgency. The doctor had said he barely had a concussion, so he expected everything to fit together in a chronology that made sense. Eventually. He opened his eyes and slowly focused on someone he saw standing in front of the fire.

  “You’re awake.” Eric approached cautiously, almost on tiptoe. “How are you feeling?”

  “A little slow and achy, but not too bad. Thanks.” Kyle considered sitting up, but let that remain on his Things To Do list a little while longer.

  “I’m glad.” Eric sat on the end of the coffee table in front of Kyle’s face. It seemed a very casual thing for him to do. Eric returned Kyle’s smile, but he looked upset, as though he were afraid or in pain. “When you’re up to it, Nathan will help you upstairs. But you can stay down here as long as you’re comfortable. As long as you’d like.” Eric reached out and lightly touched Kyle’s shoulder. “Garrett is returning your Zipcar. It should get to Portland on time, so you won’t have any extra charges. Room eight is yours as long as you want to stay.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Can I get you anything? Something to eat or drink?”

  “What time is it?” As soon as he asked the question, Kyle realized he had no idea what time he’d taken his last pain pill or even how long they lasted.

  “Oh. Yes, it’s almost time for a pain pill, if you want one.”

  “It is?”

  “Yes. Hold on. I’ll go get you one, and some lunch.” Eric stood but didn’t go right into the kitchen. He hunkered down in front of Kyle, his freckled face full of concern. “We mean it—I mean it. Stay as long as you want to, until you’re healed. Let us take care of you.” Before Kyle had a chance to reply, Eric kissed his forehead and then zipped away toward the kitchen.

  The exchange left Kyle feeling cared for, loved. It took a lot of the sting from his memory of Bran in the hospital, the way he had sounded so gruff and detached, maybe even a little angry. Every time Kyle had woken during the night—to be poked and prodded, asked questions, or given more pain medication—he’d thought about Bran. About how Kyle had gone from being overwhelmed with a numbing terror to knowing he would be okay as soon as he heard Bran’s voice over the churning of the water. Bran might be the strongest man Kyle had ever met in real life—he’d seemed like Superman when he pulled Kyle from the water and carried him up the bank to safety.

  If Kyle hadn’t already had a thing for Bran, he probably would have after that rescue. Which, going by Bran’s tone at the hospital and how quickly he’d left, was completely one-sided. Hopefully Bran would come by while he was staying at Buchanan House to recuperate and prove him wrong. If not, Kyle guessed he would be recovering from more than his injuries. Maybe it was the pain meds talking, but Kyle craved the sound of Bran’s sexy, deep voice, the sure touch of his hands, and his strength. He wanted to call Bran and ask him to come over but didn’t think he would handle it well if Bran said no.

  By then he’d thought in so many circles he had made himself dizzy. Of course Bran—Brandon—would save anyone who needed to have their fool ass dragged out of the river. I have no reason to expect anything more from him.

  So why did the words “just doing my job” hurt so much?

  Eric returned with food, drink, and a pain pill, but Kyle didn’t taste any of it. As soon as he’d eaten, Kyle asked to be helped upstairs.

  For the first seven days after the accident, he stayed in the room, sleeping and trying not to think about Brandon or the fact that he’d done a number on his entire left side—from shoulder to knee, there didn’t seem to be a single joint, muscle, or tendon that was functioning normally. Thankfully, the guys let him spend most of his waking time wallowing in a med-induced haze of self-pity until it was time to visit the clinic and have the stitches in his head removed. They didn’t let him wallow in solitude, but despite his sporadic protests, Kyle didn’t really want to be alone so it worked out fine.

  By then he’d already called and quit his job at Puddle Jumper. When Jasper had pressed him about when he would return, Kyle had lost it. He hadn’t yelled or used any of the foul language he had been tempted to throw at Jasper in the past, but he had made a veiled threat to expose the way Jasper had hinted that Kyle could be head chef if they slept together. At least he thought it was thinly veiled. The whole conversation felt even better than he had thought it would—as freeing as riding in the kayak had been while they’d been on the calm lake and any danger had been purely abstract. He had no idea what he would do once he left Buchanan House, and he knew he would have to figure something out—sooner rather than later—but he couldn’t bring himself to get worked up over it. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d started over, and when he’d left the tech world behind he had ended up happier for it. He would find a new restaurant, or a cube farm, or maybe pursue one of his newer ideas. One in particular seemed inordinately attractive, but he didn’t have the heart to seriously think about it at the moment.

  In the meantime he had physical therapy to contend with and a slightly sadistic therapist named Mary Jo. She pinged his radar like mad and could probably break him in half if she wanted to, but their conversation hadn’t veered too far into the personal. Manipulating the whole left side of his body seemed to keep her mind occupied enough without him having to supply too many details, although given his chauffeurs, it probably wouldn’t take a genius to figure him out. Even if, as he’d been told, he didn’t always blip hard on everyone else’s gaydar.

  The crew at the camp had two cars between them, Nathan’s and Paulie’s, and just about everyone had taken a turn driving Kyle to his physical therapy appointments—but Derek had done it the most and had never missed a chance to apologize. Kyle had been going three times a week, mainly to work on his knee, hip, and shoulder. Basically, he’d been twisted just enough by the current that being slammed against the rock several times had pulled and stretched things that weren’t meant to be pulled and stretched—at least not in those directions. His physical therapy sessions were painful at first. Kyle accepted help out to the car afterward despite being embarrassed that he was drenched in sweat, and tha
nkfully none of the guys mentioned it if they noticed any additional moisture on his face.

  After the first four weeks, physical therapy got much easier, but that was the only thing that did. Bran had stopped in every few days, for reasons that sounded made-up. They hadn’t talked during any of those visits, though, not beyond hello and “How are you feeling?” which was frustrating as hell. Kyle didn’t know what to think—did Brandon come to see him, or did he really have business with Eric and Nathan?—and was just fuzzy enough that he couldn’t figure out how to get Bran alone to really talk to him. Once or twice Kyle thought he saw a spark of interest in Bran’s eyes, or heard a subtle lowering of his already husky voice, but then someone would enter the room or Bran would shut down for reasons Kyle could only guess at. Kyle was starting to dread those visits, because he didn’t want to see Officer Brandon Smith, he wanted to see Bran. He wanted to talk to the man who’d checked out his ass on the beach and flirted with him over dinner. The whole situation was exhausting and made Kyle feel like an awkward kid or a doddering old fool, depending on the day.

  Kyle had started to feel a little stronger after each physical therapy session, and the temptation to double up on his pain meds had all but disappeared. Eric and Paulie had even let him help in the kitchen a few times—things he could do sitting at the island, like chopping vegetables and herbs and shaping dough for rolls and desserts. He gave another thought to hiding behind some form of self-medicating the afternoon Alex met him in the lobby twirling Paulie’s car keys around her finger.

  “Hey. All ready to go?” She sounded cheerful, but her posture and expression brought the word guarded to mind.

  “You drew the short straw today, huh?” Kyle immediately regretted saying that, but when her only reaction was to shrug and head for the front door, he discarded the idea of apologizing.

  Alex made the short drive in silence, held the door to the clinic open for him, and parked herself in the reception area with Derek’s Nook in hand. That day’s session turned out to be as grueling as any in the first week—apparently the range of motion in his knee wasn’t increasing as fast as Mary Jo had hoped. Either that or she was taking out some of her more serious frustrations on his joints. When he made it to the end and reached the reception area, Alex jumped to her feet and seemed genuinely concerned.

  Kyle would have been happy to sit awhile, but he wanted to get back to room eight first. He didn’t think he could keep it together for long in front of an audience or without a pill or two. As soon as they sat in the Volvo, Alex turned and studied him.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Rough appointment today, huh?”

  “Yeah. Therapist isn’t thrilled with how my knee’s coming along.”

  “That sucks. We thought you’d be at the easy part by now.”

  Alex was still studying him, so when he glanced in her direction his gaze caught on hers and held.

  “I should probably be getting back to Portland.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Alex sighed. She sounded frustrated. “It just should be getting easier and not harder, right?”

  “If this had happened twenty years ago, or even ten, I probably would have bounced back a lot faster.” Kyle grimaced. “But back then I was smarter and avoided physical activities unless they involved dancing. Indoors.”

  Alex still hadn’t put the key into the ignition, still looked as though she was trying to read something in his expression or maybe his mind. “What do you mean, ten or twenty years ago? How old are you, anyway?”

  Kyle chuckled softly. “Forty-seven.”

  “No shit?” She was either honestly shocked or a great actress.

  That never gets old.

  “No shit. I’m literally the old man of the group, which is why Derek calls me that.”

  “Old man?”

  “Yeah.”

  Alex turned in her seat, leaning an elbow on the steering wheel. She seemed to be settling in for a conversation. Kyle wondered if he should suggest they could talk while she drove, or if it would be best to just go along. She didn’t have a reputation for being high maintenance, but Kyle didn’t want to end up on her shit list indefinitely.

  “I didn’t know he called you that. That’s pretty harsh. I thought you were Nathan’s age, maybe Paulie’s, tops.”

  “Not harsh if it’s true.” Kyle smiled, and it almost felt like an actual smile and not a grimace. “And thanks.”

  She grinned. Sort of. “You’re not mad at him, are you? He’s still beating himself up over getting you busted up.”

  “Derek? No. Why would I be? I could’ve said no, but I wanted to hang out with him—” A beat too late, Kyle interrupted himself before he could say he wanted to hang out with Derek alone.

  “As in, without me.” She shrugged and looked out the front windshield. It had started to rain, but not very hard. “Guess I don’t blame you. I haven’t exactly been sweetness and light to you.”

  “Guess I don’t blame you.” He thought about how much to say and decided to go for broke. If worse came to worst, he could always blame the pain or the drugs. “If I knew the one I loved was still friends with someone he’d spent a lot of time naked with, I probably wouldn’t be lining up to be the guy’s best friend.”

  “Wow, way to put my mind at ease, Shimoda, reminding me about all the nakedness. You ever think about becoming a psychologist?” Alex’s teasing grin made Kyle want to laugh out loud. Finally he’d gotten through her defenses in a good way.

  “Not really. But I am in the market for a new career, since I ditched Puddle Jumper.”

  Alex slipped the key into the ignition but didn’t start the car. “Are you taking suggestions?”

  “Sure. Lay it on me.”

  “Um, yeah….” Alex raised one eyebrow and gave him the side eye. “Funny you should say it like that. I was thinking you could be the masseuse. At Buchanan House. Um, I mean, masseur.”

  “Massages with happy endings?”

  “If you wanted to—but I don’t think you’ll be free to make that decision for yourself.”

  “What?”

  “I know, you cultivate the image of a carefree man-slut, but nobody’s buying it. If you stay on, you’ll be around when Brandon realizes he’s being a dumbass and admits to himself that he wants you.”

  Kyle blinked, his face pointed at the front windshield but his focus on Alex. What she’d just said. Could it be true?

  “Don’t try and tell me you don’t know he’s been inventing reasons to drop in and see you. I don’t believe you’re that dense. And you’d have to be, because he’s so obvious.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t really know him. If he was interested, maybe he would be overt about it.”

  “Like following you up to your room like a lost puppy?”

  Kyle whipped his head around and watched as a blush crept up Alex’s neck and colored her face. Just as fast, it disappeared.

  “Yeah. Everyone knows.” Alex shrugged, like it was no big deal that everyone knew he’d hooked up with Bran.

  Okay, why would it be a big deal?

  “And since you don’t know him very well, you probably also don’t know that before the setup, he’d only come inside the camp building once—to have lunch with Eric. The guy’s invested in the fantasy that he’s closeted. Or maybe he’s just afraid to get his heart broken again. Since you are too—afraid, not closeted—I’ll give you a pass for being so dense. Why do you think he’s so detached and professional around you? You scare the shit out of him.”

  “You know him pretty well?”

  “Sort of. I watch, and I listen.”

  “And you have good instincts.”

  Alex grunted. It might have been a question, so Kyle answered it.

  “You and Paulie are friends. He was the one you gravitated to in the group. That you’re closest to my two best friends tells me a lot.”

  She started the car, and Kyle took the opportunity to study her the
way she’d studied him. Alex Patton had grown up a lot since he’d first met her. Her body hadn’t changed much—she was still willowy—but her face had lost the last of its childhood roundness. She’d matured into a striking young woman with smooth, clear skin, high cheekbones, sultry dark eyes, and long, shiny hair. If her speech was occasionally peppered with language that would make a sailor blush, that only added to her appeal as far as Kyle was concerned. He’d been jealous when Derek had started up with her, but only because he missed his best friend and wanted someone to love himself. Derek had found his other half in an improbable place, which gave Kyle hope. He didn’t want to think it was too late for him, but that wasn’t getting any easier as the years passed.

  “So great minds think alike. Is that it?”

  Kyle chuckled. “I wouldn’t have put it that way, but sure.”

  Alex grinned and put the car in reverse. “Okay.”

  “Thanks for driving me to my appointment today, Alex.”

  “You’re welcome.” She eased out of the parking space and shifted into drive but didn’t go any farther. She seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. “I volunteered to do it a couple of weeks ago, but apparently you weren’t strong enough then.” She grinned at him and drove toward the street.

  He couldn’t help it, he laughed. It didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would—apparently his bruised ribs had finished healing even with Mary Jo’s delicate touch. It felt wonderful. A real laugh, not an embarrassed chuckle or a drug-fuzzed giggle. It felt right that Alex was the one who helped him get the feeling of being a regular person back again—someone with a life to look forward to and not only another in a seemingly endless stretch of physical therapy appointments. The one who yanked him out of his own head long enough to see that his life might have been on hold for a while but was still there waiting for him. Kyle wasn’t sure what he thought of Alex’s assessment of Brandon, but her career advice was definitely sound.

  Masseur? Massage Therapist?

  Definitely masseur. Much sexier.