He’d wanted to apologize.

He’d intended to do it in the break room, even. Kyle had obviously made an effort, and it was only fair to let the other man know he wasn’t solely to blame. They’d both behaved poorly, and the patient suffered because of it.

But he’d been afraid of what he might say and the ways in which his temper might get the better of him, so he’d kept quiet. Somehow he’d managed to avoid Kyle for most of the morning, but when he checked in on Mr. Maynard, he fully expected a repeat of what happened with Mrs. Hartford—despite Kyle’s apology.

It had him on edge until Kyle was kind, accommodating, and respectful to the combative man. Playing the role of Stephen had seemed natural—he’d done the same thing for his mother before she passed—and yet he’d expected criticism from Kyle. Many of his colleagues believed playing into the altered state of consciousness was the same as promoting it; even discouraging lucidity.

Kyle said nothing of the sort, and the glances sent his way suggested the man was impressed and even pleased by Wes’ actions. It shouldn’t have mattered to him in the slightest, but for some reason, it did.

Then, of course, there was the matter of Mary thanking them. They’d been of equal help to the patient and his daughter, and she’d helped him see that. So too had Kyle, when he suggested a more practical solution to Mary’s inability to travel for therapy. It was something she desperately needed, and Kyle seemed to understand that on a sympathetic level.

So he’d asked the man to lunch. Not in so many words, but enough that he could find the rest later. And when Kyle finally sought him out a little after one, he tried to better explain himself.

“I was hoping I could buy you lunch. The cafeteria here is… tolerable,” he said with a small twitch of his lips, “but we can go to Rocket if you’d rather.”

Kyle blinked up at him in that innocent, adorable way that stirred a hunger within Wes—the same hunger he’d buried after that first day of working alongside the man.

Mostly buried, he reminded himself. It was possible he’d thought of that night, and what might have happened, had Kyle not been too overwhelmed to continue.

“Uh… yeah, no. No, the cafeteria is fine. Lead the way,” the man said, gesturing awkwardly.

Wes smirked but did just that, leading Kyle to a place he was sure the man had been multiple times already. Even the staff who didn’t eat meals in the cafeteria ended up there to check on orders for patients or to find a colleague who was hiding out.

The cafeteria itself was fairly empty. Most of the lunch orders had already been sent on their way, and the few doctors and nurses that sat at the tables had their attention fixed firmly on their phones.

“I know this is an impressive bounty,” he said as they made it up to the front, “but don’t bother skimping. Get whatever you like.”

That ended up being a roast beef sandwich on whole grain bread, a Caesar salad, a small dish of fruit, and a plain yogurt. Rather tame, as far as the cafeteria was concerned. Wes ordered an open-faced turkey sandwich, fries, and the same dish of fruit—along with a Cherry Coke to help keep him on his feet for the rest of the day.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a doctor?” Kyle asked, skeptical of his choices.

Instead of getting agitated by the fact that the man was questioning the nutritional value of his meal—of which there was basically none—Wes just smirked.

“That’s what it says on my coat,” he jerked his chin down toward his badge.

Kyle looked at him like he’d lost his mind, then burst out laughing. A private smile touched Wes’ lips, one he managed to tuck into a believable enough smirk as he paid for their meals and picked out a table.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Kyle asserted, freeing his sandwich from its plastic wrap prison.

“Maybe. But it gives me a chance to apologize.”

The younger man had taken a bite of his sandwich, lettuce and tomato and bread sticking out of his mouth as he stared at Wes once again. Had he really been that much of an ass that something so simple as an apology was unbelievable?

Yes. Yes, he had.

“We both failed Mrs. Hartford,” he admitted. “I should have taken more care with the order and made sure you were aware of her history from the old files.”

“You mean the files crammed into storage that haven’t been digitized or added to the current files in any way?” Kyle asked.

“Those are the ones.” Wes unwrapped his silverware packet, preparing to make inroads on his turkey sandwich. “This hospital’s systems are…”

“Ancient?” Kyle prompted.

“Prehistoric, is what I was going to say,” Wes snorted, “but ancient works too. Either way, that’s not your fault and I apologize for taking it out on you.”

The man sitting across from him carefully chewed and swallowed his sandwich, watching Wes the whole while as though he expected a sudden change of heart. When Wes just lifted his brows in question, he finally spoke.

“Apology accepted.”

Wes nodded and the two of them enjoyed their lunch in somewhat-awkward silence for a time. Both checked their phones—mostly to have something to do—and neither seemed inclined to do anything that might upset this budding truce.

There was so much tension that Wes almost physically cringed when Kyle broke the silence.

“Is… everything okay?”

He looked up from his lunch to find Kyle eyeing him with the same concern he’d shown to patients.

“You just seem like you haven’t been sleeping well,” he clarified.

It was on the tip of his tongue to fire back that he’d worked thirty-six hour shifts back to back during his residency and no one needed to fuss over him then. But he stopped that knee-jerk reaction, his brow creasing as he considered.

He hadn’t been sleeping, even though he had ample time to do so. Normally his bouts of insomnia were caused by a myriad of reasons—most of them centering around memories of Adrian—but this time there was a clearly defined reason.

In that moment, looking at the man who sat across from him, Wes made a choice. He’d offered an apology, yes, but Kyle deserved an explanation, as well.

“The day I told Sloane about our previous encounter,” he said, feeling an odd twinge at having to call it that, “he kindly informed me he’d decided to close the hospital.”

“What?!”

Kyle’s reaction was immediate, his plastic tray clattering as his silverware dropped against it. Wes shot the man a glare as the few people in the cafeteria turned to see what all the fuss was about.

“Please, say that a little louder. I don’t think everyone in Hidden Creek heard you.”

“Okay, you don’t get to snark at me,” Kyle protested, glaring at Wes. “I’m not the one who decided to spill the beans in the hospital that’s apparently closing.”

He had a point there. Wes considered their respective trays, glancing out the window. It was a nice day outside. A little too hot, probably, but at least the likelihood of the sky opening up seemed small right now. Getting ahold of his own tray, Wes pushed out his chair and indicated Kyle’s food with his chin. “Grab your tray and follow me.”

Kyle gave him a wide-eyed look, his gaze darting around as though he were the world’s worst spy. At any other time, Wes might have found it adorable. Though, who was he kidding. It was still plenty adorable.

“Are we allowed to do that?” he asked in hushed tones.

Wes looked pointedly at the bored cafeteria workers who were serving pre-cooked, pre-packaged meals to staff and visitors alike. Brow lifting, he looked back at Kyle and smirked. “I don’t know. There’s a very real chance the cafeteria police might bust us.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, though there was an amused smile still on his lips. “Is your sarcasm all you have? Because I’m beginning to wonder why anyone fears you.”

He kept himself from answering that, not wanting to be drawn back to a dark place. He knew very well why the rest of the staff was intimidated by him; why some even feared him. He’d cultivated an attitude and a way of dealing with things that protected him and his patients, and sometimes—often times—that meant deliberately pissing off the nurses and hospital workers.

Instead, Wes just shouldered the door open, holding his arm above Kyle’s head as the shorter man slipped through. The side door of the cafeteria let out to the parking lot, and specifically a part of it that rose in a small incline. It was a bit of a hike to get up the hill, but once they did, that section of the lot was separated from the road—and the other available parking spaces—by one large, rectangular-shaped planter. The planter was made of brick, and the smell of damp soil and mulch reached Wes as he set his tray down, getting the toe of his shoe wedged into the brick to help hoist himself atop it.

After a long moment of skepticism, Kyle did the same, and the men sat side by side, trays in their laps. As Wes had guessed, the midday sun was a harsh observer in their little meeting, and the oak trees rooted in the planter only helped so much.

“So why is Sloane closing the hospital?” Kyle asked, squinting against the sun as he speared a piece of fruit.

“Money.” Wes’ tone wasn’t as laced with bitterness as he thought it might be. What was there to be bitter about? It cost an exorbitant amount of money to keep a hospital running, and Tom only got so many stipends and grants. “Most of the cases that come through our doors are emergent, and there are a fair number of residents in Hidden Creek who have limited insurance—or no insurance at all.”

Kyle nodded in understanding. “So the hospital foots the cost of equipment and procedures, with no way to recuperate the loss.” The man’s brow furrowed as he ate a slice of watermelon. “I never thought one person would be in charge of that.”

“Sloane has a financial advisor, and as far as I know he talks to the county at least once a month to request help with the things we can’t cover. But the hospital still doesn’t bring in any money, and he wants to retire, apparently.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Kyle mused. “Why would he hire a new nurse if he knows he’s going to close the hospital?”

That was a very good question, and Wes didn’t have an answer for the man. “I don’t know. I’m guessing there must be more going on that he hasn’t told me about. A dispute with the county, maybe pressure to turn this place into a regionalized urgent care facility.”

Kyle audibly groaned, returning his fork to his plate as though he were disgusted with the whole thing. “Those facilities help supplement an existing hospital. They aren’t a replacement for it.”

There was no need for Wes to say anything. They both knew that to be the truth, and yet it changed nothing. Sloane had made up his mind. Hard facts and statistics weren’t going to convince him to dig himself deeper into debt. Wes had to find another way—something that would work whether Sloane’s conscience won out or not.

“I’m guessing that’s why you look like you’ve been working back-to-back, twenty-four-hour shifts,” Kyle mused.

Wes finally cracked open his soda, letting some of the carbonation settle before he took a drink. Bubbles tickled his nose, dampening his upper lip as he drank, but he hardly cared. The taste of cold cherry soda on a hot day was transportive. He was a kid again, sitting on the docks with his friends, packing as much into his summer vacation as he could before school started back up.

Caught up in nostalgia—in a time before he’d had to worry about anyone but himself—it took Wes a long moment to confirm. He finally did with a nod, and Kyle let out a sigh beside him. When he looked over at the man, mossy green eyes were sizing him up. Not with lust or agitation this time, but with an appraising look that suggested Kyle was still trying to figure out what to make of him.

“This hospital means a lot to you, doesn’t it,” he said softly.

Wes looked out over the myriad of parked cars and trucks, squinting through the glare of the sun. Hidden Creek Memorial wasn’t anything special as far as buildings were concerned. It was built out of concrete—to weather even the most brutal storms—though the county had pitched in for a brick facade when he was a boy. The bricks were chipped and sun-worn now, some of them having fallen away. So many of them had become damaged or otherwise unwieldy on the south side that Hidden Creek High participated in a project to strip it back to the concrete and paint a mural there when Wes was a junior. Every four years, the mural was retouched, and more students added to it. The last time was two years ago, and some very talented—and mischievous—kid had painted a picture of Batman and Robin of all things, in a white doctor’s coat and nurse’s scrubs respectively, with a rainbow-colored Batmobile in the background.

To this day he still had no idea what the story was behind that addition, but it had become the face of Hidden Creek Memorial, along with a potpourri of animals, people, and landscape elements.

“This hospital is everything to me,” Wes said, finally returning his gaze to Kyle.

Their eyes held, locked for several long moments. The man sitting next to him looked so painfully earnest, as though he felt Wes’ pain himself. Maybe it was just that he had something to lose in this, too. Something more practical. That had to be it, and Wes shored up his defenses, addressing that particular elephant as he went back to his sandwich.

“Sloane will find placements for everyone, if that’s what you’re worried about. If the hospital is turned into a clinic, I’m sure they’ll have space for you. If not, you’ll get a glowing letter of recommendation for a position of your choice. I know how all of this seems, but Tom Sloane is a good man.”

A good man who’d been stretched to his breaking point. It happened, and Wes had to remind himself of that all too often as he thought of those doors closing—of that mural chipping and fading away.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Kyle said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “I mean, yeah. Part of the reason I came here was because I had a job lined up, but I can figure something else out. I have a working car and the ability to move my schedule around. Not all of our patients have that. What the hell are they supposed to do if they have more than a head cold?”

Kyle’s sudden burst of passion was like a beacon, drawing Wes in. It was quite possibly one of the worst times to think about—and fixate on—the man’s lips, but something in Wes came alive at this display. He was used to the people around him just treating this like any other job. To see someone who actually understood the problem and empathized with those involved… it was a strange turn-on to have, but he wasn’t going to deny it.

“Find transportation to a crowded regional hospital, apparently. And most of those are an hour away.” Pulling the napkin out of his silverware packet, Wes dabbed at his mouth.

Kyle, meanwhile, looked at his own tray in what Wes would describe as self-righteous disgust. After a beat, he set it aside. “Why are you telling me this?” he finally asked.

Why was he telling Kyle? It wasn’t that he wanted someone to join him in his mix of fury and misery, though it was nice to have company for once. He wasn’t exactly sure, and all he said was, “I thought you deserved to know. But I’m taking care of it. I have a few ideas that might buy us some time; keep this place open.”

Kyle turned to look at him dubiously, and in doing so, the man’s thigh brushed Wes’. Heat arced through his body and his whole being suddenly became very aware of the other man’s closeness. “Okay, I say this with the utmost respect, from the bottom of my heart: You look like shit. Handling all of this on your own? It’s not working for you.”

Wes’ lips curved in amusement, an action that finally seemed to draw Kyle’s attention. The man’s gaze moved to his mouth, and Wes felt the shift when he, too, realized they were sitting close. “So you’re saying if I’d looked like this the night we met, you wouldn’t have gone home with me?”

He couldn’t help it. Maybe it was hormones stirred up by stress. Maybe it was just the opportunity for distraction. Whatever it was, Wes had decided to abandon decorum—and apparently risk fucking up whatever progress he and Kyle had made—all for the opportunity to tease the man. And oh, was it worth it. Kyle’s pale cheeks flooded scarlet, and he made a concerted effort not to look away. It was like a rabbit facing down a panther, and Wes had the worst thoughts about making a “meal” of this man.

“Probably not,” Kyle said, though his body language told another story.

His eyes were on Wes’ lips, his muscles stiff with tension, but leaning ever so slightly toward him. It was insane to have this moment outside of a hospital, during a shift, when they’d just been discussing the hospital closing. But here they were, having come full circle, and it was all Wes could do to make coherent words come out of his mouth.

“I guess I’ll have to let you help me, then. So I don’t keep looking like shit.” The corner of his lips hooked upward slowly. “Wouldn’t want to upset the patients.”

“That’s how you’re asking for my help?” Kyle asked, a slight tremor in his voice even as he smiled. “By flirting with me?”

Wes gave a slight shrug, as if to say, “guilty.” He was, after all. And the fact that Kyle was willing to call him on it just made things that much more interesting. But rather than let the other man respond, he officially confirmed by bridging that last gap and pressing his lips to Kyle’s.

It wasn’t the frenzied, passionate, forget-about-an-ex kiss they’d shared at his place, and with good reason. They knew each other better now, already well past the moment where Wes should have considered this a good idea.

But the sweetness of Kyle’s lips, the softness and acceptance he found as the man slowly returned the sentiment, was like eighty-proof whiskey downed straight from the barrel. It made him forget all of the reasons they shouldn’t do this. It made him forget the fact that they were still technically at work and anyone could see them. It made him forget the very reason he’d led Kyle out here in the first place.

The more comfortable Kyle became, the more he leaned into the kiss, every inch of his lips joined with Wes’, his tongue seeking entrance Wes easily granted. The kiss deepened and a soft, whimper of a moan caught in Kyle’s throat when Wes sucked the man’s tongue into his mouth.

That moment, that response, was enough to spook the less experienced man and he broke the kiss, looking up at Wes with glassy, lust-filled eyes that were still half closed. He cleared his throat and looked away, his cheeks burning scarlet.

“I’ll help you,” he said, his voice strained.

And then—to Wes’ amusement—he hopped down from the edge of the planter, grabbed his tray, and headed back to the cafeteria as though nothing happened.