Chapter Twenty Seven
Shannon
Combing fingers through his disheveled hair, Shannon stared at his reflection in the mirror. The harsh overhead lighting did nothing for his complexion, the orange glare making him look like an Oompa Loompa. Connie had shown up not long after Rory’s episode and sent Rand home to shower. “You smell like my abuela’s pig when he’s been rolling in shit for a week. Seriously, go wash your ass.” The outspoken agent then shoved Shannon into the bathroom with a small bag of toiletries, telling him he was only slightly less pungent, promising to stand guard over Rory while he got cleaned up as well.
Since the shooting, Shannon had hardly stopped moving and worrying long enough to sleep, much less think. Now that he was alone with nothing but his thoughts and a disgustingly bright lightbulb, the weight of it all hit him. He could have lost Rory. Blaming himself would be a moot point, but it couldn’t be helped. The fact of the matter was, Tuan wouldn’t have been there were it not for him. The murdering bastard had followed Rory and Rand back to Texas intent on silencing Shannon and Rory had been caught in the middle. Standing under the pitiful excuse for a shower head, he took advantage of his solidarity and allowed the tears to flow freely. Dammit, he couldn’t even find the strength to rejoice in the fact that Bruce Pearson, the man that made his life a living hell for so long, was now in jail. And Satan’s lapdog, Tuan, was dead.
“Enough, get your shit together. You have to be strong for Rory.” Inhaling a deep breath and exhaling just as slowly, Shannon stuffed his worry and frustration into a box in his mind and closed the lid. Once Rory was home and healing, he could take the time to dissect his emotions, maybe even take Taylor up on his offer to help him find a counselor to talk to.
The water was starting to lose heat, so he rushed through a quick hair wash, body scrub and rinse, shutting off the water and grabbing the towel the hospital provided. It was rough and itchy and reeked of antiseptic—nothing like the big, soft towels back at the loft that smelled like lavender. Rooting around in the duffle Taylor had gone to the apartment to fill and then delivered to him along with dinner the day after the shooting, Shannon pulled out a pair of sweat pants and a hoodie. He felt more like himself dressed in his own clothing instead of scrubs, inhaling the familiar floral scent wrapped in the fabric.
Pulling the door open, he padded out into the room, his bare feet chilled by the linoleum. Connie sat in the chair by the bed scrolling through her phone, looking up and smiling. “Feel better?”
“A bit,” he shrugged, leaning over and kissing Rory on the forehead. “Thanks for sitting with him, and for getting Rand to go home. Lord, I hope he decides to get some sleep while he’s there.”
They talked for a few minutes, Connie standing to leave when Claire showed up asking where her brother was. Once the two of them left he settled into the chair by the bed, just sitting and watching Rory’s chest rise and fall. Between the dimly lit room and the steady, repetitive noises from the machines, Shannon started to nod off. “Hey.” Hearing Rory’s voice, he was instantly awake, scooting to the edge of the chair and reaching for Rory’s hand.
“Feeling better, Sleeping Beauty?” Leaning over, he kissed the top of Rory’s hand. Skin soft but firm, no longer cold and clammy, his lover grinned at him lazily.
Nodding, Rory turned his hand over, lacing their fingers together. “So, tell me what’s been going on while I was taking a power nap.” Unable to stifle a laugh, he squinted, loving the sparkle he saw in the emerald green eyes that held his gaze. A nurse brought their dinner trays in, tomato soup and grilled cheese, and they talked while they ate. It was the first bit of normalcy and Shannon devoured it, happily.
“Here, come, sit.” Rory tapped the side of the bed. An orderly had collected the trays and closed the door behind him, giving them privacy.
Careful not to jostle Rory too much, Shannon curled one leg under his body and sat on the edge of the bed. “You still doing okay, need pain meds or something to drink, anything?”
“I’m good for now, but I want to talk to you about earlier, about the conversation you and Rand had.” Reaching for him, Rory grabbed his leg, so Shannon scooted closer.
Skin prickling, he could feel the rush of heat in his cheeks. “I…I thought you were asleep. How much did you hear?”
Chuckling, Rory lifted a shaking hand to his face, cupping his cheek. “Jesus, I love it when you blush.” Closing his eyes, he savored the skin to skin contact, covering Rory’s hand with his. “He told you he cares about you, about us. And he told you about the kiss in Washington that I too must apologize about. My nerves were raw and bleeding that night—it was the day we’d arrested Pearson. But that’s no excuse, I should have…”
He cut Rory off with a kiss that was just a simple press of lips; no need to delve further just yet. “You don’t have to apologize, babe. I understand. The detective is very enticing, in a John Wayne sort of way.” They both laughed. “I love you Rory, so very much, but I’d be lying if I said I’ve never looked at Rand and thought about something more with him. He’s brash, sexy, and confident, as well as infuriating and obstinate. Maybe I should be jealous, but that would be very hypocritical, don’t you think? As much as it pains me, the man has gotten under my skin, Rory. I don’t know what to do with that. I mean, how can I do anything about it and still keep you?”
“Why does it have to be one or the other, Shan?” Rory stared up at him, waiting for an answer. There was no teasing in his tone, no animosity or disdain. There was, however, a slight tinge of fear in his lover’s eyes. “Shouldn’t we define who we are, what we want, and who we want to be? And obviously the attraction between the three of us is mutual. You’ve said as much, and Rand outright admitted it.”
Reminding himself to breathe in and out slowly so that he didn’t hyperventilate, Shannon took the time to figure out exactly what he wanted to say. Rory didn’t rush him or pepper him with questions; he lay quietly, stroking Shannon’s leg with his fingers. Just the man’s touch grounded him, and he welcomed the quiet reprieve. Could they? Hell, should they? What if it didn’t work? What if Rory got a taste for Rand and vice versa and they decided to make a go of it without him? Dozens of thoughts and questions ran through his head, one question blinking like a neon sign lighting up the darkness. Why not try? For every negative thought or question, there was an equally positive query. They could. And if the three of them were in agreement, they most definitely should. Anything worth having was worth fighting for, worth the risk. Shannon thought back to the conversation he’d had with Taylor about this very topic, about considering opening his and Rory’s relationship to include Rand as well.
“I’m scared too, Shan, worried what could happen if this blows up in our faces. But me being brutally honest with you too, I feel a pull when he’s around—like a magnet, I gravitate toward him. I love you too, babe, and I don’t want to lose you, so if you say no it’s no. There is no halfway here, Shan. It’s all or nothing.” Sweat dotting his brow, Rory was starting to show signs of exhaustion.
Turning, he stretched his long legs out next to Rory’s, curling up beside him, both men sighing like a couple of old contented house cats. “Okay.” Funny how one little word could completely change your life in an instant.