One week ended up being a damn week and a half. Brian rubbed his eyes and checked his computer monitor time display for the fifth time in fifteen minutes. They’d been in the office every night, waiting like firemen anticipating an alarm. Every time the phone rang, they jumped, praying for it to be Chef LaRoy. Their gear was packed in the truck daily, so there’d be no delays. From their office they could be to the hotel in nineteen minutes. However, the waiting was tiresome. Brian wasn’t second-guessing his strategy, but after a week of nothing, Duke told them to dig harder into their backup plan, just in case. Which was trying to find who was helping their skipper inside the hotel. Comping room rates and meals. Which meant cross-referencing their asses off. Which meant, Brian wanted to stab toothpicks under his fingernails. Just call already! At least he didn’t have to put up with that rude-ass bond agent they were catching this prick for anymore. When Duke had found out how he’d treated Brian, he’d told the man not to call them—he’d call when they had his guy—and especially not to disrespect and harass his staff.

Brian was cranky. And damn if he didn’t miss Sway like crazy. Missed his touch and his unique communication. The time he’d spent with Sway had him spoiled. He missed the conversation when it was gone. Hadn’t realized he’d wanted it so badly until he’d gone without it for so long. He’d gotten used to his silent existence. Working with the guys and even hanging out with them was cool, but his brother was the only one who understood him. Yeah, they talked and did the brother thing to the fullest, but Ford wasn’t all that chatty. Dana couldn’t hold a full conversation, though it was always entertaining when he tried. Now he had this amazing thing maturing with someone he found pretty damn amazing… and his job was stalling it.

Sway had texted him several times asking if Brian had a certain time frame during the day available and it’d always been, ‘no’. Duke had them on this case in the evening and still handling the day-to-day business until late afternoon. It was gruesome, but Brian could see the light at the end of the tunnel. He was going to have all the time he wanted real soon. In the meantime, his and Sway’s relationship had been reduced to lots of texts and ‘wish we coulds’, and one late night video chat that had left Sway way too tired for his shift the following morning.

Brian balled up a piece of paper and slammed it onto his desk. That thought pattern was going nowhere. He yanked another clean sheet out of the tray and started again.

“That time of the month, B?” Dana chuckled from the other side of the office.

Brian flipped him off. He bet Dana wasn’t confused what he meant by that sign.

Ford spun in his chair. He appeared no better than the rest of them. Ford tried to throw an inconspicuous wink at his partner, but Brian missed very little. When Ford turned back to him he asked, “If we ever get our nights back. Come over again. It’s been a minute. Dana can cook a masterpiece and you can bring your nurse.”

Brian glared at his brother and signed angrily. “You act like an ass to him and it’ll be me and you.”

Ford tilted one side of his mouth, his salt and pepper beard so overgrown it was hanging past his jawline. “Been a while since we did that too. Think you can take me? Never could before.”

Brian couldn’t hold his intimidating glower anymore and grinned at the thought of him and Ford, going pound for pound like they’d used to. “I’ll bring him. But no grand inquisition. Don’t ask stupid shit, like, if he’s ready to settle down.”

“I wouldn’t ask that. Do I look like your goddamn father—?”

Brian scoffed, “Yeah, you do actually with that big ass beard. Just like him.”

“Fuck off.”

“Are you gonna help cook? Did you ask Dana about a group dinner before committing him to cooking for it?” Brian stared at Ford then looked over at Dana. He was watching him intently, trying to catch any sign he knew.

“What was that sign after cook, B. I didn’t catch that?” Dana moved his hands awkwardly, then made some sign that Brian had never seen before.

“Babe, stop.” Ford chuckled deeply, then turned back to Brian. “Dana was the one that suggested the dinner.”

“Oh. Okay then.”

“What’s okay?” Dana said. It was clear he hated it when they left him out.

Ford ignored his boyfriend and started signing. “You’re always sticking up for him.”

“Because that’s my dog,” Brian said.

“You my dog too, B!” Dana blurted loud as hell, mouth stretched wide, seeming happy he’d caught that one bit. “And why are you both signing? Knock it off. It’s hard enough following you, Brian.”

Ford put his hands up defensively still disregarding Dana. “I don’t only make him cook, I treat him too. He just likes cooking so I let him. It’s a hobby since he’s gotten so good at it recently.”

“Has he?” Brian inquired, staring at Ford, hoping his brother wasn’t slipping in his skills now that he was in love. No one turned into Bobby Flay overnight. “I hope he keeps it up.”

Ford turned towards his computer, blocking Dana. Signing for only Brian to see. “Yeah. And I hope Trader Joe’s doesn’t discontinue those pre-pack meals he’s using.”

Brian reared back in his chair and exploded with laughter. I knew it! His brother had to know. When he sat up, Ford and Dana were both staring at him—at his mouth—with shocked expressions. Brian shrugged, then signed, “What?”

Ford watched him then slowly raised his hands to speak but chose to voice his words instead. They were rough and throaty. “I haven’t heard you laugh that loud in almost six years, Brian.”

Brian turned his head, not able to look at the optimism he saw in his big brother’s eyes. “It was a just a laugh.”

Dana was standing now. “No. That was loud as hell, B.”

“Could you hear it?” Ford frowned.

“And what was so freakin’ funny, anyway?” Dana glared.

Brian waved him off. Of course, he heard it, but it was nothing. His more concentrated breathing over time was helping him pull from his diaphragm more… that’s all. Dammit. He knew they’d make a big deal out of nothing. A laugh wasn’t anything to write home about. He wondered briefly if he should tell Ford about Sway’s confession but quickly decided against it. He didn’t need any extra pressure. His brother would push him if he knew he was having even the smallest breakthrough. He couldn’t risk adding stress to his life. Last thing he needed was more panic attacks or debilitating flashbacks. He hadn’t had a bad one since the garage, and he was fighting daily not to have another.

Not wanting to delve deeper into that topic, he ended the conversation. He was done. Fun time was over. Brian got up and threw on his jacket… he needed a walk.

They knew not to follow.

Sway

“Hey, Squirt. You’re home early. How was work?” Tweetie asked, the same as she did every day when he came home.

“Horrible. I think I may be coming down with something,” Sway mumbled, rubbing the center of his forehead on his way to his bedroom.

“Oh no. You didn’t catch that virus, did you?” His mom, rolled after him.

“God, I hope not. But, Dr. Chauncey told me not to come back tomorrow, regardless.”

“What?” Tweetie yelled from the kitchen. “He let you go?!”

Sway flopped onto his bed and dropped his head in his hands. “No, Tweets. He can’t have me on the floor and tending to patients if I’m sick.”

“You just get changed and comfortable, honey. I’ll bring you a plate.”

“No, Mom. I just want to rest a while. I don’t have an appetite anyway.” Sway pulled off his scrub top, his whole body aching as he did. He was definitely sick. God, he was bummed. On top of that, Tweetie was making one of his favorite dinners—fried pork chops and mashed potatoes with sour cream—and the thought of eating it made him cringe. His stomach rolled the more the smell of frying meat hit his nose.

“Did you message Brian?” His mom asked.

“Brian is really busy right now, Mom. They’re working a big case.”

“He’s your boyfriend. He’ll want to know,” His mom argued.

“Not if there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s locked down, Mom.” Sway’s head pounded furiously. Not being able to be with Brian wasn’t helping his already cranky mood. “Besides, the last thing I want him to do is catch this. Or you. Don’t come in here, Mom. You have a pain shot scheduled next week and you can’t get it if you’re under the weather.”

“He’s right, Steph. Come on out of there,” Tweetie called to her. “I’ll take care of him. You know that.”

Sway’s mom looked sad when she pushed the power button on her chair and rolled back into the living room. He could hear her whispering through the thin walls. “Can you put together some soup, Tweets? He can’t eat anything too heavy. I’ll get the veggies started.”

Sway woke up two and half hours later to the smell of homemade chicken noodle soup and a one-hundred and two fever. Shit. He sat up and groaned, clutching his belly. Grappling for his wastebasket, he barely had his face inside, before the contents in his gut emptied.

Tweetie busted into his room, his mom close behind her.

“I’m fine. I’m fine. Go, please,” Sway said miserably, trying to wave them away while his face was still in his own vomit. “Close the door.”

The ladies reluctantly left him. He didn’t want anyone fussing over him. It was just a forty-eight-hour virus, there was no need for them to go overboard. Sway finally got off the floor and hobbled to the bathroom to clean up. He was so weak, and his limbs felt as if they had twenty-pound weights suspended from them. Every task, from washing his hands to brushing his teeth, took Herculean effort.

When he was finished in the bathroom, he tried to go right back to bed, but Tweetie caught his arm and ushered him towards the small dinette table. He followed with little resistance because he had no strength to fight. The sooner he did what she wanted, the sooner he could lie back down. He tightened his robe as he was sat in front of a deep bowl of chicken noodle soup that was mostly broth and very little noodle.

“Eat shuga’. Gotta keep your energy up.” Tweetie sat opposite him and watched him like a warden. “Drink all that broth, too. Chicken soup is good for the soul, ain’t it Steph? That book sold millions. I don’t know why I didn’t submit my recipe.”

“Yep. That’s what they say,” his mom readily agreed with her best friend, as usual.

“Tweets, that an inspirational book. It’s not actually about chicken soup,” Sway mumbled, sitting hunched over with the bowl in both hands. Although if the authors of that book had tasted this soup, they’d have added the recipe as an addendum.

“Really? Is that common knowledge?” Tweetie asked.

Sway could only laugh on the inside. “I’m afraid so.”

“Well, catchy title.” Tweetie took a large gulp of her Dr. Pepper.

“Mom did you eat all your dinner or are you still having a lot of heartburn?” Sway was drowsy and disoriented, but he couldn’t cut off his true nature, not even when he was down.

“I ate, Squirt. Don’t worry about me, just focus on you getting better.” His mom wheeled over and started to rub his shoulders through his old cloth robe.

“Mom, I know you hate to see me sick, but please, stay back.” Sway loved his mom’s comfort, but getting her sick would exacerbate his stress. “You can’t have them delay that shot. You need it.”

“Squirt, call Brian,” his mom said once more. He loved her soft, calming voice.

But he didn’t want to hear it right then. He was done with that dispute. He wasn’t texting Brian and he damn sure wasn’t going into the reasons why again. He didn’t need his boyfriend to drop everything and run to him. There was nothing that could be done for a virus. He had to ride it out until it ran its course. Sway got up slowly—needing the room to stop spinning before he could walk—and ambled his aching body to his bed.