Chapter Two
“GOTCHA, BUD.”
The orderly gripped Scott’s elbow when his knees buckled, holding on to him firmly as they navigated toward the wheelchair Rylan was standing by with. Once seated, the orderly handed Scott a manila envelope filled with the discharge paperwork the nurse had gone over with him about an hour ago.
“If you want to pull your car up to the entrance now, man, I’ll wheel him down for you.”
Rylan nodded before heading for the elevator, Scott’s car keys jingling in his hand. After doing a last sweep of the room to make sure Scott had all his personal effects, the orderly pushed him toward the service elevator and down to the first floor, where they joined the queue of young mothers clutching their newborn babies while they waited for proud daddies to pull up to the door.
When Rylan finally appeared, behind the wheel of Scott’s car, the orderly trundled him out to meet him. Another strong helping hand, and Scott was ensconced in the passenger seat, belt fastened. With a jaunty wave good-bye, the orderly jogged off to collect his next lucky passenger.
“You know how to drive this thing, Ry?” Scott muttered, reclining his seat back as far as it would go. His jaw was still killing him, but already Scott was learning to manage the pain like he’d learned to manage all pain—by tamping it down and ignoring it.
Rylan threw him a withering look. “I had a car in Miami, and I sold it for a little extra cash before moving out here. Yes, I do know how to drive.”
“’Kay, just asking.” Scott lapsed into a moody silence, thinking about how Chris had rushed back to the hospital earlier to take Rylan over to the club to collect the car.
“Doesn’t he have a job?” Scott had asked, trying hard to keep the jealousy from his voice.
“He’s just come back from a photo assignment in Libya.” Scott hadn’t liked the way Rylan’s eyes gleamed with a distinct hero worship as he spoke. “Taking some downtime to visit his parents, friends, things like that. He said it’s absolutely no trouble.”
Then Rylan had gone off with Chris—Scott was getting so sick of that name—and hadn’t come back for almost two hours.
“He treated me to a late lunch so we could talk,” Rylan had informed him when he’d breezed back in and Scott had snapped at him over where he’d been. “He’s got so much experience, and I love to get inside his head.”
There were so many snide responses to that, Scott had had to bite his tongue and feign sleep.
Rylan turned out to be a more than competent driver, and the ride to the condo was short and uneventful. As they made their way from the parking garage through the lobby and toward the elevators, Scott tried not to notice the horrified stares and whispers as people took in his bruised and bandaged face, the blood still matting his hair.
He kept his eyes fixed ahead as he hobbled across the shiny floor. “Not used to people looking at me like that,” he admitted when they were finally on the elevator, away from prying eyes. “With such—disgust.”
“I saw pity and curiosity, not disgust,” Rylan said gently. “People wondering what happened to you and feeling bad about your injuries.”
Scott shrugged, but he knew what he’d seen, and he was chagrined to realize how much it stung not to be the object of blatant admiration for once. It made him feel raw and exposed, like a performer who’d lost his mask, leaving his true identity unprotected…and vulnerable. He just wanted to hide, so when the elevator doors slid open a moment later, the last thing he needed to see was his neighbor Elizabeth standing there, shopping totes over her arm.
“Oh, sweet Lord,” she exclaimed, clapping a hand over her mouth. “What on earth?”
“Tripped and fell,” Scott lied, not wanting to go into it. “Broke my jaw.” Rylan gave her a rueful smile and moved ahead to unlock the apartment door.
“Oh, you poor dear! Well, my son broke his jaw when he was fifteen, had to have it wired shut for several weeks.” She patted his arm anxiously as she walked beside him. “I know just what you’ll need to eat, so thank goodness I was already headed to the market!”
Scott wanted to protest, to tell her that she didn’t have to, but stopped himself when he noticed the sense of purpose on her face, the way her eyes glowed with resolve instead of the tinge of loneliness he was used to seeing. “Don’t go to too much trouble,” he mumbled. “But thanks.”
“I need to make a list! And I’ll text Robbie and ask what his favorites were. So much to do! Bye, love.” She hurried off, a renewed spring in her step.
“That was nice of her,” Rylan said as Scott limped into the apartment. “I think we’ll both benefit from this arrangement since I’m a terrible cook and now I won’t have to do it.” His voice was teasing.
Scott felt about ready to collapse, and he headed toward his bedroom on increasingly shaky legs, managing to sink down on the edge of the bed before he fell over. “God, I’m so fucking weak. Need a shower. I can’t get in my bed like this.” He looked down at himself, so sweaty, stinky, bloody.
“How about I run you a bath?” Rylan suggested. Without waiting for an answer, he went into the bathroom, and a moment later, Scott heard the squeak of the tub spigots. The thought of sinking down into hot, soothing water gave him a sudden burst of energy, and he managed to push to his feet and shed the thin scrubs the hospital let him wear home. He padded into the bathroom unapologetically naked, used the toilet, and by the time he was done, the oversized tub was filled almost to the brim with steaming water.
Rylan didn’t say anything, just wrapped his arm around Scott’s waist and helped him step in, supporting him as he immersed himself with a groan of pure pleasure.
“You soak for a moment,” Rylan said, “and I’ll run get you something to drink and a pain pill. It’s time for another one.”
Scott wallowed in the tub, feeling the heat seeping into his muscles, his very bones, soothing and relaxing him. He slid down so his shoulders were covered, trying not to get the bandages wrapped around his face wet, and in the next moment, he felt a rolled-up towel being slipped behind his neck to support his head. He blinked up at Rylan blearily, exhaustion and pain starting to overwhelm him once again.
“Hate this. Hate being so goddamn helpless.”
“I know.”
Scott swallowed his meds, sprawling bonelessly as Rylan wet a washcloth and rubbed a bar of soap over it before kneeling next to the tub.
“Lift your arm a little.”
Scott raised his arm, and Rylan propped it on his shoulder as he ran the soapy cloth along the length of it, dipping down to thoroughly scrub Scott’s armpit. He rinsed him with cupped handfuls of warm water, and Scott closed his eyes, feeling the roughness of cloth smoothing across his upper chest and neck before Rylan repeated the action on his other arm.
He wrapped the cloth around his finger and carefully washed around Scott’s nose, his mouth, across his forehead. The water turned a murky brown as Scott floated in a pleasant drug-induced haze, unable to remember ever feeling quite so pampered, so…cherished.
“Here,” Rylan whispered, and with one strong arm, he helped him sit up straight, letting Scott lean against him as he soaped his back and the nape of his neck. It was so good that Scott couldn’t hold back a small moan, and he felt a little shiver pass through Rylan’s body.
“We can’t wash your hair until tomorrow when the bandages come off.” Rylan’s voice was low and husky in Scott’s ear, making his balls tingle. “But most of the rest of you is clean enough that I think you’ll at least be able to sleep.”
Scott lay back in the water again, wishing he were strong enough to stand so he could ask Rylan to wash him everywhere, so he could feel Rylan’s soapy hands on his cock, his balls, and up between his cheeks. He groaned under his breath as the tingles turned into liquid heat that spread upward to thicken his cock, to pool in his belly.
Scott wanted to reach down and stroke his burgeoning erection to life, wanted to pull Rylan into the tub, wanted to feel him naked and slippery against him. They’d kiss and touch. Water would slosh everywhere. Scott would make Rylan cry out, make him come. He lifted a shaking hand and reached for him…
Suddenly a bolt of pain shot through Scott’s head and nausea roiled through him, welling up in his throat and replacing the arousal. His hand dropped heavily back into the water, splashing Rylan in the chest.
“I need to go to—bed,” Scott gasped. “Don’t feel well.”
Rylan tossed the washcloth aside and grabbed a towel before helping Scott stand. He supported him as Scott stumbled out of the tub and over to the bed, where the crisp sheets and comforter were already turned down, waiting.
Scott collapsed naked and damp onto the feathery mattress, put his filthy head down on the pristine white pillowcase, and passed out.
* * *
“I’m going home to pack a bag, and then I’ll be back to stay with you a while. No arguments.” Rylan watched as a stubborn look spread over Scott’s face.
“I don’ need you to put your life on hold for me, Ry.” Scott’s voice was slurred with pain, his eyes bloodshot, the bruised and blackened skin around them making the red within them even more horrifying.
“It’s not forever, Scott,” Rylan shot back, propping his hands on his hips. “Just until you’re feeling a bit better.”
“It doesn’t hafta be you. You’ve already done enough.” Scott folded his arms across his chest, leaning back into his pillows and turning his face away.
“Then who?” Rylan walked over and snatched Scott’s phone up from the nightstand. “Who can I call? Give me some names.”
Scott’s lips tightened as he glared at him, and Rylan’s heart ached at the deep-seated loneliness that flashed in his eyes for an instant before it was masked with a look of indifference.
“Everyone else is too fuckin’ busy,” Scott grunted at last. “Do whatever you want, Rylan.” He flapped his hand ungraciously in surrender, but Rylan noticed the faint tremble in it, so he abandoned the argument for now.
“Does your head hurt? The doctors said you’re out of danger with the concussion, but—”
“My jaw hurts like a bitch, makes my head hurt,” Scott mumbled. “Should feel better after today, that surgeon said. Right?”
Rylan nodded. “Yeah, after the broken bone is set and fixed in place. Makes sense.” He put the phone back on the table and turned away, surprised when Scott caught his hand and tugged him down to sit on the bed with him.
“I’m sorry, Rylan. It’s not easy for me to—let anyone see me like this.” He took a deep breath and blew it out. “But if it has to be someone, I’m really glad it’s you.”
“Me, too.” Rylan toyed with their entwined fingers for a moment before peeping at Scott through his eyelashes. “And just think, we have candy penises to thank for the fact we’re sitting here together right now. Cock Suckers will forever hold a special place in our hearts.” He grimaced. “Now that’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.”
Scott gave a bark of laughter. “Ugh. Don’t make me laugh, Ry. It hurts.” He lifted Rylan’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it before letting him go. “Go ahead and move your stuff in,” he went on gruffly. “But I get to kick you out anytime I want.”
“Deal.” Rylan grinned at him before pushing off the bed. “You need anything before I head over to my place?”
“No.” Scott’s gaze sharpened. “You doing okay on money, Rylan? Got everything covered? Rent?”
This time it was Rylan who couldn’t meet his eyes. “Things have been tight for a while. I’ll manage.”
Scott snorted. “Yeah, and with you here having to babysit my ass, you’re not out working on your project or at the club. Hand me my wallet.”
Rylan lifted his hands as if warding off a blow. “No!” he exclaimed, backing toward the doorway. “I don’t—” He gasped when Scott swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. “What the fuck, Scott? Get back in bed!”
“You won’t hand it to me, so I’ll get it myself.” Scott hobbled toward the dresser, grabbed up his wallet, and opened it. “Here.” He extended several large bills toward Rylan, who shook his head wildly.
“I won’t take your money. Fuck that!”
“Listen.” Scott’s voice was implacable. “If I have to swallow my pride, it’s only fair you do the same. You’re helping me, so I’m helping you.” His face softened before filling with anguish. “Besides, I owe you. For what I—what I stole.”
Rylan gaped at him for a second before taking two steps toward Scott to grasp his wrist and press his hand against his chest. The bills crinkled between them as Scott made a fist, resting it over Rylan’s heart.
“You really think that if you’d just asked me for that money, I wouldn’t have given it to you anyway?”
Scott couldn’t hold his gaze. “If I’d asked, you’d have given me the shirt off your back, Ry.” His voice was so faint Rylan had to strain to hear it.
“Damn right,” he said, tapping on the back of Scott’s fist for emphasis. “I never begrudged you that money. It’s the fact you didn’t trust me enough to ask me for it, to talk to me about what you were going through that night that hurt me.”
Rylan pried the bills gently from Scott’s hand, holding his eyes as he slipped them into his own pocket. “But I’ve realized something, that trust works both ways. So I’ll tell you right now that yes, I do need this, because I’ve been really scared about how I’m going to get by until Corey pays me. Thank you.”
Scott cupped his cheek with trembling fingers. “You’re welcome.”
Rylan turned his face and nuzzled Scott’s palm before sliding his arm around his waist and helping him back to bed.
“I’ll be back in an hour, and then it’ll be time to leave for your appointment. Okay?”
Scott’s eyes were already closed, but he lifted his hand in good-bye, so Rylan slipped out of the room, scooping up the keys and his phone before heading for the front door. When he got to the lobby, he noticed a tall, muscular blond man arguing with George, the concierge. Rylan winced. Lance or Timothy or whatever the hell his name was hadn’t wasted any time coming here to try to defend himself.
“I’m sorry, sir, but your visitor’s privileges to the building have been revoked. I cannot allow you up to Mr. Ashworth’s apartment unannounced.”
Lance planted his elbows on the desk and leaned across it, snarling, “Well, then, call and fucking announce me, you old fart.”
George was unmoved. “Please moderate your language and your tone, sir. When Mr. Ashworth informed me of the revocation of your privileges, he also requested he not receive notification of any attempts made by you to visit.” He was clearly not intimidated by Lance’s thundercloud of a face as he went on, “I’ll have to ask you to leave now.”
They stared each other down for a moment before Lance pushed off the desk with a growled, “Fuck you,” and turned to stalk away. Rylan hung back, hoping Lance wouldn’t notice him, relieved when he moved past without incident.
Rylan continued to the parking garage and Scott’s convertible, jumping in fright when Lance suddenly stepped out from behind a pillar and blocked his path.
“I saw you in the lobby,” Lance said, tight-lipped, although his tone was calm. “Were you just with him?”
“Yes.” Rylan attempted to step around him, and Lance moved too, not letting him by.
“What’s he saying about me? Does he think I did this?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe you.” Lance took a step closer, looming over Rylan. “He has to be saying something because the fucking police questioned me last night!”
Rylan kept his voice even as he said, “Probably because half the bar saw you fighting with him about an hour before he got hurt. Of course the police had to question you.”
“I didn’t do it. I think he’s a fucking prick, but I would never hurt him!” Lance spread his arms for emphasis, and Rylan pushed past him.
“He doesn’t think you did it, man. He specifically told the police that’s not your style, okay?” Rylan clicked the convertible unlocked and tossed his backpack on the passenger seat before moving around to the driver’s side. “You’re in the clear.”
Lance waited until he climbed into the car and walked over, looking down at him with a faint curl to his lip. “You’ll never keep him, you know.”
He paused, as if waiting for Rylan to say something, and when he didn’t, Lance went on, “Scott has a real knack for making you feel special, like you matter. And for a while, you’re on top of the world. On his arm at the club, all the other dudes envying what a lucky fuck you are, wishing they were you.”
Lance ran his hands over the doorframe of the convertible, the motions almost wistful, as if he was petting it. “Having Scott’s attention is—it’s a rush, a high. Gets addicting real quick, until he’s all you can think about. Until you’ve convinced yourself maybe you’re the one.”
He tightened his grip on the car, knuckles whitening. “People warned me, though. Told me Scott ain’t nothin’ but a fuckboy, a player. But when you’re floating on that high, man, you don’t listen. You feel smug, like those other assholes just don’t get it. Things are great, until one day you wake up and he’s acting distant, pulling away, and you wonder what the fuck you did wrong. You try everything you can think of to make him happy, to get back that high, but the more you try to hold on to him, the more he pulls away.
“Until boom…he cuts you loose, and you realize he never gave two shits about you in the first place.”
Lance tapped his fist lightly on the doorframe before stepping away. “Well, all I can say is enjoy it while it lasts, buttercup. Come find me after he stomps your heart to dust, and we can talk about whether that fuckin’ high you’re feeling right now was worth all the pain.”
He touched two fingers to his forehead in a mocking salute, and Rylan watched him walk up the pedestrian ramp and disappear out into the bright sunshine. Sighing, Rylan started the car and eased out of the parking garage onto the busy street, heading toward his place.
As he drove, he thought about the look in Lance’s eyes, the whiteness around his lips. The dude was obviously hurting, nursing a serious broken heart, although it was hard to feel sorry for a guy who was more worried about what Scott was saying about him than how he was doing. Not once had he asked if Scott was okay.
It didn’t take long for Rylan to grab the essentials from his apartment, and on his way out, he stopped and knocked at Val and Katey’s door. Val answered it, taking in Rylan’s suitcase and laptop bag with a raised eyebrow. “Going somewhere, love?”
Rylan nodded. “You heard about what happened to Scott?”
“Yeah, awful stuff. How is he?”
Rylan quickly explained what was going on with the broken jaw and the fixation, saying, “I thought I’d stay with him for a few days, help him out until he gets to feeling better.”
Val leaned against the doorjamb and crossed her arms. “That’s nice of you, Ry, since I’m sure he could use a friend right about now. Want us to keep an eye on your place while you’re gone?”
“You read my mind, and I didn’t even have to ask.” He pecked her on the cheek. “Thanks. You guys are the best.”
“You got it.” Val paused. “Hey, you know Scott’s not my favorite person, but—”
“But what?”
She hesitated a moment longer. “There’s a lot of trolling shit being posted on social media right now. I—just be warned, and maybe try to keep him away from it if you can. At least until he’s feeling better.” Val ran her hand over her scarred arm. “I know how words can hurt when you’re already down, feeling vulnerable. People can be cruel, disgusting assholes, and I don’t wish that on anyone, even Scott.”
They said their good-byes. Rylan made his way to the convertible and stowed his bags in the backseat before pulling out his phone. He opened the club’s Instagram account, and the first picture was one of Scott on the ground, surrounded by emergency personnel. It bore the caption, “One of our own, a vital part of our Spectrum family, badly hurt tonight. Thoughts and prayers for Scott appreciated!”
Rylan swiped through the comments, seeing that the majority wished him well, sending hugs and kisses, along with a few offers to come ‘take his mind off things’ any time he wanted.
Then one comment jumped out at him. Hey @MCSquared, @ScottyA got him a broken face. Heard he’s ugly now!
Rylan ground his teeth together as he read through the gleeful responses:
I’d still fuck him! Just put a bag over his head and he’s good to go.
Nobody wants to see a deformed underwear model, @MCSquared! Tell @ScottyA to stay home!
Who fucked with the fuckboy? Tell me so I can give the dude a gold star!
Couldn’t have happened to a nicer asshole!
Rylan tossed his phone to the passenger seat with a curse. Jesus Christ. He turned the car on and drove back to Scott’s condo, and when he unlocked the door and went inside, he was surprised to see Corey and Scott sitting in the living room. Well, Corey was sitting, and Scott was half sitting, half lying, his face deathly pale, making the bruises look even more livid.
“Hey, Corey,” Rylan said. “What are you doing here?”
Corey looked pale, too. “Just, uh, wanted to check on my boy. So many rumors flying around. I had to see for myself so I had something to tell MC₂ when they start asking.” He paused before saying with difficulty, “Obviously the trip to Miami is out of the question.”
“I’m sorry, Corey,” Scott mumbled. “I—”
Corey stood. “Don’t come to the club until the swelling and bruising are gone. People don’t pay good money to see a—a horror show. I’ll have Pete take over Fantasy Friday hosting duties until you’re back.” He nodded stiffly at Rylan before turning and walking out the door.
Rylan, his face burning with anger, perched on the couch next to Scott and put his hand on his knee. “Wow, what an asshole. Are you okay?”
Scott closed his eyes. “Not really, no. I’ve let him down.”
“What? How do you figure that? You were attacked, for fuck’s sake! You didn’t ask for this.”
“Rylan, I don’t think you realize how much of Corey’s marketing budget goes into my brand. It’s an awful lot.” Scott snorted out a watery laugh. “I’m high-maintenance. The highest. There’s gym fees, tanning, nutrition coaching, supplements, salon appointments.” He waved his hand at himself. “None of this happens by accident, Ry. He was counting on the MC₂ gig, and me, to really put Spectrum on the map and pay off on his investment. If I can’t go to Miami—I’ve let him down.”
Rylan squeezed his knee. “I get that he’s disappointed right now, but there’ll be other chances to ‘put Spectrum on the map.’”
“This business is fickle, Rylan. Today’s hot commodity is tomorrow’s old news. MC₂ is worldwide, and they asked for me. The value of the exposure to Spectrum is priceless, and if we miss our chance—”
“Okay, so it’s shitty timing. But like I said, you didn’t ask for this. How in the world can he possibly blame you?”
“Don’t you get it, Ry? Someone did this to me on purpose, because of something I did to them. Whatever it was, it’s my fault. I caused this.”
“But it could be random, right? Wrong place, wrong time?”
“If it was the club’s bat? One that was kept in the booth? Sometimes Teena uses it for a prop when she’s insulting people, so anyone who’s been around would know it’s there. Some rando walking the streets looking for someone to carjack would bring his own weapon to the party, right?”
Rylan couldn’t argue with that logic, but he still said fiercely, “It wasn’t your fault, Scott. It wasn’t. If someone was pissed at you, or hurt by you, they made the choice to seek out a baseball bat and bash you in the face with it. Who does that? You can’t possibly know every person’s state of mind when you interact with them. Blaming yourself for this is crazy.”
“Look.” Scott’s voice was growing more slurred with pain and drugs. “All this is, is me being a fuckup. Again. I let Corey down. I let my fans down. I let MC₂ down. Shit, Rylan.”
Rylan scooted closer to him and slid his arm around Scott’s shoulders. “The way I look at it, it’s only a setback. The important thing in all this is that you’re going to be okay, you hear me? That’s all I care about and all anyone should care about. Fuck ’em if they don’t.”
Scott quirked his lips. “Sweet Ry. Thanks for being here.”
“Always.” Rylan wrinkled his nose at the sour, rusty smell of Scott’s hair, saying, “C’mon, let’s go get your face fixed so you can take a proper shower. You stink.”
Pushing lightly at his shoulder, Scott quipped, “What, you don’t like my Eau de Assault Victim? I was thinking of bottling it.”
“Not funny.”
Rylan pulled Scott to his feet, steadying him when he swayed a little. “Whoa.”
“Can’t wait to get off these fucking painkillers,” Scott muttered. “I hate the way they’re making me feel.”
Rylan made a quick detour to the bedroom to get Scott’s wallet and phone from the dresser, and he handed both to him before leading him out the door and to the elevator. The trek across the lobby was just as excruciating as the first time, but Scott didn’t react to the pointing and whispers, staring straight ahead as they walked.
The surgeon’s office wasn’t far, and as Rylan drove, he glanced at Scott, who was scrolling through his phone. Shit. Maybe he should have “forgotten” it on the dresser and spared Scott the sight of the trolling comments just a little while longer. Rylan could have kicked himself when Scott heaved an unhappy sigh, letting the phone drop to his lap.
“Hey,” Rylan said, waiting until Scott looked over at him. “Try not to let the assholes get you down.”
Scott shrugged. “It’s not like I didn’t expect this, Ry. I had one job, to look good and be a fantasy. Of course people are going to turn on me.” The forlorn thread in his voice wrapped itself around Rylan’s heart and tugged, making his chest ache.
They were silent for the rest of the drive and before long were sitting in the surgeon’s back office, reading over a sheaf of paperwork while they waited. Scott tossed his copy onto the desk. “My eyes won’t focus, Ry. Tell me the highlights.”
Rylan ran his finger over the post-fixation instructions. “Can’t do any heavy lifting while you’re wired,” he said, wincing as Scott’s face darkened. “And you can expect to lose anywhere from fifteen to twenty pounds since you’ll be restricted to a liquid diet.”
“Son of a bitch.” Scott’s curse was low and fervent. “Fifteen to twenty pounds?”
“They recommend using a syringe with catheter tubing to ‘inject’ your liquid meals into your mouth.” Rylan grimaced. “But it says some people can use a straw. In two to three weeks, the wires will come off, but you still won’t be able to chew for a little while longer.”
“Fucking hell. Might as well just kiss my career good-bye right now,” Scott grated. “If I can’t lift or eat right, I’ll lose all the definition in my body. Nobody wants to see a scarecrow in a jockstrap.”
An image sprang to Rylan’s mind, and he couldn’t help but huff out a laugh.
Scott cast him a wounded look. “It’s not funny, man.”
“It is when you think about this easy fix, though. All I have to do is stand next to you, also wearing a jock, and the toothpick will make the scarecrow look like a stud.”
Instead of joining in the laughter, Scott leaned back in his chair and scanned Rylan from head to toe. “You, in a jockstrap, would be so fucking hot. I think I’d like to see that someday.”
Rylan gulped. “Nah,” he forced out, striving for a breezy tone. “My skinny white ass—”
There came a sharp knock on the door and the surgeon strode in. He greeted them as he headed for the chair behind his desk with a brisk, no-nonsense air.
“All right. This is what’s going to happen.” He picked up a spiral notebook full of laminated charts and flipped through a couple of pages. “Basically we put these metal bars along your gum line on the top and bottom. I’ll thread wires through your teeth and attach them to the bars before winching it all together. It’ll hold your jaw in proper bite alignment until the mandibular fracture knits.”
Scott gaped at the diagram depicting the fixation. “That looks like the teeth are locked in a cage. Will I be able to breathe?”
“Of course you will. Air, liquids, vomit can all get through just fine. The key is to breathe through the nose and not panic if you start to feel claustrophobic or restricted.”
“But what if I choke on—on some food?” Scott looked pale, and Rylan couldn’t blame him. The whole contraption was like something out of a horror movie.
“That’s why you’ll be limited to a liquid diet for the first few weeks. Nothing with pieces, or chunks, that you could either choke on or that would get lodged in your teeth. Look online; there are lots of blogs with recipes out there so you can get some variety.”
Slamming the book of diagrams shut, the surgeon went on, “I’ll do the procedure under local anesthesia. The lower part of your face will be completely numb so I can set the fracture and make sure it’s aligned properly before applying the fixation. It won’t take long, and then you’ll be on your way.”
He stood. “I’ll have my assistant come for you when the treatment room is ready.”
“Shit.” Scott slumped over in his chair as the surgeon left the room. “This is going to suck ass.”
Rylan slid to the floor and knelt at Scott’s feet, putting his hands on his knees and looking up at him. “It will, but I’m here,” he said quietly. “I’ll help you in whatever way I can. Okay?”
Scott ran the backs of his fingers over Rylan’s cheek, stroking a thumb over his lips. “I know you will, and I’ll say it again: I’m so glad you’re here. Thank you, Cock Suckers.”
Rylan lifted an eyebrow. “It makes me super happy to know you’ve joined in my appreciation for cloyingly sweet candy penises,” he said, delighted when the shadows in Scott’s eyes were chased away by mirth.
“Indeed.”
They stared at each other for a moment, until Scott dropped his eyes to Rylan’s mouth. “I really, really need to kiss you right now.”
Rylan didn’t hesitate, just stood higher on his knees and cupped Scott’s bandaged cheek lightly. Scott met him halfway and their lips clung together for a brief moment before parting with a lush sound.
The door opened again, and a cheerful dental assistant wearing a set of pink scrubs walked in. Rylan stood and moved behind Scott’s chair, aware of his flushed face.
“Mr. Ashworth?” she chirped. “I’m Lily, and I’ll be assisting Dr. Rojas today. Ready to go?”
She waited for Scott to get to his feet, nodding to Rylan. “You can go on out to the waiting room, and I’ll bring Mr. Ashworth to you when he’s done. Should be about an hour, give or take.”
Lily led Scott away, her friendly chatter drifting in their wake. Rylan headed to the reception area and dropped into a soft chair, digging the heels of his hands into his burning eyes and settling in to wait.
It was more like two hours before the door opened again and Scott trudged out, no more bandage but his face white as a sheet.
Rylan sprang up and hurried to him. “You okay?”
Lily was right behind him, and she handed him some paperwork and a plastic bag. “Aftercare instructions and scrips for your liquid pain meds, plus some syringes and tubing to get you through feeding for the first several days. You can purchase more at any drugstore.” She turned to Rylan. “Dr. Rojas said the fracture set nicely, and he’d like to see Mr. Ashworth in a week to do another X-ray and make sure everything seems to be knitting properly. Appointment card is attached to the paperwork.”
With a cheery wave, she was gone.
Scott was silent as they made their way back to the car, and Rylan waited until he was settled with his seat belt on before saying tentatively, “Can I see?”
Scott rolled his head along the seat toward him and bared his teeth, and Rylan barely managed not to gasp. It looked like he was wearing a messy set of braces, in that there were metal bars along the top and bottom gum lines. Wires were strung between them every which way, looking haphazard and random, although Rylan remembered reading in the paperwork that they were placed more heavily at the fracture site and wherever else was needed to keep the bite properly aligned. Rylan felt a shiver of faint claustrophobia go through him at the sight. Scott’s lips were swollen, and there was spittle collected at the corners of his mouth.
“Can you talk at all?” Rylan whispered, and Scott made an unintelligible noise, the saliva sliding down his chin to hang there in a shimmery string. Rylan wiped it away with his thumb, his heart aching. “Completely numb right now, huh? Well, once that wears off, maybe you’ll feel better. From what I’ve read, you should be able to talk almost normally with a little bit of practice.”
Scott closed his eyes and settled back in his seat, and after a quick stop at the pharmacy for Scott’s meds and some cans of Ensure, they finally arrived back at the condo. Scott immediately disappeared into the shower, and Rylan put everything away in the kitchen, puttering around until Scott came back in wearing a pair of cotton sleep pants and a T-shirt.
His skin was damp and his hair looked shiny and clean, although it was lopsided where one side had been shaved for the stitches.
“You hungry?” Rylan asked, and Scott shook his head.
“Jus’ wan’ seep.”
It took Rylan a second, but he got it. “You want some pain meds before you sleep?”
The head shake was emphatic. “No. No meds.”
“Okay.” He expected Scott to head for his bedroom and was surprised when he held his hand out to him. Rylan took it, letting Scott lead him into the living room and the big leather couch there. Rylan sank down to sit on one end, and Scott stretched out lengthwise on it, putting his head in Rylan’s lap and closing his eyes.
Rylan stroked his hair with one hand, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles over Scott’s forehead and temples until he drifted to sleep.