BEN HAD THE next day off as well, but he still got up early. He would head to Atlanta and attend the nine a.m. meeting. On the interstate, he tried hard not to speed. He was embarrassed by how much he looked forward to something as ordinary as an AA meeting.

Arthur was at the front of the room as usual, but Donnie wasn’t there, and hadn’t shown up by the time they finished the prayer. When the first person stepped up to the podium to speak, Ben began to grow uneasy. He stayed, but the sense of calm he experienced during meetings wouldn’t come today. As soon as Arthur concluded with the prayer, Ben walked to the front of the room, weaving between the people filing out.

“Hi, err...” Ben hadn’t talked to the old man before. “You’re Arthur, right?”

Arthur looked up and appraised him. “I am, yes.”

“I’m Ben.”

Arthur smiled. “Yes, I know. Donnie mentioned you. A few times, actually.”

Unsure what to make of that information, Ben fidgeted for a moment, uncharacteristically tongue-tied. “Is he not here today?” he managed at last. “Donnie, I mean.”

Arthur frowned. “No. He called in sick this morning. He doesn’t usually... But I’m sure it’s nothing. He’ll probably be back tomorrow. Shall I tell him you asked about him?”

“No, that’s fine,” Ben said. “I...I’ll see him soon.” He nodded at the old man and left. By the time he reached his car, Ben had made up his mind on what to do next.

SINCE BEN WASN’T due at the station that day, he got a few funny looks when he walked in and sat down at his desk. Fortunately, it was Jason’s day off too, so at least Ben wouldn’t have to deal with the one person who would grill him over his unscheduled appearance at work.

In case someone else should ask any questions, Ben rehearsed a vague story about checking up on a pending investigation and switched on his computer. Once in the department’s system, he brought up the statement Jason had drawn up about Donnie’s arrest and was relieved to see that his partner had recorded Donnie’s license plate.

Ben tried not to use his work privileges for private purposes, but he didn’t feel guilty when he logged into the DMV’s system and checked Donnie’s address. Sure, it was probably nothing, just like Arthur had said. Donnie might just have a cold, but Ben had a bad feeling about the man’s absence, and his instincts were usually good.

And Donnie hadn’t looked all that well as he’d left the café Friday night. Ben would just drop by his house and check that everything was okay. The question why he would even care loomed large at the back of his mind, but right then, he couldn’t summon the courage to examine his feelings.

Once he had memorized Donnie’s address, Ben turned off the computer and left the station.

He knew Donnie’s neighborhood from occasionally passing it on the main road that went past the cluster of half a dozen small cheap clapboard buildings right on the outskirts of town. Ben had never given the place a second thought. There were dozens of neighborhoods just like it dotted around the county. He had never had a reason to drive down the unpaved road that led to the houses, neither as a cop and certainly not on private business.

He parked outside a shabby white house with peeling paint and looked around. The neighboring buildings were all similarly run-down and scattered along the road that petered out into a narrow dirt path, which snaked away into scrubby-looking grassland. The other yards were all cluttered with old furniture, car parts, and trash, but the Saunders’s yard was clear, the dead-looking grass interspersed with large patches of dusty red earth.

Before he could change his mind, Ben went up to the door and knocked. Nothing happened for almost a minute. Ben waited, then knocked again. Finally, there came the shuffling of feet, and then the door inched open.

When Donnie came into view, Ben’s eyes widened. “What happened to you?!”

Donnie’s left eye was swollen shut, and there was a bloody gash right below his eyebrow. His cheekbone was bruised as well, and he had a small tear on his upper lip. He cradled his rib cage with one arm, and looked very pale.

“Ben? Wha’re you doin’ here?” Donnie’s voice was slurred and thick; talking seemed hard around the swelling.

“I went to meeting, and you weren’t there—”

“So you looked me up?” Donnie interrupted him. For a moment, the mistrustful, removed look from their very first encounter was back in his eyes. It hurt Ben that Donnie’s gut reaction would be so aggressive. But looking at the other man’s face, it dawned on him what his turning up must seem like to Donnie. He had clearly received a brutal beating, and now a virtual stranger, and a cop no less, showed up uninvited at his door.

“I was worried about you,” Ben said in a soft tone. And with good reason. He didn’t voice that thought.

At those words, Donnie’s expression changed. He looked miserable for a moment, and then his indigo eyes became gentle and sad.

His shoulders slumped, and he motioned to Ben. “C’mon in.”

Ben looked around as he followed Donnie into the house. The front door opened into the living room, and Donnie made straight for the threadbare sofa on shaky legs, limping a little. He dropped down with a wince, going from pale to paper white.

He pointed at the space next to him. “Come sit. ‘S nowhere else.” He wrapped his arm around his ribs again. Just breathing and talking obviously hurt. “If you want a coffee or summat...”

But Ben waved that away and came over to the sofa. He pushed the blankets and pillows that were heaped next to Donnie out of the way and sat down. Donnie must have lain here on the sofa when Ben had knocked, forcing him to get up.

Donnie had sunk in on himself and now closed his eyes, leaning on the sofa’s armrest and trying to breathe past the pain in his chest. Ben glanced around. There was very little furniture in the room. A cheap TV stand held an old tube television, and there were a few shelves along the walls. Surprisingly, some of them were full of books. The scuffed coffee table in front of the sofa held the typical effects of the sick room—Advil, crumpled tissues, a coffee cup, and a glass of water.

Other than this little island of clutter, the room was neat, but Ben caught a whiff of beer. Looking around, he couldn’t locate the source. Then he spotted two large black trash bags by the archway into the kitchen. One was half open and looked to be stuffed full of sodden rags.

Ben turned to Donnie. “What happened?”

At first, Donnie said nothing, his shoulders tensing. Ben felt certain Donnie considered how much to tell him. Finally, Donnie exhaled. “Floyd, my brother, he...he gets mad,” he said in a shaky voice. “It’s bad to be near him then. Usually, I’m quick enough to get away, but...he got me good, last night...”

“You can say that again,” Ben said, frowning. The cut above Donnie’s eye had started to bleed again. “Did he trash the place? I can smell beer.”

Donnie shifted with a wince, then nodded. “Tried to clean up...” He waved at the trash bags. “Smell makes me feel real sick.” He gave a shudder. Ben frowned again. Donnie’s discomfort was like a physical pain in Ben’s own gut.

“Where is Floyd now?”

“No clue,” Donnie whispered, sounding breathless. “Probably gettin’...gettin’ drunk somewhere...”

Ben suppressed a sigh, took a fresh tissue from a box on the table, and reached out. He meant to dab at the cut on Donnie’s eyebrow, from which a small trickle of blood ran down to his eye. But when Donnie realized what Ben had in mind, he flinched away, looking panicked. Then his eyes grew opaque and he doubled up with renewed pain.

Ben leaned forward, trying to catch Donnie’s gaze. “I’ll be real careful, I promise. Let me wipe the blood away before it gets into your eye.”

Donnie looked down at Ben’s hands for a moment, then gave a small nod. With one hand, Ben took Donnie’s chin and dabbed at the gash with the tissue as gently as he could.

“I think you need stitches, Donnie. And those ribs are definitely broken. We gotta get you some proper painkillers.” The thought of how brutal his brother must’ve been to hurt Donnie this badly made Ben’s blood boil.

Donnie shook his head. “No...no narcotics. An’ no hospital. I’ll be sore a few days, is all...” He stopped and looked at Ben, eyes feverish. “You were worried ‘bout me...” He sounded surprised. Ben’s heart broke for him.

Ben couldn’t look away from this gaze full of gratitude. Donnie’s eyes were so blue, he sank right into them. He looked at the left one, bruised and swollen, and a great gentleness rose in him. The hand still on Donnie’s chin slid down, and he gently stroked the other man’s throat. Then, before his brain had even quite processed what he was doing, Ben leaned forward and kissed Donnie on the mouth with great care. Donnie froze, then pulled away with a hiss.

Ben drew back, startled. “I’m sorry, Donnie. I-I misunderstood—”

But Donnie shook his head. “You didn’t.” He took Ben’s hand that wasn’t holding the tissue and clutched it hard. “It’s just...”

“Did I hurt you? Your lip?”

After a moment, Donnie nodded, then touched the cut on his mouth. “Is...is it bleeding?”

“No,” Ben said, and Donnie looked relieved. But he shivered, and Ben got up. “Lie back down. If you don’t want to go to the hospital, then I’m staying here with you.”

“You don’t have to...,” Donnie said as Ben helped him stretch out on his right side.

“But I want to. You’re in bad shape. I can see how much you’re hurting. You shouldn’t be alone. Now, have you eaten anything since this happened?”

Donnie shook his head.

“Then I’ll see what I can rustle up.”

“Go...go wash your hands first.”

Ben frowned. What an odd request. But he nodded, loath to upset the injured man more. “Okay.”

“Bathroom’s at the back,” Donnie wheezed.

As Ben rinsed and dried his hands in the dingy little bathroom, he thought about what had just happened. He had known since high school that he was attracted to both genders, and in his first year in college, before he and Helen had gotten together, Ben had slept with several guys during what he now considered his rebellious phase. He had enjoyed the sex, but nothing had ever progressed past casual friendship.

His feelings for Donnie were different. There was physical attraction, oh yes. That slim waist, the tousled dark hair and the intense indigo blue of his eyes made for a mix of sultry and boyish good looks that Donnie seemed unaware of. But the main thing in Ben’s heart when he thought of the man lying out there on the sofa, hurting and struggling to catch a breath, was gentleness.

Ben thought of Donnie’s eyes on him, how his gaze would go so soft. Nobody had looked at him that way in much too long. If Helen had looked at him at all these last few months, it had been either with impatience or because she was angry about something.

When Ben returned to the living room, Donnie lay curled up, his legs drawn all the way against his belly. Ben didn’t like how wheezy his breathing sounded; there was a tiny whimper on every inhalation, and a shudder went through Donnie every few seconds. Ben crouched down by the sofa and stroked Donnie’s hair. The other man looked at him, surprised.

“You want me to stay, right?” Ben asked. Donnie nodded, his eyes so full of disbelief, a terrible sadness went right through Ben.

“Wha’ ‘bout...home, tho?” Donnie gasped between painful breaths.

“Nothing needs my attention there right now,” Ben said. This wasn’t the time to go into detail about his own troubles. Donnie needed looking after, and Ben wanted to be nowhere but with him.

“I...I dunno what to say,” Donnie whispered.

Ben smiled at him. “No need to say anything. You get some rest now, let me worry about everything else.”