CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Nikolas woke to the smell of frying bacon and to the muted sound of Ben talking to someone on the phone in the kitchen. He rolled onto his back, winced, and returned to lying on his belly. He could sprawl out now. For some reason, he’d been cramped all night. Ben came in carrying a tray with a phone jammed under one ear. He muttered, “Gotta go. I’ll let you know,” and let the phone drop onto the bed. He climbed in and sat cross-legged with the tray on his lap.
“Who was that?”
“Squeezy. We’ve been invited to a New Year’s Eve party.”
Nikolas closed his eyes, thinking deeply. Ben grinned, waiting.
“Is it not January already? Have I—?”
“Don’t worry. He said they’d done that one, but no one can remember what happened, so they’re doing it again…and we’re invited.”
“You mean you’ve been invited.”
Ben leant over and placed Nikolas’s tea on the nightstand, staring at his bruised back as he did. He placed his hand on the bandage. “Are you ever going to tell me the things she did to you?”
“No. But I suspect if I have to return for an inquest you’ll find out anyway.”
“Do you think you will?”
“LaCour’s handling things very well, so far. We’ll see. Are you going to the party?”
“Only if you come, too.”
“We’re not joined at the hip, Ben.”
“What would you do here on your own?”
“I’d probably go out.”
“Without me?”
“Well, you went to a party without me, so I had little choice.” He laughed as Ben punched his arm. “Why does the house smell of bacon?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry. I cooked some.”
“And…?”
“Well, there was only really enough for one. So I ate it.”
Nikolas turned slowly onto his back, easing into the pain. “You really are better. Even this,” he stretched up and rubbed Ben’s head, “is looking less fearful. No scabs.”
Ben snorted. “Yours isn’t. It’s not growing over the scar.”
“I’d noticed. In the gulag we shaved stripes into our hair to indicate how many men we’d—So, what do you want to do today?” Ben looked stonily at him. “Why not test your new bike on a ride to the delectable Professor Watson and show off your Danish?” That suggestion got a much better reception. Nikolas hid his smile at the sudden animation in Ben’s features.
If Ben knew the sacrifice Nikolas made allowing him to ride a motorbike in the rain in January (or visit Tim, come to that), he’d have realised just how much Nikolas was trying to make life normal for him again. He rummaged for his bike gear and dragged on leather pants and a tight, base layer top.
Nikolas watched him as he drank his tea. He’d loved Ben’s long hair and had he been asked, he would’ve forbidden him to cut it off. He had to admit, though, Ben suited the shorn look even more. Some men grew their hair long because they had to, it gave them the extra edge they needed to get noticed. Ben didn’t need any edge at all. Without the distraction of the hair, he was displayed in all his raw beauty, like the template of the first perfect man from which all men were copied. He looked particularly good in leather, too. “You don’t have to go just yet, of course…”
Ben glanced up from pulling on his boots. He grinned and crawled up the bed to straddle Nikolas, the leather tight across his groin, hiding nothing, the material of his top stretched over his superb tanned biceps and showcasing his impressive pecs. He leant down and kissed him. “Gotta go, or I’ll either have to stay the night or ride back in the dark.”
Nikolas winced. Obviously, he didn’t want either of these options. He nodded reluctantly. They kissed once more, and then Ben left. Nikolas stared at nothing for a while; there was nothing better to stare at. He’d recreated a monster of leather and strut. He stretched out in the bed and contemplated things for a while, then realised two things. Firstly, he had a whole day stretching ahead of him without Ben; secondly, he had a whole day stretching ahead of him…without Ben. He rummaged in the very back of his nightstand and found his cigarettes, lighting the first one of the day with an almost orgasmic delight that would be entirely lost on anyone dumb enough to not smoke. As he smoked, he pulled on some ratty jeans and a sweater, and went into the office to fire up his computer.
While this was booting up, he jogged down to the kitchen, stepped around the bags and the pile of laundry, frowning slightly at Ben’s laziness, dug some vodka out of the freezer, clicked to Radulf to invite him to the party, and went back upstairs to continue the online poker game he’d been winning until he’d been Ben Rider’d the night before. By mid-morning he’d switched from casinos to porn, which he had to admit had somewhat lost its allure since he’d met Ben. But he left on an interesting movie, lit his second cigarette of the day and topped up his glass. He swung his bare feet up onto the desk and leant back in his chair. The vodka wasn’t yet doing his almost constant headache any good, but give it time. No pain, no gain.
At lunchtime, he and Radulf skirted the laundry and the bags once more and headed out for something to eat. He’d eyed the food in the refrigerator, but it all needed doing something to before he could eat it. They went to the canal, which was the closest dog-suitable place he could think of and from there to a pub.
They returned a couple of hours and many pints later, and he eyed the house warily to see if they were both still in the clear before letting himself in. The post had arrived. He kicked it out of the way for Ben to open later. One small packet caught his eye, though. He bent and picked it up. He had to steady himself on a wall when he rose as the pain in his head stabbed him right behind his injured eye. The package was addressed to Christian Beck, no return address and delivered by hand. He held it for a long time, debating, turning things over in his mind.
Eventually, he stepped over the bags once more and went into the kitchen. He sat at the counter and ripped the top of the envelope open, peering cautiously inside. It was full of photographs. This never boded well, in his experience—and it didn’t now. He eased a picture out and flinched, the pain now thumping, thumping, right in the tender part of his temple. A man slumped, bloodied and broken. He recognised him. He’d once been the imam of a mosque in Azerbaijan, until he’d encountered Aleksey Primakov. He pulled out another, a woman holding out her hands, begging for mercy. He’d not given it—he remembered her very well. He dropped the envelope of his victims back onto the counter and backed away. He tripped and fell over one of the bags. Radulf was immediately standing over him, his head to one side, listening for a danger he couldn’t perceive. It calmed Nikolas, and he put his hand out to pat him, climbing stiffly to his feet. He swallowed a few times, trying to put off the inevitable, but he knew he was going to be sick. He made it to the bathroom in time. Retching almost killed him. He felt like his entire blood supply was in his head—behind his temple. He crawled slowly to the bed and onto the rumpled sheets then collapsed.
§ § §
Ben liked arriving at Tim’s unannounced, and it had become something of a joke with them. This time when he arrived, however, he regretted his decision not to call first. Tim was moving out. John, apparently, had finally made his views on Tim’s open relationship arrangements very clear by starting a new relationship with a student—one that didn’t include Tim. That there was almost forty years age difference between John and his new protégé hadn’t, apparently, been a deterrent to either. As the cottage belonged to John, Tim was effectively evicted. He was moving back in with his parents until he found himself somewhere else.
All this had been evident to Ben in the first few minutes, but he heard more of the story as they sat drinking tea, staring at Tim’s boxes and books. John, and the delightfully named Sebastian, had gone out for the day to give Tim some space and, presumably, so they didn’t have to help him with the boxes. It’d been something of a shocking reunion for both of them, Tim taken aback by Ben’s appearance—the hair and the unmentionable but telling scar on his wrist—and Ben shaken by the idea of John just casting off twelve years of relationship for a younger version of Tim. This didn’t sit too well with Ben, also a younger partner, or with Tim. He was very bitter, and Ben could sense he’d not given up without a battle—which he’d obviously lost. Tim glanced at his watch. “They’ll be back in a couple of hours. I don’t want to see them.”
Ben nodded sympathetically. “Do you want me to kill this Sebastian git?”
Tim grinned. “Excellent idea. He runs every night along the river. It should be easy. I’ve thought about it, but, hey, coward here, as you know.”
Ben glanced outside. “I promised I’d be back before dark, but I guess I could wait, do it, and then ride back.”
Tim glanced over. “We are only joking, right?”
Ben did a small regroup and said brightly, “Yeah, course. Nutter. So, boxes to move?”
Tim grinned evilly. “I’ll put them in my new Merc, yeah? That, he’s not getting.”
Tim’s parents lived in Bristol, so they had to make sure everything went into the car in one trip. Ben was following on his bike so they could load up every spare inch of space. They were done by two and set off. Tim’s parents were cool, but they lived in a tiny terraced house with no parking except for a council car park some half a mile away. Then it started raining. By the time they’d finished with the last box and had crammed everything into Tim’s boyhood bedroom, they couldn’t actually get in. Tim tried to act unconcerned and said he’d sleep on the couch.
“How’re you going to get to work from here?”
“I’m not due back until the end of March anyway. I’m doing a series of guest lectures at the LSC through February. I think that may’ve been the final straw for John—me being off in London for two months.”
“So, what’re you going to do until February?”
Tim didn’t seem quite so brave now. He was a thirty-year-old man who’d just realised he was back living with his parents. He looked very much alone.
§ § §
Ben was surprised Nikolas was in bed and asleep when he got home, but it was much later than he’d expected, so he slid between the covers and rehearsed his news for a while so it would sound as good as possible in the morning. When he woke, Nikolas was still sleeping, so he headed downstairs to make tea. Dubious news should always be accompanied by tea. His news didn’t sound quite so good in the bright light of day surrounded by the bags and a pile of laundry, which, he noticed, hadn’t moved since the day they’d arrived back.
§ § §
Nikolas woke feeling as though he’d been hit on the head, which, he supposed, he had. His headache had reduced to a dull thud until he sat up, when it came back—not as bad as the day before, but bad enough to put him in a foul mood immediately. He desperately wanted a cigarette. Ben’s clothes were neatly folded on the chair in the corner, so he supposed he’d come in at some time during the night. He could hear a shower running in one of the other bathrooms and guessed he was trying to be quiet and not wake him. Just because he had a headache, didn’t mean he was prepared to miss some morning fun. He stripped out of his clothes from the previous day, dropping them on the floor considerately where Ben would most easily find them for the laundry, and walked naked across the landing and into the steam-filled bathroom. He waited until the indistinct figure in the shower turned away, then slid silently in and embraced him, pressing his urgent morning wake up call deep—The scream nearly took him down. The punch wasn’t so effective, and he caught the wrist effortlessly. They stared at each other.
“Uh, hello, sorry about the scream. I’m Tim. And I’m really hoping Ben told you I’d be here and you came deliberately to…Okay, didn’t know I was here…Nice to meet you at last.” Nikolas nodded politely and backed out slowly. He then decided, given the direction of Tim’s gaze, this wasn’t the best way to go. He turned swiftly, grabbed a towel and went to find Benjamin Rider.
Ben was drinking his tea, looking through the post when Nikolas came into the kitchen, his hair wet from the shower and wearing only the towel. Ben’s face broke into a broad, very pleased grin, and he came up, embracing him and kissing him as if they’d been apart another six months instead of a few hours. Nikolas kept his eyes wide open during the kiss and didn’t kiss back. Ben got the message and eased off, lips still hovering. “Okay…I’m sorry I didn’t call when I was late?” Nikolas shook his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t wake you when I came in?” He thought harder. “Didn’t wake you this morning?”
“How about the fact there’s a man in my shower I’ve just fucked?” Ben’s eyes widened. Nikolas added, timed to perfection, “Just.” Ben’s eyes flicked up to the wet hair. He clenched his jaw on his laughter. Nikolas narrowed his eyes in annoyance and went to get some tea. His headache and his mood were both now equally bad.
Ben eased onto the stool alongside him. “John kicked him out. He’s got an eighteen-year-old now instead.” Nikolas didn’t even bother to fake sympathy at this news. Ben tried harder. “He’s had to move back in with his mum and dad—and sleep on the couch.” Nikolas scratched the back of his neck, entirely unconcerned. Ben persevered. “It’ll just be for a couple of days until he finds somewhere. You’re not really going for this plan at the moment, are you?”
“Oh, I liked the part about the replacement eighteen-year-old. I’m going to get dressed. God forbid I might meet a strange man whilst I was naked in my own kitchen.” Before he could move, though, he saw the envelope in Ben’s hand. His eyes widened. He knew if he said anything, tried to take it from him, Ben would be perverse and want to keep it, just as he had with the photograph of Nika. That’s just the way they were together. So he had to sit and watch Ben open it and peer inside.
“You wanna keep this?” Nikolas blinked. Ben tapped the envelope. “Christian Aid. Do you want to keep it and donate, or shall I bin it?”
Nikolas took it out of his hand. Christian Aid. Delivered by hand. Not Christian Beck. But it had been Christian Beck. He pulled out photos of people ploughing or smiling with jugs of water. No torture victims. He licked his lips. “I’m going back to bed for a while, maybe.”
Ben put a hand on his forehead. “You okay? You look like shit.”
“Thank you.” He indicated tetchily at the bags and laundry pile. “Perhaps you could find time in your busy schedule of adopting waifs and strays to actually do some work around here, or do I have to do everything?”
He wobbled slightly as he stood from the stool. His headache was back with a vengeance.
§ § §
As soon as he was sure Nikolas was in the bedroom, Ben nipped up the stairs into Tim’s room. Tim was sitting on the bed, apparently slightly dazed. Ben had told Tim a lot about Nikolas, of course, but always, he now realised, things about what Nikolas thought or said or did. Ben had never actually mentioned anything about how he looked. Tim had once asked Ben whether—as he was living with a civil servant—Nikolas wore a bowler hat. He’d clearly been picturing a thin, cerebral man, perhaps a slightly less creepy John Hurt. But now Tim looked like a man who’d been blindsided by a six-foot-four Nordic god in his shower that morning. Muscles, scars, bruises. Cheekbones. Panther eyes…accent. Ben was used to Nik, of course. But he couldn’t help but picture Tim’s reaction to him, and perhaps to the most obvious god-like attribute, which would have no doubt been raised, glistening and flushed dark on a ripped, tanned…
“Ben! Hello!”
Ben shook himself and realised Tim had been talking to him. “Sorry. Was he pissed?”
“No. Considering, he was very polite. So…that’s Nik?”
“Yeah. I didn’t get a chance to warn him, sorry. You want tea?”
“What I really want is to send John a picture of me in the shower with Nikolas.”
“Maturity a prerequisite of being a university professor, is it then?”
“Nope. As John rather proves. Eighteen. Fuck.”
“Come on, you’re dwelling. What do you want to do today?”
“Nikolas?”
“Yeah. Okay, actually, I do have an idea. You’ve just reminded me of someone.”
He went into the bedroom, expecting to find Nikolas reading the paper, but he was asleep with a pillow over his head. Ben frowned and sat down on the edge next to him, easing the pillow off. Nikolas jerked awake. Ben swiftly leant in and kissed him. “Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you last night to tell you.”
“Why didn’t you call and ask me first?”
“Because I asked myself what would Nik do? What was the right thing to do?”
“Oh, you’re good. Let me alone for a while, Ben. I want to sleep.”
“What’s wrong? Seriously, you don’t look good.”
“I’ve had a headache since we got back.”
Ben ran his hands over the healing scar on Nikolas’s head. “Maybe you should see someone, get checked out.”
“I’m fine. It’s just a headache. Go play with Tim.”
“Seriously? I can have a play date with my little friend? You’re so not funny sometimes.”
Nikolas clearly wasn’t feeling very funny. He pulled the pillow back over his head and feebly waved Ben away.
Ben went straight to the study. If Nikolas wouldn’t make an appointment to see a doctor, he’d make one for him. He stopped in the doorway, staring. There was an almost empty bottle of vodka on the desk and an ashtray completely full of cigarette butts. The computer was on with a video on perpetual loop. Two men appeared to be grooming a horse, naked. Until he got closer and saw they weren’t. He turned it off, picked up the bottle and swilled it around for a while. He was tempted to return to the bedroom and give Nikolas a headache worth complaining about. While he’d been humping boxes all day and offering charitable support to a friend in need, Nikolas had spent the day in lazy, self-indulgent debauchery. And he’d broken his promise to give up smoking.
He didn’t make the call to a doctor and left Nikolas to his own self-inflicted misery.
§ § §
Nikolas was indeed miserable. He woke feeling groggy and disorientated, unsure of the time or where he was. He pulled the pillow off his head and turned to peer at the clock. His heart froze and he felt sweat prick his skin, adrenaline flooding him. There was a woman sitting on the bedroom chair. Her hair hung over her face, long and lank, her dress soaking, her feet bare. He moved slowly away to the furthest side of the bed. She looked up with dead eyes. He whispered, “Moder?” but nothing audible came out. He turned very swiftly to check if the bedroom door was open for an escape, and when he turned back, she was gone. The chair was covered in Ben’s neatly folded clothes. His mouth was so dry he couldn’t wet his lips, and his heart was still pounding. He slid off the far side of the bed and backed out of the door. He went as far as the banister and pressed against it. “Ben? Benjamin?” The house was silent. He needed water, and he needed painkillers. They were both in the kitchen. He glanced at the stairs and made his way cautiously down, at any minute expecting the fish-white, drowned hand of his mother to snake out and grab his ankle. He hadn’t dreamed of his mother since she’d died. Since he’d tried to find her, to save her, swimming and shouting and swallowing seawater until they’d had to give him a sedative and put him under virtual house arrest. But then Sergei had come for them, and all had changed anyway.
The kitchen was mercifully free of his dead mother’s ghost, but sitting prominently on the counter was an almost empty vodka bottle, his, he assumed, two cigarette butts, again, his, and a note, not his, in Ben’s writing. It merely stated, “Later!” Nikolas couldn’t help quirking a smile at the implied threat, despite his pain and confusion. He picked up the vodka bottle and polished it off with a handful of painkillers. He felt better immediately. It wasn’t only cigarettes he had a long history with; he’d been drinking since he was ten as well. Sergei had quickly discovered if he wasn’t the only one drunk on his nightly visits to his little son, then things went a great deal more smoothly.
When Nikolas began to feel better, he also began to feel the effects of thirty-six hours without enjoyment of Ben’s body. He grabbed another bottle of vodka from the freezer, took his phone off the charger and went up to the office. He propped his feet up on his desk and texted: Where r u?
Ben wrote back: Not talking 2 u
Sorry?
U promised!
Nikolas sighed. It was hard texting and smoking at the same time. He stuck the cigarette in his mouth and texted back, I know. I’m trying. Where r u what doing?
Match making.
Come home maybe? No need speak 2 me but do other things words not needed?
2 angry with u. Need 2 work it off first.
Work it off in me.
The reply took a very long time to come but when it did, he smirked. Give me hour.
Nikolas tossed his phone onto the desk and took a long drink of the icy, oily liquid. He just had time for a couple more cigarettes.
§ § §
Ben returned to their table in the pub with two beers instead of the three he’d got up to buy. Nikolas being contrite was temptation enough, but the offer to work off his anger deep inside that superb body was beyond Ben’s ability to resist. Tim and Squeezy looked up from what appeared to be a very interesting conversation. Ben made a face. “Gotta go.” To his slight annoyance, neither seemed bothered by this. He told Tim to get a taxi when he was ready to return but realised no one was listening to him. He clicked to Radulf to follow him and left them to get on with it.
When he let himself into the house, he wasn’t expecting to find Nikolas in bed waiting for him exactly; but equally, he wasn’t prepared to find him in bed deeply asleep. And he particularly wasn’t happy to find him deeply asleep with a burning cigarette in his fingers alarmingly smouldering the sheet. The half-empty vodka bottle clutched in his other hand did nothing to improve the look. He wasn’t sure what to do first, but shouting, snatching the cigarette and hitting Nikolas all seemed like good ideas, so he did all three. Nikolas sat up, winced, held his head, and then staggered off the bed and into the bathroom where Ben could hear him being violently sick. Let him. He grabbed the vodka, ripped open the bedroom drawers, found a stash of cigarettes, took those, went into the office, raided all the drawers, found all sorts of things he’d think about later, went down to the kitchen and began systematically to pour out all the alcohol from the wine bottles, the vodka in the freezer, and the beer in the fridge. When that was done, he tipped out all the contents of their bags still not unpacked from the trip and found more cigarettes, more alcohol and more things he’d think about later. Finally, he sat at the table, staring at nothing, deciding what was best to do.
Nikolas finally emerged just as Ben finished loading the washing machine and clearing up the kitchen. He went to the sink and poured a glass of water. He started to take a handful of pills. Ben shot to his feet. “What the fuck are those? Let me see!”
Nikolas frowned. “What?” Before he could react, Ben had his palm open and was inspecting them. Relieved they were only painkillers, he stepped back. Nikolas glared at him. “Don’t step over the mark, Ben. I won’t tolerate it.”
Ben’s eyes widened. He couldn’t even compute this at first. He watched, slightly stunned, as Nikolas went to the freezer and reached in before realising it was empty. He asked coolly, “What’ve you done?”
“What do you think I’ve done? What the fuck is this? You’re drunk at eleven in the morning! You were drunk yesterday! And you were smoking in bed! In bed, Nik! With a bottle of neat vodka spilling out alongside…You set the sheet alight! If I hadn’t come—This is serious. It’s like you’re a totally different person! On Aeroe—”
“On Aeroe,” Nikolas came up close and personal with Ben. “On Aeroe I was busy looking after you.” Ben faltered in his righteousness. He couldn’t deny this. Nikolas smirked. “I’m having a holiday from—”
“From me? Is that what you mean?” Nikolas suddenly bent at the waist, hand to his head. Ben caught his arm, but he shook him off. He backed off, staring at Ben as if he’d no idea who he was. Radulf began to growl, distressed at the situation. Nikolas’s eyes swivelled to the dog. He went pale then he blinked and croaked in Danish, “That’s Radulf, yes?”
Ben’s eyes widened, and he took hold of both of Nikolas’s arms gently. It was like watching a god fail. He bit his lip then gently pulled Nikolas into a deep hug. He stroked his head, just holding him, then whispered, “What’s wrong, baby?”
Nikolas didn’t reply for a while then admitted equally quietly, “I don’t know. I—” He stopped with a catch in his voice.
Ben kissed into his neck and over his ear. “Okay, it’s okay.” He sat Nikolas down, and Radulf immediately came and stood beside him, trying desperately to defend him from a threat he couldn’t see or hear. Nikolas put his hand tentatively on Radulf’s head and then seemed surer and began to methodically stroke around his ears. Radulf groaned in pleasure. Ben put a mug of tea in front of Nikolas and slid into the chair opposite him. Nikolas traced a small spill of tea into a pattern. He flicked his eyes up. “I just have another headache. I’m sorry. Will I be forgiven?”
“You will if you agree to see a doctor. I don’t even know if you have a doctor. I don’t know anything about you really, do I?”
Nikolas swallowed. “I don’t need to see a doctor.”
Ben took his hand, playing with his fingers for a while, and then looked up through lowered lashes. “What would you do if it were me?”
Nikolas smiled slightly. “I’d probably spank you for setting fire to the bed, but you’d enjoy it too much for it to be effective punishment.”
“You’d also make me go see a doctor.”
Nikolas sighed. “The number is in the office. In the top drawer…wait, I’ll fetch it.”
Ben gave him a look. “I already know what’s in your top drawer, and we’ll have that conversation when we’ve recovered from this one, yeah?”
Nikolas shrugged as if unconcerned, but Ben could tell Nik was beginning to feel badly wrong-footed when he mumbled something about replacements and eighteen-year-olds. Ben found the number and brought it down. Nikolas called and got an appointment the following day. Once again, money and rank had its privileges.
They spent the rest of the day entangled on the sofa, watching some movies with the fire crackling in the hearth. Despite the situation, they were both very content, Ben having Nikolas where he could keep an eye on him, and Nikolas, for once, allowing himself to be ill. The painkillers weren’t helping much anymore, and Nikolas’s headache continued getting worse.
Tim came in sometime in the early evening. He leant in the doorway to the main room and nodded at Ben, eyeing Nikolas slightly more warily. If Ben had been worried Nikolas was ill before, he was almost beside himself now. That Nikolas would continue to lie in his arms when someone else was present was unthinkable. It was one of the most uncharacteristic things Nikolas had ever done in the five years he’d known him, and no one could say knowing Nikolas Mikkelsen hadn’t been a roller-coaster ride already.
Tim appeared quite buoyed by his interesting afternoon but his face fell a little when he saw Ben and Nikolas entwined and clearly so complete in each other’s company. He turned away suddenly like a man who’d just realised what he’d lost. Perhaps he and John had spent many cold, wet January evenings doing just what Ben and Nikolas were now. It was clearly a bit of a downer after an invigorating, if probably profane, afternoon.
“You guys eaten yet?”
When Ben said they hadn’t, Tim volunteered to order something in. Nikolas didn’t object—but then he had his eyes closed and didn’t appear to be bothered what anyone else did as long as they left him alone. Before the food arrived, however, he excused himself and went up to bed.
Ben couldn’t manage much of his meal after that; Radulf had to bravely take up the slack. Tim told him Chinese probably wasn’t good for him, but Radulf disagreed. Tim, toying with a prawn cracker, finally asked, “Is it me being here?”
Ben shook his head swiftly. “God, no. I’ve never seen him like this.”
“Go up to him, Ben. Just be there. It may not seem like he wants you to, but he does.”
“You don’t know him.”
“Maybe it’s best not to know someone so well to see the truth. I think you saw John better than I did, and we’d been together twelve years. Nikolas is afrai—No, Ben, listen. I know you don’t want to think it, but he is—he’s scared. He’s sick—maybe for the first time in his life, facing something he can’t fight. Oh, hell, what am I saying? Ignore me. What do I know? Look at me…” He pushed his plate away, staring morosely out at the dark beyond the brightly lit kitchen. “I wonder what John and the bastard baby are doing now.”
“Each other, probably. How did it go with Squeezy?”
“Who?”
Ben frowned. No one usually forgot Squeezy.
“You mean Michael?”
“Michael. Seriously?” Ben chuckled. “Michael. So?”
Tim smirked. “Go upstairs, Ben. You’re needed.”
Ben took his advice. He used the spare bathroom and then slid very quietly into bed so as not to wake Nikolas. He smiled when a hand snaked out and pulled him close. Nikolas breathed deeply into Ben’s short hair. “Hello, Benjamin.”
Ben could have cried at the familiar and so welcome greeting. He pulled him closer and breathed into Nikolas’s ear, “Hello, baby.”
Nikolas stilled for a moment in Ben’s arms. “That’s twice you’ve used that ridiculous term.”
“Mmm, I know. It suits you.”
Ben heard a deep sigh. “You’re the stupidest person I know, Benjamin Rider.” And then Nikolas was asleep in his arms. He kissed the shorn, scarred head and thought to himself if stupidity led to being in this bed, holding this man, then he wouldn’t swap dumbness for all of Nikolas’s smarts.