Chapter Thirty Two
Shannon
“God…dammit, I fucking hate you!” Rory shouted at the physical therapist. Shannon chuckled, filling the kettle and setting it on the base to heat, so he could make them some tea. They’d been back home for three weeks now, and the physical therapist had been putting Rory through the motions, the exercises meant to strengthen his shoulder no longer causing excruciating pain but still very uncomfortable, leaving him winded, exhausted, and oftentimes cranky. On the worst days, Rory would shout loud enough to raise the roof and Shannon would let it go in one ear then out the other, realizing how hard it was for his man—having to rely and depend on others for the simplest of things. Rand, however, was not so accommodating. The newest addition to their coupling, the man that made them a threesome, had a bark far worse than Rory’s and a bite that required stitches.
At some point while they were still at the hospital, Taylor, Frank and Taylor’s parents along with Connie, Claire, and Blair had cleaned the apartment thoroughly. All the dishes and glasses he’d broken on Tuan’s head were gone, new ones in their place. The mangled coffeepot and busted blender had been replaced as well and, much to his delight, there were three candles sitting on the counter waiting when they arrived at the apartment the day Rory was discharged. The fridge and cabinets were stocked, and the freezer held a dozen or so containers with soups, pasta, and stews that only needed to be warmed. Shannon had locked himself in the bathroom while Rand got Rory settled on the couch the afternoon they arrived back at the apartment after he saw what his friends—no, his family had done for them. He wanted to cry in peace and didn’t want to worry Rory when the man needed to focus all his strength on getting better, not on pampering his boyfriend.
“Hey, I’m headed out. You should give him a pain pill, so he can rest. I was pretty brutal today,” the adorable little twink in scrubs told Shannon as he left the apartment.
Two mugs were already prepped with diffusers holding Rory’s favorite cinnamon plum tea and a dollop of honey—local, of course. He filled them from the kettle, grabbing a couple of spoons before walking to the bedroom. Rory was lying on his back, panting, a tear trickling down his cheek. “Oh, babe. Here, let’s get you situated.”
Ever so gently, he helped Rory scoot back until he was leaning on a stack of pillows against the headboard. “You’re pushing yourself too hard, babe. The Bureau said to take all the time you need. Stop trying to make your arm work overnight. It’s futile and causes you nothing but pain.” Shannon fussed with the blanket before reaching for one of the cups, turning and helping Rory wrap his hand around the warm ceramic mug. When he held the small, white tablet between two fingers, Rory opened his mouth and accepted it, swallowing the pill down with a swig of tea. He sat with Rory, both of them content to just be in each other’s company, until the pill kicked in and Rory started dozing off. Still, Shannon sat on the edge of the bed watching the man he loved sleep for a while, thoughts straying to the man in the other room that he was falling hard for as well.
Leaving the bedroom, he pulled the door closed to give Rory the quiet he needed. His socked feet padded softly across the room to the kitchen, and he set the mugs in the sink. He didn’t know how long he stood there staring at the section of the floor that had been covered in blood that night, Rory’s blood. Shannon swore sometimes he could still smell the stench of gunpowder and copper, the nausea threatening to divulge the contents of his stomach. His feet carried him to the drawer where he kept the lighter, the same drawer that held his knives, another reminder of that night. Would he ever be able to walk through his home and not think about it? Not remember the look of anguish on Rand’s face when he first ran in, the shocked expression on Rory’s when Tuan unloaded his gun, two bullets tearing Rory’s flesh from his bones? The silver lining was watching Tuan’s body land on the floor, like a fucking brick, after Connie put a bullet between his eyes.
No, this had to stop. He was not going to allow the past to dictate his future, not anymore. This was his home—his, Rory’s, and Rand’s, and he’d have to figure out a way to deal with it. Staring at the hardwood floors, an idea came to him. “We can sand them and apply new stain.”
Rand shuffled into the kitchen, yawning and scratching his head. “Hey, babe. Everything okay? Who you talkin’ to?” Voice still full of sleep, he grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the sink.
“Sweetie, what do you think about sanding the wood flooring in here and over by the bedroom? We can add a darker stain—maybe put one of those long, thin metal strips between the kitchen and the living room.” He was thinking out loud, surprised when Rand agreed.
“Yeah, that could work. And separating the two rooms could make the space seem larger than it is.” Rand shrugged.
Clapping, he danced on the balls of his feet. “It’s settled then.” Rand motioned him over and he went, smiling when toned, corded arms wrapped around him. The kiss they shared was chaste, at first, until Rand swept his tongue into Shannon’s mouth. God, he loved the way Rand took possession of him with just a kiss. He was considering climbing the man wrapped around him when Rory coughed behind him.
“Is it my turn to watch?” When he turned, Rory waggled his eyebrows and whistled.
“Actually, I was going to start dinner.” Shannon turned toward the fridge, shrieking when Rand smacked him on the ass.
“Party pooper.” Rory pouted.
“Get your butt in here and help, Ro. It’s sloppy joes, so it’s easy.” He already had the sauce mixed. He made it in bulk and jarred several for future use, so all they needed to do was cook the ground turkey and mix in the sauce. Shannon enjoyed cooking, but sharing the responsibility with Rory and Rand took it to another level. Rand threw out a few more ideas for the floors while he chopped lettuce and vegetables for a salad, and Rory sat perched on one of the counters, squeezing a stress ball to work on the weakness in his wounded arm.
When the food was ready, Shannon set out plates, silverware, and wineglasses, and the three of them sat down to eat. Sipping his wine, Shannon swayed side to side in his chair, Debussy’s “Clair De Lune” playing softly in the background. “This music is oddly soothing.” Rand admitted.
“That reminds me, Lindsey Stirling is going to be at the American Airlines Center next spring. We should get tickets.” Rory took a bite of his sandwich, groaning. “So good,” he said around a mouthful, sauce dribbling down his chin.
“Come here.” Rand laughed, grabbing Rory by the back of the neck and pulling him over, licking the sauce from his chin. Shannon didn’t miss the flash of desire in Rory’s eyes. Perhaps it was Rory’s turn to ride and his turn to observe. Sitting there, watching his guys flirt and feed each other, he couldn’t help but think how blissfully normal it was. The two things Shannon had wanted for as long as he could remember were to lead a mundane life and to be loved. Life had dealt him a shitty hand from the start. Between his parents and Bruce, Shannon easily could have grown into a bitter, cynical, lonely old man. Instead, he found the strength to get away, the courage to be his own person and live his life the way he saw fit. Having not one but two men to love, that loved him—that was karma getting it right for a change. Seems I hit the jackpot, he thought.
“My parents invited us to their house for Thanksgiving,” Rory told them out of the blue.
“But I wanted to cook this year. It’s our first Thanksgiving, and I thought we could have Connie and Claire over.” Shannon tried not to sound disappointed, but he was. He looked over at Rand. The man shook his head once, the movement crisp and quick. At least the two of them were in agreement.
Reaching across the table, Rory patted his hand. “Shan, I said they invited. I didn’t say we were going.”
“I like that idea, Shan. Thanksgiving here with the girls—let’s do that.” Rand threw his two cents in.
Rory shrugged. “Fine by me. Virginia is fucking cold in November.”
Shannon and Rand had been introduced to Rory’s parents over Skype while he was still in the hospital. Clifford and Arleen Landers were the second marriage for each of them, finding one another later in life. Rory’s mother had assumed she couldn’t have children, so the Landerses were stunned when they learned Arleen was expecting at the age of forty-eight. Rory described them as old and set in their ways, which rang true—both pushing eighty, traveling was not their forte. Shannon thought eccentric was a more apt description. He was anxious to meet the Landerses, eventually, but spending their first Thanksgiving and Christmas together in Texas in the home they were creating, the three of them, was more important to Shannon than he could put into words.
“Here you go.” Rand poured the last of the wine into his glass before pushing his chair back, standing, and going over to put the bottle in the recycling bin. Shannon moved to get up, his intention was to clear the table and start the dishes, but Rory stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
“Sit, enjoy your wine and the music. I got this.” Rory kissed him before grabbing his plate. Shannon leaned back in his chair, sipping the delicious Pinot while watching his men and listening to the deep, bluesy tones of Janis Joplin floating in the air. This is what life was all about, a series of moments strung together to make memories, to create lasting impressions. Whatever the future held for them, this was just the beginning, and they had a lifetime of memories to create.