CHAPTER 7
HARRIS
HARRIS stabbed at the little red button on his phone to end the call, then threw the phone onto his bed with as much force as he dared. It landed with a dissatisfying poof against his pillows. That had been a phone call full of nothing but bad news. Guilt began to set in as he realized how rude he had been to Maggie. She was just the messenger, and she was doing everything in her power to make this as quick and painless as possible. She didn’t deserve to be on the wrong side of his notorious temper.
He made a mental note to send her a ridiculously large bouquet of flowers. And his gifts from the antique shop would be arriving there in just a few days.
After Reid had run off to take care of his oven at the restaurant, Harris had grabbed a bottle of water and headed straight for the beach, where he sat and watched the waves move in and out at a hypnotizing pace.
He had already felt keyed up by Reid’s appearance that morning when Maggie had called. Their outing had felt a lot like another date to him. He wondered if that was just him or if Reid felt the same. Their lack of conversation certainly didn’t help matters. At first, Harris had been glad to see Reid, knowing he had captured the man’s attention with his ridiculous game again. Then Reid had blown that all away when he said they needed to talk, and Harris knew, he just knew, that Reid was trying to let him down gently. Burning with humiliation, Harris had tried to leave, but Reid had looked like he had been on the verge of a panic attack. It had been enough to convince Harris to listen to what the man had to say. Maybe they could even be friends after their little chat.
Harris snorted and ran his hands over his face and into his already mussed hair.
Maggie’s call had come through while Harris was still at the beach. He had taken that as his cue to head back to the inn, listening to her update as he walked.
The lawyers hadn’t made much progress with the Boswell family. They were in a stalemate. The autopsy still hadn’t been done, the doctor was still reviewing the case, and the family wanted more money in the settlement. Maggie was working with his insurance company on the terms of the payout. Harris grit his teeth, hoping against all hope that the insurance company would just pay them out and they could all bury this thing.
Then Maggie dropped the bombshell that the hospital had been in contact with her and said that Harris was to remain on sabbatical for another month, minimum. And after that, he needed to go through extensive psychiatric evaluation before they would let him consult with patients.
There went the next six months of patients.
Harris hadn’t been able to form words when Maggie had told him the news. It had been all he could do to focus on the ground between his feet and breathe in slowly through his nose. He had wanted to scream. But doing so in public wouldn’t bode well.
When Harris finally made it back to the inn, he had gathered himself enough to let Maggie know exactly what he thought of everything. Dylan had raced into the living room before Harris had realized he had been shouting nonstop for several minutes. Stopping himself, he had stomped up the stairs, said a few more choice words to Maggie, and hung up.
And here he was. No job and no resolution to speak of at the moment. And a, no-doubt, pissed assistant.
He knew he should calm down. Nothing was set in stone yet. He was only adding unnecessary stress to his heart.
Harris rubbed at his chest, feeling the raised scar tissue beneath the fabric of his sweater. Anger burned churned in his belly, far from dissipated.
Cursing, Harris shucked his clothes and donned his track pants and a T-shirt. He slipped on his running shoes, grabbed his headphones, and raced out of the house.
He ran. He ran and ran, first toward the beach, the ocean, needing its soothing waves and cool, salty breeze. Then he ran along the water, feeling the surf splash up and hit his legs. Finally, he raced toward the town, unwilling to acknowledge where he was headed.
Down the street and around the corner, Harris looked up and spotted the familiar mermaid on its sign.
He pushed open the door without hesitation, bells clanging.
Michelle looked up at him, her eyes widening in surprise at his no-doubt disheveled and winded appearance. She extended a hand toward the bar in invitation, then headed toward the kitchens, no doubt to let Reid know Harris had lost his mind.
It was still too early for dinner, but fuck it. If Reid wanted to talk, they would fucking talk.
Harris slid onto a bar stool, barely able to force out a nod to Grayson behind the bar. Grayson filled a tall glass with ice and water before sliding it over to him. Catching it, Harris gulped down its contents quickly, feeling it burn down his throat. An ache formed behind his eyes at the sensation.
“Harris!” Reid exited the kitchens, walking quickly, concern painted all over his face. Harris watched as Reid wiped his hands on a rag, though it didn’t do much good against the soot and grease stains. “Are you alright?” he asked.
Harris ground his teeth. He was beginning to hate that question.
“No, I’m not alright,” he snapped, glaring. Reid recoiled; then his gaze softened, and he approached the bar.
“What happened?” The question was gentle, but Harris still didn’t want to answer. He moved his glare down to the glass, where nothing but ice remained.
Grayson reached over with the bar gun and filled Harris’ glass with water once again. Harris gulped it down if only to avoid Reid’s gaze.
“Fine,” Reid said. He tossed the rag onto the counter behind the bar. “Come on then.”
Surprised, Harris looked up at Reid as he rounded the bar and headed for the front door. Looking back at Grayson, Grayson merely shrugged, then jerked his chin toward Reid, indicating that Harris should go.
Harris slid off the barstool and followed after Reid. For the first time since answering his phone, Harris felt something other than simmering anger twist in his stomach.
Something deliciously sinful.
He followed Reid up a staircase nestled along the side of the building. Reid unlocked the door and held it open for him.
“Oh? Is this what you meant by talking?” Harris said, adopting a salacious grin. He knew he wasn’t in any state of mind to actually have sex with Reid right now, but when in Rome…
Reid narrowed his eyes at him. “You stay here. I’m going to get changed. Then you and I are going to the gym.”
Harris’ jaw dropped as Reid walked away. “The gym?” he called after Reid.
He didn’t get a response.
Left to his own devices, Harris took in the apartment around him. The lingering scents of coffee and whatever shampoo Reid used added to the homey feel of the place. The front door let into a small foyer, flanked by a spacious living room with large windows that faced the ocean. Harris would never have expected to find an ocean view in an apartment above a restaurant smack dab in the middle of downtown Seaside, but there he was. Reid had disappeared down the hall straight ahead, where Harris assumed the bedrooms and bathroom were. Or bedroom. It could be a single bedroom, for all he knew.
Turning toward the living room, Harris wandered, taking in Reid’s belongings. The room was surprisingly cluttered, books piled on the coffee table, a couple of remotes scattered on the overstuffed couch. An empty red coffee mug on an end table completed the picture. What looked like a knitted throw lay in a pile at one end of the couch, a cushion smashed into the opposite end. Harris wondered if Reid was the kind of man to nap on his couch.
Then Harris looked up and gaped.
More of that wonderful art from Harris’ new favorite artist crowded the walls. They showcased even more vibrant colors than before and more emotional appeal. More aesthetics. At least, that’s what Harris thought art snobs called it. It made Harris feel something.
There were powerful mountain ranges, done in deep blues, purples, and grays. Studies of animals and birds. Flowers. Meadows of flowers, kaleidoscopes of colors spanning the rainbow. Portraits. There was a portrait of each employee downstairs, meaning that this artist was definitely local and knew them all. What a gift to paint them all for Reid.
A shock of horrified understanding shot through Harris. Maybe the mysterious artist was Reid’s ex-boyfriend. That would certainly explain why Reid was so close-mouthed about the whole thing. And now Harris felt a rush of embarrassment threaten to consume him. He had practically waxed on poetic about the guy. Reid probably thought he was the world’s most callous idiot.
A larger portrait of a woman Harris didn’t recognize filled a small wall between the kitchen and dining room area. Upon closer inspection, Harris could recognize the eyes and nose as a smaller, more feminine version of Reid’s.
Gail.
Harris stared at the portrait longer than he intended, too, feeling as though he were missing something vital and that Gail would tell him if she could. It was right on the edge of his thoughts, as elusive as the cure for the common cold.
Then something brushed against his leg.
“Argh!” Harris jumped a good couple of inches into the air before spinning around, looking for whatever it was that had grazed his leg.
A small blur of gray and white bolted from the room and down the hall, a thundering clamor following in its wake.
“Um,” Harris called down the hallway. “Was that a cat?”
Reid’s laughter met his ears. “I see you’ve met Leo.”
“Leo,” Harris repeated, testing the name. “Leo was getting a little fresh with me just now,” he added.
“Can you blame the poor guy?” Reid teased.
Harris’ abdomen clenched at the bolt of heat. Which only served to piss him off further.
Was Reid flirting with him again? Only to shut him down? There were too many mixed signals going on and Harris very much needed clarity.
Just then, Reid reappeared holding two small hand towels, dressed in gym shorts and an unremarkable blue T-shirt, except for the fact that it was approximately two sizes too small. Harris’ mouth filled with saliva. Reid made his way around Harris, as though he hadn’t just made the innuendo that hung in the air, and into the kitchen. Once there, he opened a cupboard and retrieved two large water bottles. Turning to the tap, he unscrewed the caps, filling each of them to the brim before screwing the lids back on. He grabbed the towels and bottles before making his way back to Harris.
“Here,” he said, holding a bottle and towel out for Harris. “Let’s go.”
“Weren’t we supposed to talk?” Harris demanded, not budging.
Reid lifted an eyebrow, making his way to the door. He pulled it open, holding it for Harris.
“We will. I promised you that. But not right now. I’d rather talk when you’re not raring to bite someone’s head off.”
That flared Harris’ anger again, oxygen to the flame. All traces of the desire he had been feeling disappeared in a moment.
“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m an adult. I can have an adult conversation right now.” He stalked toward Reid, going toe-to-toe with him.
Reid held up the hand holding his water bottle and towel, the other hand holding the door. “I know you can. But you’re upset about something right now, and I don’t know what it is. I know when I’m upset, I like to go to the gym. It helps me think and process. I figured we could go together, work it out, you can tell me what’s wrong, and we will fix it.”
Just like that, the wind left Harris’ sails. He stared at Reid, in awe of his thoughtfulness. Nobody had ever offered to help Harris when he got into one of his moods, except Pierce. And even then, he had sent Harris on his way, leaving him to figure it out on his own.
Reid gestured for Harris to go ahead. Harris left the apartment, jogging down the steps, not bothering to wait for Reid to lock the door behind them. He ended up waiting on the sidewalk below, not having the slightest idea which direction he should go.
“Left,” Reid said, joining Harris on the sidewalk and taking the lead.
They walked in silence. Having already had his run, Harris’ muscles were loose and warm. He generally wasn’t what one would call a gym rat, but it was more than apparent that Reid was. Harris had his own treadmill in L.A., and if he wanted fresh air, he could run around his neighborhood. Not that there was such a thing as fresh air in L.A., but he made do. He’d never needed a gym. The idea of going to one and actually lifting weights filled him with trepidation.
If only Maggie could see him now.
It wasn’t long before Reid slowed and gestured to a nondescript door with no indication of what it led to. Harris was pretty sure he had walked by that door several times by now, and he hadn’t spared it a glance.
“It’s nothing fancy, just a small place us locals frequent. The owner has two places in town: one for the locals and one for the tourists. But nobody is going to mind if I bring you in here. He keeps the locals’ gym under wraps to help keep machines and weights available for us. During the summer months, his other gym can be overrun with tourists, and the rest of us are S.O.L.” Reid pulled open the door.
Harris paused, hearing the clang of metal and soft grunts and curses coming out the door, the strong scents of sweat and metal coming out to meet him. Along with what sounded like David Bowie singing about golden years.
He liked the place immediately.
Harris felt Reid’s hand rest on the small of his back and gently propel him forward. He would have dug his heels in, just to be obstinate, but the most attractive Asian woman behind the desk was already rolling her eyes, popping her gum, and shaking her head at Reid. Her pitch-black hair lay pin straight, just brushing her shoulders, and her dark, almond-shaped eyes crinkled at the sides ever so slightly.
“Back for more?” she asked, then spared a glance for Harris.
Harris looked up at Reid, who met his gaze, a fresh dusting of pink on the bridge of his nose. “I usually do my routine first thing in the morning.” Then Reid looked at the woman. “Hey, Lisa. I’m just here to help my friend, Harris Brewer.”
“Oh?” she asked, lifting a lethal-looking eyebrow. Harris wondered how she managed to get them so sharp. She gave Harris a more thorough once-over. “He’s not from around here.”
Harris stiffened. Here it was. His first time in a gym in how long, and he was about to be kicked out. He’d been kicked out of bars before, but that had always been his own doing. To be kicked out for something he wasn’t even responsible for would just add the perfect cherry atop his already perfect day.
“I know,” Reid said, offering her a sheepish smile. Harris’ jaw dropped. He must have perfected that look on his mother years ago. “But he’s a friend of mine. Can we log him in as a guest and keep it between us?”
Lisa rolled her eyes again but huffed out a soft laugh. “You know I’m going to have to tell Ward anyway. But go ahead. I’ll log him in.”
“Thanks, Lisa. You’re the best.” That show of sheepishness turned into an award-winning grin. Then Reid focused on Harris. “Let’s go.”
Harris gave Lisa a tight grin and a nod, which she returned somberly, all trace of friendliness gone. Harris gulped, then followed Reid over to the free weights.
The gym went back further than Harris had realized at first glance. Mirrors along all the walls allowed for people to check their form but also made the space look much larger than it actually was. The front half of the room was crowded with weight machines, an assortment of older and newer ones mixed together. Only a few of them were being used. A small room off to the left housed most of the cardio machines: treadmills, ellipticals, StairMasters. There was even a rowing machine one man was using, pulling away to his heart’s content and hissing out his breaths. Reid waived to him as they passed by.
Reid led them toward the back, where a series of mats and benches lay against the wall. Several sets of dumbbells sat in racks near one corner, and a barbell with weights sat on the other. Harris let out a relieved breath when Reid steered them toward the dumbbells.
“Hope you’re ready to work,” Reid said with a smile, placing his bottle and towel down next to a bench. He plucked Harris’ from his hands, setting them down next to his.
“Not particularly,” Harris groused, feeling put upon.
Reid turned those pretty blue eyes on Harris. “Alright. If you really don’t want to be here, that’s okay. My intention isn’t to force you to do anything you don’t want to do. I hope you know that.”
Harris sighed and nodded. “Trust me. You can’t force me to do anything. Only Maggie can do that, and ask her how long it’s taken her to earn that privilege.”
Reid laughed. “Okay, good. That’s good, then.” He cleared his throat. “You tell me if something is too heavy or if you’re feeling light-headed. We’ll start slow.”
Harris followed Reid’s instructions, lifting dumbbell after dumbbell every which direction. Muscles he hadn’t used in forever, and even more he didn’t even know he had, burned and ached as he finished rep after rep. Reid guessed well as far as how much weight Harris could handle, and if it felt a bit too much at times, Harris grit his teeth and did it anyway.
And still, Harris’ mind whirled.
He thought about the day of that fateful surgery. It had been like any other. He had gotten up around four that morning, teaming to go. Surgery had always had that effect on him. After arriving at the hospital, Harris went over his notes and plans with his team one final time before dispatching the anesthesiologist and nurses to prep Chuck Boswell. Harris had changed into scrubs and washed thoroughly. He had spent the remainder of his time double-checking his instruments, making sure everything was in prime condition before he went out to meet with Chuck.
“Ready?” Harris had asked, grinning behind his paper mask, after confirming with him that they were in fact there to work on his heart.
Chuck had smiled back and settled on his little paper pillow. “Make me a new man, doc,” he had said.
It had been the last thing he had said.
Harris grunted through another set of lifts, his chest tight.
“Breathe,” Reid prompted. Harris exhaled harshly and glared at Reid. Then he inhaled. Reid smiled.
“Ready for deadlifts?” Reid asked when Harris finished his reps.
“What?” Harris asked, dumbly.
Reid grinned. “Oh, you’re in for a treat.”
Harris wanted to murder Reid. After Reid demonstrated, which had been a sight to behold, watching all those muscles clench and release, the light sheen of sweat shimmering on his pale, freckled skin, Harris braced himself near the barbell.
And still, the memories and stress haunted him.
Harris had stared at the blood smeared all over the floor, papers, tools, debris littering the space. His own latex-covered hands were covered in blood. And he couldn’t move. He had stared, chilled to the bone, ice in his veins.
He had lost him.
In a way, it was worse than any other death he had experienced before. And he had experienced more than was fair. It was inevitable, especially with the risky procedures people trusted him to execute. But this should have been a simple, straightforward, routine operation. It shouldn’t have ended in a death.
One of his nurses had finally coaxed him from the room, peeled off his gloves, and helped him wash up.
Then came time for Harris to notify the family.
The wife had screamed. Screamed and screamed. Her screams still haunted his nightmares. Nurses had rushed forward from all directions, gathered her up, and ushered her away. Harris had talked to the oldest son, explaining that an autopsy would need to be done to find out what had gone wrong.
The family hadn’t liked the fact that Harris didn’t know what had happened, that Chuck had been cleared for surgery when there had been some underlying problem nobody knew about. They were all waiting on the autopsy report. In the meantime, they had lawyered up and were preparing to file the malpractice suit.
Harris fairly threw the barbell back to the floor. Then he crouched down low, resting his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands. The sharp metallic stench clinging to them threatened to suffocate him.
He couldn’t breathe. A sharp pain had taken up residence right above his diaphragm, making breathing impossible. His vision swam as he grew lightheaded, and he knew that if he didn’t stop the panic, he would pass out. His arms and legs trembled with the effort to hold himself upright. He couldn’t allow this to happen. Not here. Not now.
“Harris.” A strong, warm hand landed on his shoulder. He could feel Reid’s heat, smell the soft scent of his soap, maybe even his sweat. Harris shuddered.
“I can’t,” he whispered. “It won’t go away. I just want it all to go away.”
“Okay. It’s okay.” And Reid wrapped his arms around Harris.
Losing his balance, Harris fell into Reid, his face pressed against that soft shirt, surrounding Harris with the comforting scent of laundry detergent. Reid’s chest felt hard with muscle, yet warm and inviting.
Tears finally, finally leaked out of Harris’ eyes, absorbing into Reid’s shirt. He cried silent tears, letting Reid hold him as he broke into a million pieces.
Time stretched. He had no idea how long they sat there, curled around each other, but Harris’ ass had grown numb by the time he lifted his head and rubbed a hand across his eyes.
“Fuck. I’m sorry,” Harris started.
“No. Stop.” One of Reid’s hands rested against Harris’ mouth, featherlight. Harris felt the strongest urge to kiss it. “Don’t apologize. I’m glad you trust me enough to let me take care of you.”
Harris’ heart thudded hard against his chest. He knew he was staring at Reid, probably looking all the more like an idiot.
Reid offered a gentle smile. “What happened?”
Harris exhaled shakily and leaned back, away from the warmth and scent of Reid. It was harder than he thought it should be, but he forced himself to do it nonetheless. He wrapped his arms around his legs and stared at the ceiling, the only wall not offering a reflection of his own tear-stained and blotchy face.
“I told you I lost a patient before I came up here,” Harris said, his voice rough. He cleared it. “What I didn’t tell you was that the surviving family is trying to set up a case to sue me for malpractice.”
He heard Reid’s slight gasp of breath. Harris shook his head.
“My insurance and lawyers are working on it. And Maggie. God bless Maggie. She called me after you left. Told me some bad news. We’re trying to settle, and the family isn’t going for it. And now the hospital wants me on sabbatical for another month, minimum, before I go through psych eval.”
“Christ, Harris,” Reid whispered on an exhale. “I’m so sorry. Shit, I shouldn’t have made you come in here.”
Harris shook his head again. “No, I’m…” he hesitated, then nodded. “I’m actually glad. Yeah, it’s not exactly dignified to lose your shit on the gym floor, crying into the shirt of the local Adonis, but what can you do?”
Reid choked, his face flaming red again. “Adonis?” he said.
Harris laughed, then pushed himself up off the floor. He held out a hand to Reid. “Come on. I think I’ve had enough for today.”
Reid grasped Harris’ hand, and Harris hauled him up. Harris dropped his hand as soon as he could. He barely restrained the urge to wipe it on his pants to stop the tingling sensation.
“You know,” Reid began as they walked toward the front of the gym. “Don’t give up hope. They haven’t successfully sued you; you can still go home. Just try to keep your chin up.”
He knew Reid had a point, and he should seriously consider that point, but it all felt a little too raw at the moment.
“Just because it hasn’t happened yet doesn’t mean it won’t happen in the near future,” Harris said without much heat as they exited the gym. He was suddenly bone tired. “Listen, I’m tired. I think I’ll just head back to the inn and take a nap or something. I’ll see you some other time.”
“Harris,” Reid began, worry written all over his face.
“Oh, hey, how’s the oven? Did you manage to fix it?” Harris asked, definitely trying to deflect.
Reid leveled a look at him but nodded with a sigh. “It’s patched up for now. Listen, if you need anything –”
“I just want to be alone, Reid,” Harris said and hated himself for it. It wasn’t true at all. He wanted to bury himself in Reid. But he couldn’t, so the next best thing was distance.
Reid’s face cleared, went blank. Then he nodded. “Alright. Come by the restaurant anytime. And you know where I live now.”
“Yeah,” Harris said. “See ya.” He turned and walked away without another word, going the opposite direction from where he knew Reid needed to go.
It wasn’t until he was locked up in his room, having successfully avoided Dylan, that Harris realized he still held on to Reid’s towel and water bottle.