He was running. No, not running. Limping. His left leg was wrapped in a cast from foot to thigh. So, he limped as fast as he could, even as his head throbbed and his back pulsed and pulled. He huffed with each step, sweat pouring over him, but still, he limped. He had to get away.
Behind him was the mob again, their feet pounding the ground. But this time they were accompanied by a loud rumble. He risked a glance behind him and nearly stumbled at the sight of a gigantic armored vehicle rolling along behind the mob. It was huge, looming in the background, far larger than any armored vehicle built on earth.
He tried to turn to keep running, but his right foot caught on his cast, and he tumbled to the ground. The mob caught up with him and, like every other time he dreamed this dream, they ran past without giving him a second thought. The armored vehicle drove past too, directly over Cam, its wheels passing on either side of him as he lay on the ground.
He couldn’t catch any of them this time. None of his scrambling and shouting did any good to slow their progress toward whoever was in their sights. He pushed himself upright, hopping on one foot as he regained his balance. Then he limped along again, struggling to keep up as they descended upon their victim.
By the time he caught up, the mob was gone, leaving behind the evidence of their savagery. A cry bubbled up from Cam’s chest, and he clamped his hand over his mouth at the sight. Patsy and Osman lay on the ground, brutalized. The two dead guards lay beside them, bullet holes in their heads. Ty lay there too, dressed in a sharp suit, covered in chocolate.
He backed away, one unsteady step at a time, and turned. He couldn’t look at them anymore. His head was going to explode, his back was on fire. He ran with what little was left inside of him. He ran until . . .
Cam hurtled toward consciousness, breaking through before he was quite ready to surface. He gasped as his body exploded in pain—head, back, every joint. His mouth was full of cotton, suffocating him. Cobwebs stuffed his ears, disorienting him. When he blinked his eyes open, it was dark, and it took a couple more blinks before the varying shades of black formed into identifiable shapes.
Something wet and cold pressed against his neck, and the accompanying whine told him Busker was in bed with him. Cam groaned and tried without success to shirk away from Busker’s nose.
As his heart rate gradually descended, he took a quick inventory of his body and the aches and pains he’d been tracking for the past week or so. None of them felt any better; if anything, his back was tighter from the stitches that kept the deep gash together, and his leg was itchy as hell under the cast. And he was so goddamn tired. But his bladder screamed at him, and he didn’t have the humiliating luxury of a bedpan at home.
Cam lifted his arms, trying to get them far enough under his body to leverage himself up to sitting. He grimaced at how they protested even that simple movement. He tried an experimental push—nothing but the radiating pain across his back and his arms giving out before he even got an inch.
Busker barked at him, loud even as it filtered through the cobwebs in his ear. “Busker, shh.”
Footsteps echoed beyond his door. Great. Cary and Izzy were still here. He had told them to go home and come back tomorrow. The door opened, letting in light from the living room.
“I’m fine. Really.” Cam tried to preempt their complaints. “I need to pee, that’s all, goddamn it.”
“Here. Can you lift your head?”
That was the last voice Cam expected to hear. He jerked his head around to check if it was actually Ty so quickly that the movement set off a dull explosion of pain, and he froze with his eyes squeezed shut, waiting for it to ease. “Fuck.”
“Whoa. Slowly. Are you okay?” Ty rushed to his side.
He forced himself to breathe through the pain, and once it finally died down, he bit out, “What are you doing here?”
Ty’s hands on his shoulder and behind his neck stilled, and for a brief second Cam feared he might pull away. But he didn’t, to Cam’s relief. They were warm and familiar on Cam’s skin.
“I’m here because you got your stupid ass blown up, that’s why.”
Ty’s low, rumbling voice penetrated through the fog of darkness that had enveloped Cam for the past several weeks and found that vulnerable, precious part of him deep inside. He didn’t respond. He didn’t have enough words to describe how he felt about Ty being here: some nuanced concoction of joy, relief, comfort, hope.
“Come on. Let’s get you to the toilet.”
Cam gritted his teeth but couldn’t stop the cry of pain that burst from his throat as Ty helped him up. His fingers dug into Ty’s shoulder and forearm, unable to let go because he’d only fall back down on the bed. “Crutches.” He jutted his chin sideways.
Ty kept one hand on him and reached for the pair that leaned against the wall. With great difficulty, Cam managed to swing his legs around and gently lower the one with the cast down to the floor. He was covered in sweat, trails of it running down the sides of his face.
Busker barked once, watching them struggle to stand up from the bed. By the time he was upright, Cam was so exhausted, he wanted to lie back down. He wasn’t sure he could even operate the crutches. He took a tentative first step and would have fallen over if Ty hadn’t been there, steadying him. With excruciating slowness, they made their way out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, and by the time he was situated in front of the toilet, he was shaking so hard he thought he might go into shock. Maybe he should invest in a goddamn bedpan.
“Do you want to sit?” Ty asked.
Cam shook his head. Sitting was torture on his back, pulling at the stitches in a way that made it feel like it would split open again. But standing while peeing in his state was going to be tricky. Fucking goddamn shit.
“Do you want me to stay?” Ty’s tone was matter-of-fact, as if there was nothing amiss about an adult man not being able to pee on his own. Cam could have kissed him for that if he’d been able to move.
He gave a slight nod. “Can you . . .” Cam glared at the drawstring of his pajama pants. If he let go of his crutches at this point, he’d end up on the floor. Besides, his fingers had stiffened around the handles, and he doubted he could unwrap them even if he tried.
Ty stood behind him, pressing chest against back. After the initial flash of pain at the contact, it eased into a dull throb, and Cam leaned against him. Ty’s hands were quick and sure, pulling his pants down far enough to access the equipment.
“Do you . . .” Ty spoke low beside his ear, his hands firm on Cam’s hips.
Cam squeezed his eyes shut and fought the inevitable. He shook his head. “Can you?”
There was no hesitation, only efficient motions that had Cam’s junk out and pointed in the right direction while Cam leaned his head on Ty’s shoulder, eyes squeezed tightly shut, turned the other way. Ty’s hands were warm against his skin—not arousing, not weird—simply a second pair of hands holding his penis in place so he could pee in the goddamn toilet and relieve himself.
“Go ahead.”
Ty’s chin was on top of Cam’s shoulder, the side of his face pressed against Cam’s neck, the solid mass of Ty’s body behind him, holding him upright. It was comforting in a way that might not have made sense to other people, but it was what Cam needed at that moment. He bit his bottom lip and told his bladder to let go.
The relief caused another flood of sweat to pour from Cam’s skin, and as he finished, what remained of his strength drained from his limbs. He didn’t remember Ty cleaning him up and putting him away. There might have been muttered curses and shouts of pain as they maneuvered back to the bedroom. By the time Cam was horizontal again, the blissful darkness had taken him.
Cam sat by his window, leg propped up on a second chair. He stared out at the fire escape, focused on the pattern of rust decorating the railing. This was his third cigarette. It didn’t feel like enough.
It had been two weeks of being back in this apartment and crawling out of bed when all he wanted was to bury deeper under the covers. They had forced him to do a Skype session with Dr. Brown—much good that had done; she only wanted to talk about things he didn’t want to talk about.
Possibly the only constructive thing that had happened was Teresa calling with an update on Patsy and Osman. Osman had lost a leg but would survive. Patsy was in similar shape to Cam, and he wondered whether she would go back into the field after she recovered. The peacekeeper who had been in the front passenger seat had died, and Cam hated that he hadn’t even learned the guy’s name.
He took another drag on his smoke and considered lighting up a fourth one. Busker bumped against his good knee and sat beside him, head raised for a pat. Cam brushed his fingers through Busker’s mane.
“Do you want to eat something?” Ty asked from across the room.
That was the other thing—Ty. He had been around constantly this entire time. Not leaving in the evening to go home, not leaving in the morning to go to work. He was around all the fucking time, coordinating with the cleaner, sending the laundry out, ordering food, and generally being helpful. It was so goddamn sweet. Cam gritted his teeth together. “No.”
“You have to eat something.” Ty’s annoyance mirrored how Cam felt.
“I don’t have to eat a fucking thing.” Besides, if he ate now, there was a good chance he’d end up vomiting it back up. Something about the drugs they had him on and his renewed bout of PTSD left his body with an unpredictable relationship with food.
“Fine. Food’s in the kitchen if you change your mind.”
Ty padded softly away, and Cam’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach. The last thing he wanted was to be an asshole to Ty. But every time he opened his mouth, the most asshole-y thing came out. He stuck the cigarette butt into the glass jar and grabbed his crutches. He could live without the fourth cigarette.
With one last pat for Busker, Cam tried to leverage himself into a standing position. His good leg had fallen asleep, and the attempt to stand on it sent shooting pain through the awakening nerves. He got halfway up and dropped back into his chair, a layer of sweat developing on his skin. Busker whined while Ty stood at the doorway, arms crossed, watching.
He tried again, hopping a little and regretting the movement as it sent sharp stabs of pain radiating through his back, reigniting the throbbing in his head. He breathed through it and tried yet again, except this time his body gave out, and he started falling, nothing within arm’s reach to break his fall.
Nothing except Ty, apparently, who was suddenly there, arms wrapped around him, holding him up. Cam attempted to fight it, but was unsuccessful as he leaned into Ty’s warmth, letting him take his weight.
“I didn’t ask for your help.” The words escaped his clenched jaw even as he held on to Ty with a death grip.
“I’m not offering.” Ty’s response was equally strained.
Together, they hobbled over to the couch, and Cam eased down onto it with his eyes shut tight, teeth grinding together, and prickling breaking out across his skin. His darkness called for him, and Cam reached for it with both hands.
The next time he opened his eyes, there was a pillow under his head and a blanket covering his body. The sky outside his window had turned dark, and Ty was gently shaking him awake with a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, time for your meds.” He held out his hand to drop the pills into Cam’s.
Cam pushed the blanket away and managed to sit up on his own with only marginal pain. Ty handed him a glass of water, then disappeared back into the kitchen. He returned with a plate of baked macaroni and cheese and a side of salad.
“You have to eat something or the drugs will burn a hole through your stomach lining.” He set the plate on Cam’s lap and held out the fork.
Cam traded the glass for the fork and stared at the mound of food. He hated Ty caring for him, being thoughtful and supportive, anticipating his needs before he even realized he had them. It was worse that Ty had done it without Cam once asking for his help. And there was nothing he could do but take and take, without giving anything back. He was supposed to be the problem solver, not the problem that needed solving.
Ty sat next to him on the couch, leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees. His hair was tussled, like he’d run his fingers through it several times that day and had forgotten to straighten it out. A bit of scruff was growing on his chin and above his lip, but his cheeks were still baby smooth—that must have been several days’ worth of growth.
“Thank you,” he whispered, realizing he hadn’t said those words the entire time Ty had been around. And he meant them, in spite of the asshole-y words driven by the uncontrollable urge that was even darker than his darkness.
Ty glanced over his shoulder. There were bags under his eyes that Cam had never seen before. The slope of his shoulders and the way he held his head screamed tired. Tired of taking care of him, of hanging around an invalid who couldn’t get his shit together. And yet, those eyes hadn’t lost their laser-precision ability to cut past Cam’s defenses—thicker now than they had ever been—and see exactly how messed up Cam was.
He dropped his gaze back to the mac and cheese, as if that had ever prevented Ty from seeing parts of him he didn’t want to acknowledge. And then that urge that had latched on to him after the incident came rushing to the fore again, pushing out words Cam wasn’t sure were his.
“You don’t have to stay, you know.” Cam cringed at his own vehemence and the twinge of pain in his heart.
Confusion was written all over Ty’s face.
“I mean, you don’t have to stay and take care of me every day. Don’t you have work or something?” Cam’s heart hurt with every single word, but he couldn’t stop them.
“And who else would take care of you?” Ty’s question hit Cam hard, and he grimaced at the reminder of how helpless and alone he was. He started shaking.
“Izzy. Or Cary. Or my parents.” Not that Izzy or Cary were good options. His mom would be there in a heartbeat, but then he’d wish he really had been killed by the fucking bomb.
“Yeah, right.” Ty glared back at him.
Cam refused to meet his gaze. “I’m serious. You don’t have to stay.”
Ty rose to his feet and paced away as his fingers found their way into his hair again. “Honest to god, Cam, you’re driving me fucking insane.”
“Then leave!” Cam jumped at the force of his own words. This urge inside of him had taken control of his tongue, and he couldn’t seem to stop it.
“I’m not fucking going anywhere!” Ty spun around and threw his arms out. “So get the fuck used to it.”
Despite the outburst, Cam’s heart thrilled at Ty’s declaration. Not that he could admit it; he was too deep in the thralls of this thing to be able to respond genuinely. Instead, he stabbed at his food, and the aroma of cheese wafted up to him.
“I’m not worth the trouble.” He didn’t know were the words were coming from. “Don’t you have better things to do with your time?”
Ty dropped his arms, and they slapped against his thighs loudly. He came back to the couch, took the plate from Cam’s lap, and set it on the coffee table before inserting himself in between Cam’s legs. He put his hands on either side of Cam’s face, holding him in place and giving Cam no choice but to look the man he loved in the eye. As terrifying as that was.
“I told you. I’m not going anywhere. You can try to push me away as much as you want, but it’s not going to work.”
Cam frowned. In the rational, logical part of his brain, he knew Ty was telling the truth. But knowing something in his head wasn’t the same as knowing something in his heart, and his heart was in full defensive mode. “I’m not trying to pu—” He was cut off by Ty’s fingers on his lips.
“It’s okay. You can yell at me, shout at me. Be angry, be sad, whatever you want. I’m here. I want to be a part of it.” Ty dropped his hands and sat back on his heels. “Unless . . . Do you really want me to leave?”
Cam stared into Ty’s eyes and saw a kernel of doubt that was so unlike Ty. No, if he was truly honest with himself, he didn’t want Ty to leave, not when they’d found their way back to each other. He shook his head.
“Good. There’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be than here.”
Cam scrunched his nose because the alternative was to give in to the angry, violent tears threatening to spill over. He gritted his teeth, clenched his fists in the blanket covering his lap, and fought them back.
Ty brushed his thumb along Cam’s jaw. “You need a shave and a haircut.” His fingers ran through Cam’s hair, combing it to one side. “Some kind of grooming. You’re looking as shaggy as Busker.”
The dog barked half-heartedly from where he lay on the floor.
Cam lost the battle against the tears, as that uncontrollable urge rose up inside him. He tilted toward Ty, ignoring how the motion pulled painfully at his back, and Ty shifted to meet him, positioning them until the pressure on his back eased. The tears came, savage and unadulterated, and as they rushed past Cam’s eyelids, an accompanying sound of anguish escaped his throat.
He clung to Ty’s T-shirt, thin and soft under his fingers; his forehead lay on Ty’s shoulder. He cried. He yelled. All of the rage and resentment, the agony and terror. It all came out in a surge too strong to be held back. Through it all, Ty held him, a solid mass anchoring him to reality while his own world spun out of control.
When the tears finally slowed and his throat was hoarse with the yelling, Cam turned away from Ty as much as his back would allow. He still shook with the aftershocks of the ugly cry, his face a mess of tears and snot. Ty let him go and disappeared momentarily, only to come back with a box of tissues and a fresh glass of water. As Cam cleaned himself up, he was fully aware of Ty sitting on the couch next to him, thighs touching, his arm wrapped gently around Cam’s back.
Cam’s limbs felt heavy, as if they’d been pumped full of lead. His eyes hurt, and his head spun. He drained the glass of water before Ty pulled him back against him.
They settled on the couch, Cam tucked under Ty’s arm, leaning against him, and into him. “Is this okay for your back?”
A couple of stray tears found their way down Cam’s cheek, and he swiped at them while nodding. Ty pressed a kiss onto the top of his head, and a couple of more tears escaped.
He didn’t deserve Ty’s patience and understanding. He was damaged in his soul, complete with old scar tissue and fresh, new wounds. He was rough around the edges, and rough straight through to his core. He didn’t deserve Ty’s love.
More tears flowed, silent this time. He should let Ty go and find someone who wasn’t a fucked-up mess. Because Ty deserved someone who didn’t fluctuate between bursts of anger and bouts of depression. Ty deserved someone who was stable and who could give as much as he could take. Cam couldn’t be that man; he didn’t know how.
Unconsciousness took him, and still the tears fell.