Boyfriend Chronicles 02 - The Boyfriend Mandate (12 page)

Despite Tyler’s controlled expression, the words grated. “Why didn’t you just explain?”

“What was I supposed to say?” The old bitterness rose, surprising him with the intensity. “I’m off to die; have a nice life?”

Jesus, he’d been so angry when he’d heard the news his cancer had come back. He’d fought so hard in high school, and he’d thought he’d won. The odds had been on his side. For anyone else, a ninety-seven percent cure rate earned them a get-out-of-death-free card. But the surgeon had cut out Memphis’s nut, and then they’d poured toxins into his veins. And when he’d finally recovered from the bodily assault, Memphis had exercised and eaten right and done everything he could to lead a healthy life. But the bitch known as cancer had returned anyway. Memphis hadn’t asked for much.

All he’d wanted was to
exist
.

He slowly sucked in a breath, reining in the emotion. He was here. He’d lived. And he had the opportunity to make things right. It was past time to try.

Memphis felt wiped out as he watched Tyler place a bandage on the cut and smooth the edges of the tape with a slight shake in his hands—but Memphis couldn’t tell if that was because he was upset about the cancer news or from trying to control his anger. Tyler was so close Memphis could see the pores in his clear skin, the gold flecks in his gray eyes. Although his fingers were gentle, the set to his square jaw was firm.

Task complete, Tyler began to put the first aid supplies back into the medicine cabinet. When the last item was stowed in its proper place, he closed the cabinet door, his back to Memphis.

“You look exhausted,” Tyler said, his voice hollow. “You should get some rest. Let me know if your headache gets worse.”

That was it? Discussion over, time to move on?

Memphis studied the back of the black head of hair. “Ty―”

“I’ll be back to check on you in two hours, so―”

“
Tyler
.”

The man slowly straightened his shoulders. After several seconds, he turned to face Memphis again, a trace of sadness in his eyes. The colorless gaze landed on Memphis, and just for a moment, no more than a second or two, Tyler’s expression changed. Something almost too painful to look at. Tyler recovered so fast Memphis wondered if he’d imagined it.

“You have no idea how sorry I am that you got sick again,” Tyler said, his tone sincere, and Memphis had no doubt he meant the words. “But if being sick doesn’t give Patrick the right to be rude, then it doesn’t give you the right to walk out without a good-bye.”

Memphis’s heart pounded, and he took his time inhaling, hoping to ease the thumping in his chest.

“You’re right,” he said, drawing out the words. “It doesn’t.”

Tyler stared at him a moment more. “Just tell me one thing.”

The request set Memphis on edge, and he cautiously cocked his head. Every moment they engaged in conversation, no matter how much it sucked, gave him one more chance to put things right.

Tyler went on. “What’s the real reason you didn’t tell me the truth before you left?”

Shit
.

Memphis turned to stare out at the now-dark sky and the headlights streaming across the Golden Gate Bridge. There was no way to cushion the words.

He slowly filled his lungs and then delivered the blunt news. “Because you’d already suffered through watching someone you care about die,” he said, his gaze steady on Tyler’s. “And I didn’t think you were strong enough to survive a second go-round.”

~~~***~~~

An hour and a half after learning Memphis’s reasons for leaving, Tyler stood in the dim light of the guest bedroom in Noah’s condo, staring down at his sleeping ex. Mind spinning, he still couldn’t wrap his head around it all.

That Memphis’s cancer had returned.

That he hadn’t thought Tyler could handle the news.

And he’d left because he’d wanted to
spare
him.

Too many emotions vied for Tyler’s attention: shock and a deep sadness, regret and a profound relief. For some absurd reason, he’d spent ten years believing that learning the truth about Memphis’s departure would make him feel better.

He let out a self-directed scoff. How stupid could he get?

In reality, all the emotions left him feeling gutted. Imagining Memphis being dragged through cancer treatments for a second time was incredibly painful. And his reason for bolting?

Well…

From the beginning of their relationship, Memphis had gone into protector mode. Tyler supposed it was only natural that role would have extended into a time of crisis and played a part in his decisions. And now that Tyler had had time to process Memphis’s side of the story, remaining resentful would just be mean-spirited.

Petty.

But…
Christ,
for the second time in his life, Tyler had been left waiting for someone who would never return. Waiting and wishing and hoping, yet utterly, utterly alone. Again.

Shit.

His throat tight, Tyler leaned back against the wall and tried to rub the burn from his eyes as he forced those particular memories away. Instead, he focused on the positive. Memphis had gotten sick again, but he’d survived. Not only that, he hadn’t left because he’d stopped caring about him.

The news brought a huge swell of relief and filled an age-old hole, easing the ache. Unfortunately, it also came with a price, because another part of him was left wondering what would have happened if Memphis had decided to stay and tell the truth? What would have happened if he’d let Tyler stick by his side? They’d never know, because Tyler hadn’t been given a choice. Why had Memphis taken away his
choice
?

Judas Priest, how was he supposed to reconcile all these conflicting feelings?

He shut the thoughts down and tugged on the sleeve of his button-down shirt, focusing on the reason he was here. Doctor. Patient. Ensuring Memphis made it through the night and the risk was gone. Falling back on his training, burying himself in the familiar was the way to go.

Tyler studied the rise and fall of Memphis’s chest, assessing his condition. When Memphis had left for bed, his color had been a little better. At the time, Tyler could tell Memphis was still in pain, mostly because he wasn’t his usual mouthy self. He also seemed tired, because the endless energy he seemed to exude wasn’t as evident.

But, even asleep, his presence was disturbing.

The sheet had slipped down to Memphis’s thighs, and he lay on his back, one arm bent with his hand tucked beneath the pillow and the other arm extended out to the side. His only clothes were the same kind of designer briefs he’d worn at the photo shoot. The well-defined muscles of his chest and abdomen produced intriguing ridges and furrows. And then there was that damn victory V…

Heat pooled low in Tyler’s gut.

He’d always been fond of the V created by the toned-to-the-max edge of the abdominal muscles located just above Memphis’s hips. The narrow channels cut a path that naturally lured the eyes downward toward the groin. Despite his best intentions, Tyler allowed his gaze to wander to the elastic band slung low across Memphis’s hips, the victory V disappearing into his underwear.

Tyler used to love following that line with his mouth, sliding his tongue south as he kissed his way along the narrow groove leading straight to Memphis’s cock. All it had taken was one look from Memphis or a light hand on Tyler’s shoulder urging him down, and Tyler had eagerly dropped to his knees.

Every. Single. Time.

Heat spread up Tyler’s neck, and he tugged on his tie to loosen the knot. He should get the hell out of here, but he’d set the timer on his watch to alarm every two hours. He’d brought Memphis here to check on him. He’d taken an oath, and he had every intention of seeing that through.

The
beep beep beep from
Tyler’s Timex split the air, and he suppressed the groan as he shut it off. Waking Memphis would bring that mouth back to life. But the sooner Tyler got this over with, the sooner he could get some sleep of his own.

Somewhere with a less disturbing view.

Tyler leaned over and laid his hand on Memphis’s shoulder, ignoring the warm skin as he gently shook him. An incoherent mumble escaped Memphis’s mouth, and he rolled over, presenting Tyler with an amazing view of the ass that had elevated the guy from a behind-the-scenes stuntman to the front-of-the-camera underwear model. The muscular butt filled the underwear nicely, the cotton clinging to his body as if straining to contain the mouth-watering package. No wonder Fifth and Taylor had plastered the image across a building in LA.

Focus.
Focus
.

“Hey,” Tyler said, shaking the shoulder a little firmer. “You need to wake up.”

Voice muffled by the pillow, he mumbled a garbled, “Why?”

“You have to answer some questions.”

Memphis turned his head and cracked his hazel eyes open, gazing up at him with a sleepy look and thick lashes that were entirely too pretty to be housed in such a masculine face. Tyler ignored the thrum in his stomach, and he particularly ignored the way that thrum left a shimmering, heated trail on its way to his crotch.

Time to assess his mental status, Tyler. Nothing else.

“What’s your name?” Tyler said.

“Huh?”

“Your name.”

Memphis’s eyelids drifted closed, his words slurred. “Michael Sam.”

Tyler frowned and wondered if the guy was teasing or really disoriented. “You’re not a football player.”

“Rocco Siffredi,” Memphis mumbled.

Tyler’s suspicions grew and he adopted an overly patient tone. “You’re not a porn star, either.”

“I could’ve been if I’d wanted to.”

The lazy grin and half-closed eyes left Tyler wondering if he was completely awake.

“I would’ve been known as the one-nut wonder,” Memphis said.

Despite his slow, less-than-clear speech, Tyler bit the inside of his upper lip, smothering a smile and using a firm tone. “What day is it?”

“Hell if I know.”

Christ, at this rate he’d be stuck here all night…in a bedroom…with a nearly naked Memphis.

Tyler let out a quiet sigh. “Do you want me to dial 911 and have them roll you out of here on a gurney? I’m sure the tabloids would have a field day announcing your injury.” He paused, hoping to keep his tone professional. “You need to take this seriously.”

“Mmmhmm.” He slowly rolled over and looked up at him, blinking sleepily and not appearing any more awake than he had a few seconds ago. “You take
everything
seriously.” He rubbed his eyes, and his hand flopped back to the bed, palm facing upward and splayed in an almost submissive invitation.

No, that was just Tyler’s imagination playing tricks on him.

Memphis’s eyes drifted closed again. “Where’s the guy I dated in college?” he murmured. “You remember him, right? He smiled and laughed, was easier to read, and didn’t wake me up out of smokin’ hot dreams.”

Tyler refused to wonder what his good dream had been about.

“He grew up, became a doctor, and mistakenly thought he could make sure that Memphis Haines lived to see another day,” Tyler said dryly. “You know him, right? The one with the death wish? I was hoping he would cooperate when it came time for his neuro checks.”

“I wanna go back to sleep,” he muttered and went to roll back onto his stomach.

Tyler sighed and tugged on Memphis’s shoulder, returning him to his back.

He groaned. “Hells bells, Ty. No sudden movements,” he said with a clutch to his head. “I already spent the afternoon with a battering ram slamming into my skull. Can we not jar the body and make the headache return in full force?”

“As long as you promise to answer my questions,” he said smoothly. “Without a CT scan, the only way to check for more serious injury is the old-fashioned way. And the old-fashioned way is to wake you up every two hours and assess your mental faculties”—he paused and then went on drolly—“such as they are.”

Memphis stared up at him for a few seconds, as if digesting the news. “Why are you still wearing that goddamned tie?”

God, did it matter?

Tyler stared down at the one man on the face of the earth who could get his blood boiling more than anyone else, in exasperation and lust and…other things he didn’t want to think about.

Reflexively, he smoothed his hand down his button-down shirt, trying not to sound defensive. “I stayed up talking to Noah,” he said. “I was just on my way to change and grab some sleep on the futon in Noah’s office.”

Tyler chose not to explain that his clothes grounded him in the present, reminding him that he wasn’t the pliable college kid who Memphis had wrapped so easily around his fingers, and other parts of his anatomy, so many years ago.

“From now on, would you please follow the commands and answer the questions seriously?” Tyler never used the annoying doctor-knows-best voice, but he tried it now. Mostly because he really needed to escape this man’s presence. “Let’s practice: where are you?”

Memphis’s words were slurred again, and his eyelids fluttered shut. “In hell, apparently.”

Tyler slowly counted to ten and then repeated the process in Spanish. He only got to five in French. Right now the stuntman looked exceptionally hot—bare chest and flat stomach with a golden-brown trail that led straight to his package…

Tyler pulled his gaze away. He just wanted to leave the room, but he couldn’t be sure whether the slurred, ridiculous words were just a sleepy Memphis being Memphis or represented a waxing and waning mental status related to the concussion. Or something even more serious.

Fighting back the urge to shake him, Tyler said, “Memphis.”

He cracked his eyes open a fraction. “I have an idea.”

“What?” Tyler asked.

“I’ll agree to cooperate next time if you agree to my conditions.”

A groan tried to surface, but Tyler stifled the response. He had no desire to find out what kind of conditions he had in mind. On the other hand, it beat spending thirty minutes completing a task that should only take thirty seconds.

“Fine,” Tyler said. “What’s the condition?”

Eyes closed, he said, “No more shaking me awake.” He lifted his lids to half-mast. “And every time you wake me, I get to ask a question, too.”