Fated (40 page)

The truth was, Hart felt nervous. Must be a joke in there somewhere: he’d been stabbed and nearly killed, but he was scared of calling a friend he’d known for years.

A friend he’d fallen in love with. That had been the kind of blissful pain he’d only figured out the meaning of recently, although the feeling had been with him for a long time.

That same friend had fucked him into tomorrow on the steps of his father’s house, not even all that long ago. And Hart had broken up with him for their own safety, so he wouldn’t get injured further in the course of Hart’s investigation.

Jesus
.

Isaac had been more upset about Hart sending him away so he wouldn’t catch
another
bullet than the damn wound so close to his heart. Conrad, the guy killing off people the Phoenix had healed, had shot Isaac in the shoulder before Hart had come even close to solving the case.

Hart groaned, and before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed his brand-new phone. His mouth twisted in a grimace as his fingers hovered over the screen. He couldn’t quite gauge how Isaac would react to Hart’s injuries—also Conrad’s doing—but it probably wouldn’t be with a Get Well card and a bunch of grapes. Time to find out.

Can you come over?
he typed out, then tossed the phone on the kitchen counter beside him and reached for the coffee machine. The stab wound that had punctured his lung didn’t hurt like it had, like something inside his chest combusted with every inhalation, but he felt fragile in a way he hated. Like the wrong move could rip apart thin scar tissue and his lung could collapse all over again. When the doctor had removed the tubes, he’d told Hart in no uncertain terms that was exactly what could happen if he didn’t take it easy.

After watching the coffee percolate for a minute or so, he glanced at his phone just as it lit up.

Who is this?

Hart rolled his eyes at himself. Of course Isaac didn’t have his new number. His old phone had died a valiant death under Conrad’s boot up at Julian—the so-called Phoenix—and Mauro’s cabin off Shadow Pass, and he hadn’t bothered to try to keep the old number.

Your friendly neighbor
, he wrote and cringed as soon as he sent the trite text. The silence that followed felt physical, and his heart was beating uncomfortably by the time the screen lit up again.

Oh, hi. Sounds good. Now?

Give me an hour
, Hart answered. Experience had taught him it would take that long to shower, get dressed, eat, and catch his breath so he didn’t look like death when Isaac showed up.

See you soon.

Hart and Isaac had been fixing up his home here in Riverside—the town that flanked the northeast side of Shadow Mountain—over the past few months. While Hart had been by himself in Brightly—the town on the Mountain’s southwest side—Isaac had done a terrific job finishing the grouting on the kitchen floor. He’d even gone so far as to remove the wallpaper from the guest bathroom upstairs. Neither of them had looked forward to that particular job before Hart had been called to Brightly to lay his father to rest, and he certainly hadn’t expected Isaac to do it by himself. It touched him deeply—a low, sweet ache that made his throat burn. Christ, he was getting sentimental on all those damn painkillers.

The work was by no means done. They’d still have to remove carpet, tear out the bathroom completely, and paint the bedrooms to bring the old cottage up-to-date.
If
Isaac still wanted to work with him after Hart had gently let him go, anyway.

Besides, it might take weeks, if not months, for Hart to be physically ready to tackle the bulk of the work.

A huge built-in aquarium between the kitchen and living room buzzed gently, its brightly colored fish gliding serenely through the pristine water. Isaac had done a good job taking care of it and the bunch of little fry darting back and forth in their container. With a hot surge of longing and lust, Hart remembered the Black Moor Goldfish tattoo on Isaac’s hip, and he turned away. He couldn’t think of that now, not when he had no idea if Isaac was mad at him for sending him away or how he’d react when he realized Hart had come so close to dying.

Three-quarters of an hour later, he heard Isaac’s footsteps on his gravel driveway, and his heart jumped into his throat. In an effort to calm himself, he took a deep breath and began the slow trek toward the back door that led into his open garage.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, leaning on the kitchen counter as he passed it. He’d known Isaac since the kid was sixteen years old. They’d been friends for seven years. But they’d never fucked before, no matter how intense Isaac’s crush had grown, until a few weeks ago. It was a line he hadn’t wanted to cross before.

When he reached the back door, he realized he couldn’t see Isaac’s shape through the frosted glass. A different kind of nervous thrill sparked in his gut, a far more unpleasant one that left the ghostly taste of metal behind. Not likely that anyone would harm him here, he knew that, but he still startled when the doorbell rang.

“What the hell?” Isaac had never used the front door.

It took him a long minute to make it there, long enough for Isaac to knock gently and call out, “Hart? It’s me.”

“Why are you ringing my doorbell?” he demanded, yanking the door open too hard, which made him wince. He hadn’t meant to say that, but he was in pain now.

Isaac looked at him and rocked back on his heels a little, his expression going from guarded to concerned. “I didn’t know if I still—what the hell happened to you?” He pushed the door open farther and stepped inside, forcing Hart to make room for him. His hair was usually strawberry-blond with wheat highlights, but today it was wet and dark, and the scent of his shampoo hung thickly in the hallway.

Hart’s entire body kick-started with want. He rubbed the back of his neck, considered all kinds of replies, and in the end just let the strained breath whoosh from his aching lungs. Without saying anything at all, he turned and made his way into the living room. No point in doing this standing.

Isaac loomed behind, tension sparking off him as he held back what must’ve been a million questions about why Hart was shuffling along.

“You want a drink?” Hart asked, turning to face Isaac and catching a look of angry hurt. “You’ll have to get it yourself. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll go grab some water. Sit down before you pass out.”

Hart’s eyebrows rose at the clipped tone as Isaac stomped through to the kitchen. He’d taken the time to kick off his shoes, and the effect just wasn’t the same on socked feet. Hart suppressed a smile. Even angry, Isaac remained considerate of Hart’s slightly OCD cleaning habits.

“S
O
,
WHAT
happened?” Isaac asked, his voice softer. He perched on the edge of the couch, broad hands clasping a glass of cold water tightly. One drop of condensation ran down, stopped at the thick knuckle of his forefinger, wavered, then flattened and disappeared.

Hart shifted his eyes to the glass Isaac had brought for him and set on the coffee table between them. There was a white fluffy carpet under his feet, the coffee table on it rustic and worn. In the right corner sat a heavy brick fireplace, the flat-screen TV firmly in place above it. The built-in bookshelves on either side had been refilled, everything from Doyle to Rowling neatly stacked where they belonged. Isaac must’ve worked his ass off before he’d met Hart in Brightly. Before he’d gotten shot and left again, right before Hart landed in the hospital. In fact, there was no way he’d done all this by himself.

“Who’d you rope into helping you out here?” He didn’t mean to stall—he was genuinely curious—but Isaac’s eyes narrowed. They were blazing blue, and if the right sort of light caught them, green striations flared out from the pupil, giving the irises the color of stormy ocean waves.

Isaac seemed somewhat reluctant, but he answered gruffly. “I bribed my brothers into stripping the wallpaper in the bathroom. I did the grouting, and”—his eyes flickered down hesitantly before they met Hart’s again—“my mom came in and helped clean up and put the furniture back in place.”

“Oh,” Hart said. “That’s very kind of them. Of all of you. I don’t know how to thank you.”

Isaac sat rigidly in front of Hart, chewing something over. Ah, he’d have amends to make, and rightly so. “You got a new phone?” he eventually said, and Hart automatically looked around, but it was still on the kitchen counter.

“Yes, the old one finally died. A noble death, though.” Hart’s eyes fell to the fists balled on Isaac’s knees.

“So the cold shoulder you’ve been giving me wasn’t intentional?”

“The… what? No!”

Isaac’s hands relaxed somewhat, as did his shoulders. “I sent you a few messages. I wondered why you never replied.”

“Oh, angel.” Without thinking, Hart surged forward to grip Isaac’s hand, but a sharp stab made him wince, and he sank back into the couch. Holding hands would have to wait.

“Won’t you tell me what happened?”

Hart breathed evenly until the pain subsided. “You remember Julian?” Something flashed in Isaac’s eyes, but it was gone before Hart could put a finger on it, and Isaac pressed his lips together.

“The guy on Shadow Mountain. Of course,” he said tightly. “Hard to forget meeting a supernatural being.”

“The whole case blew up, so to speak, in the middle of his cabin.” Technically he shouldn’t be talking about this, but fuck it. The case was closed anyway. Hart rubbed a hand over his forehead, and the motion pulled at the fresh scar beside his shoulder blade. “Long story short, a man called Conrad Willis saw himself doing the world a favor by taking out the people Julian had healed. He took me by surprise, I was injured, Conrad was shot, and we’ve got his accomplice—Alex, who also happened to be my father’s assistant—in jail. Conrad’s the guy who shot you in the shoulder too. You don’t have to worry about him now.”

“Jesus. Is he dead? Julian, I mean? Wait.” Isaac sat up a little straighter. “Injured how?”

Hart avoided Isaac’s deep-sea eyes and stared at the ceiling. “Julian and Mauro are fine. As for me, fractured hand, a few banged-up ribs. Concussion. Stab wound.” His eyes flickered to Isaac and away again. “Collapsed lung.”

“Are you
shitting me
?” Isaac jumped to his feet, and at first Hart thought he’d be mad, but he knelt in front of the couch and put his hand on Hart’s knee. “Should you even be out of the hospital? Are you all right? Or—or will you be? Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve been there for you.”

Ah, time for the pathetic truth. “I didn’t know if you’d… want to see me.” After all, he’d broken up with Isaac before he’d gotten injured himself.

“I—” Isaac sat back on his heels and—ah shit. He looked stung and a few different shades of sad.

“I thought maybe you’d want some time. Away from me. I know I must’ve confused you.”

“But you called me.” Isaac sounded small now, his shoulders hunched forward as he looked at his hands. “You said you thought you’d made a mistake breaking things off. Do you not—” He lifted his chin, eyes shrewd. His lovely, thick hair had begun to dry and curled sweetly over his forehead. Hart thought he might have to sit on his hands to stop himself from tugging at one of those locks. “You called me from the hospital.” Isaac’s hands dug into his own knees.

“Yes.”

“After you’d nearly
died
.”

No point denying it. “Yes.”

A shuddery breath left Isaac’s mouth and he tilted his head back. His shapely throat starkly outlined his Adam’s apple, drawing Hart’s gaze like a bull’s-eye. “Were you high?”

“What?” Hart said with a startled laugh, but Isaac didn’t crack a smile.

“When you called me and said you wanted to talk because you thought you’d made a mistake. When you said you… loved me. I thought you meant you’d changed your mind about
us
. Were you high on morphine at the time?”

“Probably,” he admitted. “But that has nothing to do with what I said. When I—”
Was choking on my own blood, when I watched Toby die, when I thought I’d never see daylight again
…. “When I was up that Mountain, all I could think of was how I wanted to see you. I still want you to be safe, and I still think you deserve better than a cop more than a decade older than you, but….” Hart coughed lightly and had to break away from Isaac’s focus. It made his cheeks warm. “I also think you can make up your own mind, and I shouldn’t try and do it for you.”
And I want you with me. So much it hurts.

For the longest time, Isaac didn’t move. He’d let his hand fall away from Hart’s knee a while ago, and its absence felt ominous.

“Shit.” Isaac rubbed his hands over his face and then yanked at his curls. “You have no idea….” He sighed. “I need to think about this for a while.”

Hart blinked and took as deep a breath as he could. “I understand.”

The look Isaac gave him was quelling. “No, you don’t. Back at the hospital, when I was injured, when you said you and me couldn’t happen, I had to shift my perspective from the past seven years around. I had to rethink… certain things all over again. I don’t think it comes as a surprise that I loved you for so long.”
Loved
. No one had ever said that to Hart, and now that he was hearing it for the first time, it was in the past tense. “And it was really hard when you turned me down. But then when you called and said—” Isaac huffed out a sigh. “So, I’m sorry. I’m not playing hard to get, and I’m not getting my revenge on or anything. I just need to… think a bit.” Isaac stood and Hart decided he’d rather not watch him go. “I’ll be back, though, okay?” He went on in a rush. “I won’t be long, I promise. I just have to deal with this for an hour or two and maybe cry a bit, because who knew I was such an emotional wreck.”

“You’re not—”

“I was kidding.” Isaac smiled when Hart met his eye, as if that had been the goal. “I’ll come back and I’ll bring lunch, because you look too skinny. And then I want to see just how bad you look underneath your shirt.” Hart quirked an eyebrow and Isaac’s cheeks stained wine-red as he stuffed his hands in his shorts. “That’s not what I meant.
God
. I’m going. I’m gone.”