Honey Red (6 page)

He never stayed for the whole session. What was the point? He would stand and let his dog pull him out of the room, to the elevator, and down to the front door where the smelly van would take him back to Alyssa’s so he could sit on the couch and hold his aching head in his hands for a few more hours. It was a lovely cycle of do-nothing and talk about it, feel sorry for yourself and then be unable to get off your ass because your skull felt like it was cracking in two, twenty-four seven.

Alyssa put her hand on his face, making him flinch. “Nick, it’s just Brutus. His tail is hitting the carpet.”

“God,” he groaned and sat, and the animal was right under his hand. Nick could smell the dog’s wet nose. The snuffling noises the damn thing made were deafening.  “Beat it,” he tried to push the dog away, but, of course, he wouldn’t go. He sensed Alyssa’s sigh about a second before she actually did it.

“Here,” she grabbed his other hand and put some pills in his palm. He tossed them down and accepted the water glass.
The VA docs had him doped up six ways to Sunday, everything from anti-anxiety meds to pain killers.
Hell they could’ve had him on fucking Viagra for all he knew or even cared. “The doctor upped your amitriptyline. Hopefully that will help with the dreams.”

“Spare me. They write ‘scripts. I take pills.” He put his still-pounding head in his hands. “Anything to make this pain go away.”

He felt his sister’s hand on his shoulder, but reflexively jerked away. He could hardly stand anyone touching him anymore. “Sorry,” he muttered, clenching his jaw and resisting the urge to just lie down and sleep forever. He shied away from that, knowing suicide rates and depression cycles and all that crap would just make him yet another statistical cliché.

This was his life. He had to live it, no matter how vice-like the grip on his skull or how much his eardrums echoed and tossed yet more agony into the mix nor how much his nose picked up every random stink between here and Detroit. He sighed, felt his throat close up as he pictured Dan, his amazing, handsome face and willing body. Now he was horny on top of everything else? Great.

Chapter Six

Alyssa pulled him to his feet and the dog slid under his hand.

“It’s okay. Listen, Gavin and Ian are coming over for dinner. I thought you might like to help me pull it together.”

“Whatever,” he said reaching out to flip on the lights. Until he remembered the lights were likely already on. Clenching his fists and trying not to punch a hole in the wall, he recalled all the ruthless talk therapy sessions to go with the drugs. The one thing his group had practically browbeaten into him was the need to work on his anger.
Yeah, like he could fucking do that.
But he put his other hand down and onto the dog’s harness and let it lead him out, helping him avoid furniture obstacles and whatever else stood in the abyss between Alyssa’s second bedroom and kitchen. “Jesus,” he put a hand over his nose. “Put out that candle, it’s killing me.”

He heard her blow out the disgusting scent, the residual smoke wafting and dissipating before the air finally cleared, then proceeded to carefully cut onions, tomatoes, peppers and mash garlic for what used to be his special lasagna sauce. “Make sure the noodles aren’t too done,” he said as somewhat soothing cooking smells suffused his brain. “Here, put more garlic in that. It needs it.” Alyssa obliged, chattering away about Ian’s little boy, about their parents’ beer and wine wholesale company that she now ran, everything under the sun. “Could you…just be quiet a minute,” he whispered, putting the knife down and feeling his way back to a chair.

“Sorry,” she ran her fingers through his hair, and he grabbed her, held on for dear life as depression rolled him under a now-familiar wave of depression. He gulped, determined not to start crying like a girl. “Come on, help me over here,” she hauled him to his feet then let the dog guide him to the stove where he stirred, tasted, demanded more oregano and yet more garlic until the sauce was right. He sat back down, exhausted, but pissed off now, as the chemical mix of medicines his body absorbed ebbed and flowed and made him a walking contradiction on the verge of yelling at the dog, his sister, anyone within hearing distance, yet again.

He touched Brutus’ ears. Poor SOB, to be saddled with him as his token handicapped human. Because Nick was a war hero, had saved three of the men in the escort platoon that day, even blinded and with a shattered leg, he was chosen as a guinea pig. He was given the dog, along with his Purple Heart and Navy Cross at some ceremony he barely remembered.

A trainer gave him a grand total of three hours’ worth of instruction that he ignored in favor of dozing on and off in between bouts of bone crushing pain. Thank God for Alyssa. She took it all in and demanded that he move in with her, new pet and all.  He muttered under his breath when he felt the canine’s head on his leg. “Stupid fucker,” he muttered, as he rubbed the animal’s soft ears. He steadfastly ignored the calming sensation he got as he sat there. The contrarian in him would not accept that just petting the dog’s head would make him actually feel better although it did.

He felt Brutus’ vocal cords rumbling on his leg before the growl hit his ears. “They’re here,” he mumbled, about ten seconds before the doorbell rang. Alyssa put a cold beer bottle in his hand. He gripped it, and waited in the kitchen as she greeted her boyfriend and the man’s brother.

Nick had met them once when he could still see, while on a leave, what felt like ages ago.
They were in Alyssa’s office at the distribution company waiting to talk to her. Nick didn’t give two shits about his father’s company anymore and ignored all the news he got from it now that his sister was in charge. He had just been there to visit her, recharge his batteries, then return to his life, and his lover.

As he sat in the kitchen listening to her greet them, he recalled how struck he had been by the two men.  They could not look more opposite, even for fraternal twins. Gavin was tall, with coal black hair that Alyssa claimed was now salt and pepper, and bright blue eyes. His brother Ian was slightly taller, with a head full of wavy, dark blond hair, deep green eyes and even broader shoulders. Nick had experienced the distinct sensation of being checked out that day, and he’d liked it. Ian Donovan was an undeniably hot guy, and the few moments they stood and talked had made him a little nervous, given the signals his brain had thrown at him –
the ones that had him picturing Ian’s strong, lean body over him, the man’s full lips brushing his.

By the time Alyssa had come out of her office to meet them, Nick was fairly jumping out of his skin and needed to escape. His relationship with Dan had been wonderful. He’d had no reason to even consider anything else. But something about the man had gotten to him. He had stared at Nick with those green eyes, sending a blatant “let’s skip this and find a dark corner, what d’ you say?” message that got him so worked up he’d had to drive to Alyssa’s house, flop down on her couch and jack off.

Of course, now, he was just Nick; the poor blind asshole with a dog and a sad sack hero story. He could give a shit who came to dinner.

Nick sighed and sipped his beer. He was allowed exactly two servings of alcohol a day, on his current medicine cocktail and he never skipped it. An alarm from the stove sounded. He felt around until he quieted it and decided to join the little party in the other room. He stood in the doorway, cleared his throat, and informed his sister about the timer.

When a distinct male presence loomed near his he sputtered, nearly choked. The testosterone coming off the man was like a not-so-subtle cologne, oozing in and out of Nick’s brain, warming his libido and making him flinch away when someone touched his arm. “Hey,” Ian’s voice was low. Nick kept one hand on the dog’s harness, the other on the doorframe. Sweat dripped between his shoulder blades. There was an uncomfortable extra beat of silence in the room. Then, as if drawn by something he could not explain he put out his hand, knowing Ian’s would meet him halfway. “Nick, it’s good to meet you.”

Some sort of conversation resumed and flowed around him. He tried to still the sudden tremor in his hands and voice. “Better take out the lasagna Lyssa,” he said at one point and then moved to the couch to sit, letting Ian’s warm, somehow malty scent fill his brain. Their thighs brushed together when Ian stood to get beer for everybody. Nick heard the happiness in Alyssa’s voice when she and Gavin joked about their professional conflict of interest. He was content that Gavin Donovan did indeed love his sister the way she deserved. Not thrilled mind you, as no man would ever really be worthy of her, but the familiar sound of her voice devoid of stress whenever Gavin was around suited Nick just fine.

He jumped when Ian put a fresh cold bottle against his bicep. “Thanks,” he muttered grabbing it.

“So, Nick, I hear they got the computer set up for you. You’ll be starting work next week?” Gavin’s voice broke through the erotic fantasy loop he had running in his head when he felt Ian’s leg close to his again.
Jesus he was horny.
He hadn’t even given a half-thought to sex in the past months as he recovered in Germany and then discharged home to Michigan, to a life of nothingness plus excruciating pain.

“Uh, yeah.” He grunted, sipping and realizing he should slow down since he had just taken all those pills. His headache had retreated to a back corner, still muttering and promising to return, but his neck felt less tense thank all the gods. Acknowledging the fact that he felt more relaxed at this moment, sitting next to a near stranger named Ian Donovan, than he had in what
seemed like forever,
Nick blew out a puff of air.
The dog shoved his muscular body between the men then dropped down on top of Nick’s feet as he’d been trained to do, never far or off-duty, just at ease. “Um,” he put the bottle down, adjusted the dark glasses that covered his sightless eyes. He tried to form coherent words, but every inch of his skin was on the alert, a sensation he’d not had since losing Dan, and his brain wouldn’t engage and cooperate.

“Yeah, my brainiac brother will be an analyst for an internet security company based in Detroit. He’ll work from home, but take the bus downtown a couple of days a week. His computer is way cool—giant keyboard and a sexy woman telling him what’s on the screen. No more of that weird robot voice—it’s fabulous,” Alyssa said, pride evident in her tone as she put a hand on his shoulder. “He picked up Braille in something like three weeks, not that I’m surprised. He’s always been the genius who can do anything when he puts his mind to it.”

Nick’s flushed at her words. Truth be told he was a nervous wreck about the whole damn thing, but the CEO of the company had assured him that it was no sympathy job. Nick Traynor had top security clearance from his work in Counter Intel with the Marines. He also knew his way around the internet like no one else. Nick gulped back the urge to disparage the whole thing and start a pity party, another thing his therapy sessions had been drilling him about. “Yeah, should be, uh, interesting; especially the part about having the computer tell me what’s on the screen. Not quite sure how that’s gonna work yet.”

Ian put a hand on his arm and the pure jolt of sexual energy that Nick got from the touch made him gasp in a strange combination of lust and embarrassment. He jumped up, hit the underside of the table with his knees and heard the various cries of dismay at what was likely a huge mess of beer. The dog whined, and stuck his head under Nick’s dangling hand, propping him up and providing calm at the same time.

“I got this,” he heard Gavin moving around beside him. Standing there, the smell of spilled beer up in his nose, his canine companion growling at the guy who’d turned him into a giant hard on with one touch he felt like the world’s biggest idiot. He put his hand to his eyes, found the glasses, fiddled with them before grabbing the dog’s lead and starting to walk the hell away from Ian. One thing he surely did not miss were the no doubt multiple and sincere glances of sympathy floating around him. He gritted his teeth and let the dog lead him outside and to a chair. How the animal knew that was exactly where he wanted to go, he had no idea, but he was grateful.

Chapter Seven