Make Me Soar (8 page)

He was brought back into the present when Dorian picked up his pen and scribbled on the paper. He pushed it across the table and tapped it with his forefinger. Alan glanced at the words, and his chest constricted.

I want to go home
.

Leo read the note and then looked Dorian in the eye. “I’ll find out when the next flight for Manchester leaves and put us on it, lad.”

Dorian nodded. He put down the pen and went back to staring out the window at the world beyond, retreating into himself once more. Alan and Leo exchanged glances. It was plain from Leo’s expression that he was as unhappy as Alan about Dorian’s withdrawal. Leo shook his head, got up from the table, and went off in the direction of the hotel’s Internet café.

Dorian wasn’t the only one who wanted to get out of there. Alan could only guess at what was going on inside Dorian’s head, but he knew staying there any longer was just prolonging the nightmare for him. Alan wanted to get him back into familiar surroundings as soon as possible.

Because that’s when the real work will start
.

Alan had given the matter some serious thought as he’d lain there in the early morning light, Dorian’s even breaths the only sound in the quiet hotel room. It hadn’t taken him long to reach a conclusion. Once they got back to Manchester, Alan had a job to do.

He was going to help Dorian put his life back together.

But there was a way to go before he could accomplish that. Alan had seen enough in his life to recognize the signs. Experience had taught him that there were five stages to go through when dealing with loss or grief. And Dorian
was
dealing with loss. Whatever had happened to him at that party had robbed him of something vital. The spark that was pure Dorian was missing, and Alan wanted it back.

Dorian was at stage one, that of denial. Okay, so speaking clearly brought him pain, but even without that physical hindrance, Alan knew instinctively that Dorian did not want to talk or even think about what had taken place. And he knew what came next—isolation. Not that he intended to let Dorian get far with
that
.

I’ll be damned if I’ll let you crawl into a corner and shut me out, boy
. The fact that he’d cuddled up to Alan’s back during the night had filled him with hope. Since they’d got up, however, Dorian had kept himself at a distance, shying away from any attempt to get physically close to him. That was nothing new. At the club, Dorian wasn’t into displays of affection. Alan had racked his brains, trying to remember if he’d ever seen Dorian in
anyone’s
embrace. It was something of a shock to realize he’d never seen anyone hold the lad. Then he thought about Dorian’s manner with people, the way he kept them at arm’s length.

Why don’t you let people in, Dorian?

There was obviously a lot more to the submissive than met the eye, and Alan felt like an archaeologist who’d surveyed a promising outcrop and realized there was definitely something of interest below the surface. And Alan had every intention of painstakingly removing the earth, layer by layer, until he’d revealed what lay hidden.

I want to see the
real
Dorian
. Because he was convinced no one had even glimpsed the treasure that lay buried beneath that facade.

“Alan?”

He gave a start. “Sorry?”

Leo was staring at him. “I said I’ve booked the flights. We’re on the 1:15 p.m. flight, okay? I’ve booked a taxi to take us to the airport. It’ll be here two hours before the flight.”

Alan nodded. “Then let’s get Dorian’s stuff packed up.” He glanced at the young man. “You should eat something. It’s going to be a while before we’re back in the UK, and there’ll be no food on such a short flight.”

Dorian regarded him in silence and then picked up the pen.
I’m not hungry
.

“That’s as may be, but going without food will make you ill,” Leo interjected. “A bowl of cereal would be better than nothing.”

Dorian’s eyes flashed.
Not hungry!
He slammed the pen down onto the table and turned away, his back rigid.

Alan grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him to face them, regretting the move the moment Dorian stiffened in pain. Dorian glared at him, and Alan gave a low growl from the back of his throat.

“I know you’re not in a good place right now,” he said, lowering his voice, “but that does not give you the right to lose your temper with us. Apart from anything else, the way you are behaving shows a lack of respect.” There was the temptation to treat Dorian with kid gloves, but Alan knew he had to get through to the lad on a level he’d understand.

Dorian straightened immediately. “Yes, Sir,” he croaked, his face pale, his gaze dropping to the floor. One look at that bowed head was enough to crack Alan’s resolve, but he stayed firm.

I need to be strong for him
.

Leo got up from the table, left them for a moment and returned with a bowl of fruit and yogurt. He placed it in front of Dorian, who glanced at it and then jerked his head up to look at Leo.

“It’s not much, but it won’t hurt your throat, lad.”

Dorian swallowed and blinked, his eyes shining. “Thank you, Sir,” he whispered. He picked up his spoon and began to eat slowly. Alan watched his throat working, each bob of his Adam’s apple sending a fresh sliver of pain coursing through him.

We need to get him away from here.

The flight couldn’t come soon enough.

D
ORIAN
AWOKE
with a start, heart pounding. He glanced at his watch and realized he’d dozed off for about an hour and a half. He couldn’t recall getting to the end of the flight attendant’s explanation of the emergency evacuation procedures and had slept through the takeoff, something he’d never done before. It was hardly surprising. Each time he’d awoken during the night, he’d lain there scared to close his eyes and go back to sleep. That only brought the nightmares.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and then stiffened, biting back a gasp as a fresh sting of pain ripped through him. Just for a moment, he’d forgotten why he’d been sitting so still. The slow throb in his arse was a not-so-gentle reminder. As for his back, Dorian could feel the skin itching, pulling as he moved.

“You okay?”

Alan sat beside him in the middle seat, gazing at him with concern.

Dorian gave a brief nod and then looked out of the window at the thick layer of white cloud beneath them. He still couldn’t believe the two Doms had flown out to find him. Part of him had recoiled in shame when they’d suddenly appeared in his hotel room, but neither of them had been judgmental. Dorian had to fight hard not to weep when he recalled Alan’s tenderness as he’d bathed him.

Then he’d pushed down hard on those feelings.
Don’t be so weak
.
It’s not like I didn’t know what I was letting myself in for, is it?

Except he
hadn’t
known, when push came to shove.

Dorian shivered from the onslaught of memory, hands gripping the armrests, the skin stretched taut across his knuckles.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to begin our descent into Manchester. Please ensure that all seat belts are fastened, all armrests down, all trays are stowed away, and all seats are in the upright position.”

Already?
He’d forgotten what a short flight it was. Beside him, Alan and Leo clicked their seat belts into position. Dorian inhaled slowly, taking long, even breaths to calm the turmoil in his head. All he wanted to do was get to his flat, bolt the door, and shut out the world.

Except in his head was that aggravating inner voice, the one that always bugged the shit out of him.

Oh yeah? You, alone in that flat, with only your thoughts for company?

The prospect was not an attractive one. In fact, his heart quaked with trepidation.

A hand touched his, and Dorian almost jumped out of his skin.
Fuck
.
It’s just Alan
. He breathed deeply, trying to inject calm into his body to quell his racing heartbeat.

“When we land, we’ll take you home in a taxi,” Alan said.

Dorian nodded absently, barely registering the words.

“I will be staying with you for a while.”

He froze, eyes wide. “What?”

Alan locked gazes with him. “You think I’m going to leave you alone? Think again. I don’t need a bed—I can sleep on a couch—but I
will
be staying.” Those blue eyes were focused on him. “I know how you feel, Dorian. You don’t want to think about what happened, right? You want to be left alone to lick your wounds, but you have to trust me on this. The sooner you face up to what happened, the quicker you can leave it behind you and move on.”

Dorian’s throat tightened. He gulped. “You don’t have a fucking
clue
what happened to me,” he ground out, keeping his voice low. “Who the fuck do you think you are, making decisions about
my
life?”

Alan’s hand shot out and grasped him firmly around his wrist. Dorian winced when his fingers touched the bruise there, and he snatched his hand back. A pained expression flitted across Alan’s face for a second or two. Then he leaned over.

“You will remember what I said earlier about respect.” His voice commanded Dorian’s complete attention.

Dorian swallowed, his chest heaving as he tried to claw breath into his throat.

Alan studied him. “You need to breathe, lad. You’re working yourself into a state.”

Dorian knew he was right. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, forcing himself to focus on his breathing. He was aware of Alan’s hand, gentler now, long fingers stroking the back of his hand, cool against his skin. He listened to the quiet hiss of air through the vents above his head. Little by little, his heartbeat slowed to its normal rate, the rise and fall of his chest easing down into a more regular pattern.

“Good boy.”

The quietly uttered words of praise filled him with warmth.

Dorian opened his eyes and regarded the Dom seated next to him. Alan was gazing at him with obvious concern, but it was tempered with quiet assurance. There was a strength about him. To his surprise, Dorian found himself reacting to that strength. He still bristled at the idea of Alan making decisions about him, but then he thought about it.

Do I really
want
to be on my own?

He couldn’t deny that having Alan close to him the previous night had been a comfort. In fact, it had been to the only thing to stand between him and a night of unceasing nightmares. And the idea of sitting looking at his four walls, trying to blot out the persistent memories that had tormented him throughout the night, filled him with horror.

Just how long could I go on like that? It’s not as if I could go home, is it?

He didn’t want to even contemplate that last thought. The mere prospect of it wearied him.

At least Alan cared enough about him to do this. Dorian couldn’t deny that.

“Okay,” he said at last.

Alan’s eyes glowed with pride. “Good lad.”

Once again, warmth spread through him, pushing back the cold.

Alan sat back and withdrew his hand. Dorian felt the loss immediately. He closed his eyes as the plane banked, beginning its descent into the clouds.

He’s right, of course
.
I just want to leave this whole fucked-up mess behind me
.

Then it occurred to him that Alan’s quiet confidence might be exactly what he needed.

He really believes he can help me through this
.

It was something to hold on to.

“I
DIDN
’
T
realize you lived so close to the club,” Alan said as the taxi pulled into the street behind a block of apartments on the banks of the River Irwell, about ten minutes’ walk from Canal Street. He knew from conversations that quite a few club members lived in the area.

Dorian nodded, grabbing his bag and climbing stiffly out of the taxi. Leo was still sitting in the back.

Alan had a thought. He pulled his notebook from his jacket pocket and scribbled down his address and alarm code. “Give me a sec,” he told Dorian and then leaned into the taxi. He tore out the sheet and handed it to Leo before reaching into his pocket for his keys. “Can you do me a huge favor?”

Leo took the items with a frown. “What did you have in mind?”

“This is where I live. Can you go to my house and pack me a few things for a stay? Just a few changes of clothes—oh, and my laptop and power cord. You’ll find them on the table in the lounge, and the bag for them will be nearby. You’ll see where everything else is, and common sense should tell you what I’ll need.” He lowered his voice. “I don’t want to leave him alone.”

Leo nodded briskly. “I understand. Sure, no problem.” He glanced at the address. “I should be back here within the hour. I take it there’s an alarm?”

“Yes, you’ll find the box right by the door. You have about thirty seconds to enter the code before the alarm goes off.” Alan gave him a grateful smile and passed him his overnight bag. “You can shove stuff in here. Thanks, Leo.”

Leo smiled back. “Like I said, no problem.”

Alan withdrew from the taxi and closed the door. He heard Leo speak to the driver, and the black cab pulled away, Leo waving at them through the back window. Dorian stood still, his bag on the ground at his feet, looking lost and forlorn.

Alan pulled his jacket tightly around him. “It’s freezing out here. Let’s get into the warm, eh?”

Dorian bobbed his head, picked up his bag, and headed to the main door of the apartment block in front of them, walking slowly. Once inside, he pushed the door shut and led the way up the flight of stairs to the first floor, where there were two doors, one on either side of the hallway. Dorian went to the door on the right and let them into the flat.

Alan glanced around in surprise. The interior was not what he had expected. The flat was tastefully decorated with furniture that had an expensive air about it. The floor was thickly carpeted, and there were prints on every wall. At first he couldn’t put his finger on what struck him as odd about the flat, but then it hit him. For a young man, Dorian seemed to have old-fashioned tastes—and a lot of money.