The One That Got Away (3 page)

And there’s nothing wrong with casual sex,” he added, crossing his arms.

“As long as both people know up front, anyway.”

“I’m not against it, and I agree with you, but… well….” How did you tell your best friend that you were gay and, frankly, scared to death of AIDS? Pre-AIDS, David had been what some would call promiscuous, but after watching more than one lover waste away and die, he couldn’t bring 
himself to take the risk. He was clean, but it was purely luck. In the past decade, he hadn’t been a monk, but he used condoms religiously and found himself wanting to know more and more about his lovers before he’d sleep with them. He stared at Trace. What could he say?

Raising a brow when David trailed off, Trace just tilted his head and turned back to the soup. Sex wasn’t a topic they ever talked about. Now he idly wondered why. Wasn’t that something guys usually went on about, comparing experiences and women and what they liked and didn’t? That was about how it was when Trace went out with the guys from work. But not with David. He mused about that while he stirred the soup slowly.

David felt the hollowness of the silence that hung between them. It felt different. Before they just hadn’t talked about it. Now he felt like he was hiding something. “I’m gay,” he blurted before he could back out.

“I’ve seen too many friends become pale reflections of the men they once were because of AIDS. I guess it just makes me overly cautious.” Keeping his eyes on Trace’s back, he braced himself for the reaction.

Trace blinked, and his hand stilled the spoon for a moment. Gay?

David? He’d known the man better than five years now. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

Holding his breath, David bit his tongue. He didn’t have to defend his life to anyone. If Trace couldn’t deal with him the way he was, he’d be sad and probably a little pissed, but it wouldn’t be the first time that someone had judged him.

Trace started stirring again before he answered. “Makes you smart, in my opinion,” he said thoughtfully. “Can’t be too careful these days.”

David released his breath with a sigh. “Thanks,” he said softly.

Trace set down the spoon and picked up the pot, grabbing two bowls with his other hand as he turned to the table. “You’re welcome,” he said quietly as he poured out the soup.

Eating in silence, David felt something he hadn’t felt in a really long time: completely comfortable.

Once he finished with his bowl, Trace got up and took it and the pot to the sink, washing them both out. Remembering the mugs in the bedroom, he headed back there to fetch them and clean it all up at once.

He was still turning over this new information about David in his head, but for the most part, it didn’t bother him. They were still best friends. It wouldn’t change that. Even with the new information, he didn’t feel uncomfortable around David. He’d never felt uncomfortable before, so there was no reason for it to change anything. Decided, Trace grabbed up the mugs and turned back to the kitchen.

David got up to help Trace with the dishes. He felt weak, but not the least bit dizzy. Running some water into the pot in the sink, he went to lift it to the counter to soak while he rinsed the bowls. “Ow! Fuck!” he swore, stabs of sharp pain radiating from his shoulder and his arm going numb.

The pot fell back into the sink with a crash, and David leaned heavily against the counter for support.

Shocked by the loud, sudden noise, Trace hurried around the corner, a mug in each hand. “David? What’s wrong?” He shoved the mugs onto the counter, not even noticing the cold chicken noodle slopping over as he raised his hands to help. He was almost afraid to touch David.

Head hanging forward, his eyes tightly closed, David took several deep breaths. “Fuck, that hurt!” he swore, making his way over to the kitchen chair with Trace hovering, apparently worried about where he could safely touch the blond to help without hurting him. “I went to pick up the pot full of water and my shoulder…. Damn! I’m afraid I may have 
really screwed something up when I fell. When it’s just at my side, it aches, but that was a sharp, stabbing, bring tears to your eyes and steal your breath kind of pain.”

“Damn it, I was afraid something like this would happen when you insisted on that damn shower. C’mon; we’re getting you dressed, and I’m taking you to the emergency room,” Trace insisted, urging David toward the bedroom. “You might have broken something.”

David sat with his head cradled in the palm of his good hand. “You know, with the way this day is going, I’m afraid to get in a car. We’ll never make it to the hospital in one piece.” He chuckled mirthlessly. He was only half-kidding. With a weary sigh, he pushed to his feet and shuffled miserably to the bedroom. Picking out a worn pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes was no problem, but actually getting into them was proving to be a feat of mechanical engineering. Giving up, he swallowed his pride and called for Trace.

“I should’ve thought of that. Sorry,” Trace murmured as he walked into the bedroom. He took the jeans from him and knelt down, pooling the legs so David could step into them, and he pulled the denim up over firm thighs to settle the waistband, even zipping and buttoning him up carefully before reaching for the T-shirt.

Biting his lip almost hard enough to draw blood, David tried to control his body’s reaction to Trace’s innocent touches. Every place that the brunet’s fingers brushed his skin prickled with awareness. When the back of his hand grazed a nipple while maneuvering the T-shirt on without hurting his shoulder, David gasped, barely restraining a moan.

Trace grimaced. “Sorry, David,” he murmured, figuring he’d pulled too hard. “You got any Birks or something to wear besides running shoes?” he asked, walking over to the closet and peering down at the floor.

David really wished that Trace would quit presenting him with images of his ass, trousers stretched tightly over hard muscle. His eyes closed on a sigh. “Yeah, there’s a pair in the corner.” Slipping his feet in the sandals, the blond rested a hand on Trace’s back for balance. “Let’s get this over with.”

“SIX hours. Six fuckin’ hours. Good thing whatever was wrong with me wasn’t life threatening,” David complained, sliding out of Trace’s car, which was finally back in David’s driveway.

Trace just humored him with a “mmm hmmm,” not even rolling his eyes. When he’d broken his arm a few years back, he’d sat in the ER for at least that long before seeing anyone. “I’ll get those,” he said, plucking the bags out of the car before David could lean over to get it. “No more bending over for you.”

“And exactly how are you planning on pulling that one off?” David teased, leaning against the roof of the car as Trace locked the doors.

“Living tends to involve at least a little bending over.” David giggled at the double meaning of the words, punchy from the pain meds they’d given him at the hospital.

Grinning, Trace walked around the front of the car, shaking his head a little. “You’re looped, man. Come on. Inside with you. You’re on bed rest for a few days.” He took David by the good arm and made sure he got up the stairs, unlocked the door, and nudged him toward his bedroom.

“Well, I must say it’s refreshing to have a man trying to get me to bed who doesn’t want me to bend over,” David chuckled, kicking off his shoes and stretching out on the bed with a sigh. “Ahhh…. Tired….”

Trace smiled and pushed David’s legs under the sheets, pulling the covers up over him. “Just try not to roll over on that shoulder, huh? I don’t want to be awakened by a howling shriek,” he teased.

David mumbled something unintelligible and was asleep before his friend left the room. Trace pulled the door shut and went to the kitchen to make a note to himself to call David’s boss, telling him what happened.

He’d ask his own boss about working half-days next week. He’d go in tomorrow—actually, today, since it was 3 a.m.—to finish up his big project piece for Sunday. Exhausted, Trace figured he could catch a few hours’ sleep, so he turned off the lights, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants to be more comfortable, and laid down on the leather couch to sleep.

The second time he caught himself sliding off the slick leather, he got up with a muffled curse and walked back to the bedroom. He had to get some sleep or he’d be crap for brains. He pushed the door open to look in at David. He had that huge bed to himself. There was plenty of room for them both. Hell, Trace could lay out spread-eagle and still not touch David, it was so wide. “What the hell’s he need a bed this big for, anyway?” he muttered as he walked into the bedroom.

He pulled his shirt and pants off before crawling under the sheets in briefs and a white undershirt. As he settled down to sleep, it occurred to him to wonder how many other men had slept in this bed. But the thought slipped away before he could form any sort of opinion on it.

David attempted to roll to his back and a twinge from his injured shoulder woke him fully. Fuck! The doctor had said six weeks to heal with at least a full week on bed rest. How was he going to get by? Shifting to move the weight cutting off circulation to his leg, he backed into something solid and warm. Glancing over his wrapped shoulder, he saw Trace, facing away from him, sound asleep. David told himself to pull away, but leaning back against the sleep-heavy weight was so comforting.

Closing his eyes, he drifted back to sleep.

Trace slept harder than he had expected, and he jerked awake when his cell phone alarm went off under the pillow. He blinked open bleary eyes to see blond hair and for a long moment, and he was totally disoriented. Oh. Right. David. Trace sat up and pulled out the phone, thumbing off the alarm and looking down at the other man. Apparently they’d slid together as they slept, and Trace had rolled over right up against David’s back.
Well, at least it kept David off his shoulder,
Trace thought with a shrug. He yawned and pushed down the covers to crawl out of the bed.

The first thing David noticed upon waking was Trace’s absence.

He’d woken several times during the night, Trace’s warm presence helping him fall back to sleep. He could hear his friend’s deep voice talking in the other room, but couldn’t make out the words. Swinging his feet to the floor, David stood up slowly, hand gripping the nightstand for balance. Once he was steady, he headed toward the smell of coffee and Trace’s deliberately hushed voice.

“Yeah, six weeks. The doctor’s office said they’d fax over the FMLA paperwork. Sure. Yeah, he’s got… a friend to stay over. Help him around the house and all. Yeah, I’ll tell him. Sure thing.” Trace closed his phone with a snap and looked up to see David standing in the doorway.

“Hey, handsome. How you feeling?” he asked with a warm smile.

Momentarily stunned by the smile and the endearment, it took a moment for all of Trace’s conversation to sink in. Not wanting to assume that Trace was talking about himself, David asked a more mundane question. “Were you just talking to Lloyd?”

“Yes. He said to stay still and get better. If he sees you in the office before the six weeks are up he’ll do something nasty and unprintable with your corpse,” Trace said with a grin. “Sit down, David. You’re not even supposed to be out of bed.”

David shivered at the idea of Lloyd doing anything “unprintable.”

“Dirty old coot! It’s just my shoulder. If I have to stay in bed for six weeks, I’ll be certifiable.”

“You’re supposed to be in bed to keep your shoulder stabilized.

That’s why you’re wrapped up like a Thanksgiving turkey, ya goof.”

Trace stood and went to pour David a cup of coffee, mixing it with cream and sugar the way he knew the other man liked. Turning back to the table, he surveyed David’s pale face. “You want something to eat? You should have something in your stomach before you take more painkillers.”

“Wonder what I could get for them on the street?” David mused. “I could use a new laptop.” Trace laughed. Chuckling, David reached for the mug with his good hand, staring down at the pale tan liquid. Taking a tentative sip, he hummed his approval. Trace did a better job of fixing a good cup of coffee than he did. Watching as his friend opened the refrigerator and started pulling out sandwich fixings, David pondered the care Trace had shown him in the past twenty-four hours.

“David, why do you have Miracle Whip in your fridge when you don’t like anything but real mayonnaise?” Trace asked as he set out jars of condiments and packages of cheese. “And tomatoes? Didn’t you tell me you don’t like tomatoes? Or was it tomato sauce?” His brow furrowed as he set the meat on the island with the bread.

The blond thought back to a reception at the Williston Hills Country Club after the regional tennis tournament. Snatching a small patch of shade under a giant oak tree, David had complained to Trace about the chicken salad being made with Miracle Whip, and apparently he’d remembered. “Don’t you ever forget anything, Jackson?” he said, shaking his head. “The mayonnaise is in the door. The Miracle Whip was for—aw, hell—some guy I was seeing for a while. Should’ve known when he said he’d only eat Miracle Whip that he was a jerk. And I like tomatoes; just 
not on sandwiches. I slice ’em up on a plate with salt, pepper, and vinegar.”

Trace shrugged, grabbed the jar of Miracle Whip and tossed it in the trash before he nabbed the mayo and a tomato. “Just stuck with me, I guess. You don’t complain about much, usually,” he said, distracted as he pulled a knife from the block and started slicing the tomato on the butcher block.

David laughed as the Miracle Whip went sailing into the trash.

“Thanks. I should’ve had you over the night I threw him out too. You make it look so easy.”

Both Trace’s brows rose as he started building sandwiches. “That doesn’t sound too good, having to throw him out,” he observed. “But I would’ve helped.”

“Yeah, I think you would’ve. I kind of like having a built-in valet, cook, and chauffeur. Think I could afford you?”

“I don’t know….” Trace drew out doubtfully. “Takes a lot to keep me in the lifestyle to which I’m accustomed,” he said, winking as he pulled a few plates out of the cabinet.