We Found Love (10 page)

Chapter 9

T
HEY
RETURNED
to their room without getting busted by the likes of Wally the Hairless Wonder, and they went back to their own beds, though neither one of them slept. Riley faced Hunter. Hunter faced Riley. Neither one dared to close their eyes, even as the window in their bedroom door started to lighten. Riley knew that meant the common room was full of sunlight and the staff was all abuzz and eager to shove them out of a magical night and into a miserable day.

“Checks” was the first sound Riley heard since returning to his room. It was crazy to think after all that sharing and the amazing time they had together, neither one of them wanted to talk about it. It felt like lying there watching each other kept them in the forbidden wing, on the bluff and in each other’s arms. Riley didn’t mind it at all. He’d spent most of his life living in his head and didn’t really see a point in changing now, especially not with the kind of view Hunter had left him with.

“Breakfast” came next. In tandem, they rose from their beds and slipped back into their cheap slippers. Hunter still had on the hoodie Riley had given him last night, and something about having his clothes worn by the person he cared about most made him warm and fuzzy inside.

They continued on through the routine of eating, polished off more breakfast than either had eaten since Hunter’s arrival. Hell, Riley could take it back even further. He hadn’t wanted food so badly since that last night with Andy. Apparently midnight misadventures made for healthier appetites. The best part about it, though, Hunter was already starting to look human again. The fact made him ten times hotter than he had been, which made for great fantasy material while they were waiting for their next group session.

Riley sat in his far, lonely corner with his copy of
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s
Nest
bent wide. He kept his face buried there, even though he had Hunter beside him, noisily flipping through a magazine that apparently didn’t hold his interest.

“You okay?” Riley asked, looking over the book’s spine and covers.

“These magazines suck. I’m bored.”

“Sorry I swiped the best book they have. I’ve read it like ten times.”

“Really?” Hunter wrinkled his nose. “That good?”

“Yeah, actually, and wonderfully offensive, all things considered.” Riley snorted. “Want me to read to you?”

“No. I think I can manage.”

“How are you gonna—”

Before Riley could finish his sentence, Hunter dragged his chair closer, and he perched an elbow on the armrest, cheek on the rounded edge of Riley’s shoulder.

Oh, he plans to read like that.

Anyone else, and Riley would’ve lost his shit in zero-point-two seconds. Having his space crowded in such a way would’ve given him a twitch. But Hunter didn’t elicit any of that in him. Quite the opposite, actually. Cuddling up together with a book, even though they were in separate chairs and a mountain of overly observant eyes were watching them, felt right. Like something he was
supposed
to be doing.

“It’s time for group,” Riley said softly.

A groan followed; then Hunter shifted away.
Stupid group.
Just like last night, the closeness ended way too soon.

Even as they crossed through the sea of meandering bodies and scrutinizing stares, they stayed side by side, not holding hands, not touching in any way, just walking—down the hall and into a smaller room with more chairs arranged in a circle. A few people had beaten them there, and so had the doctor, but at least there was two seats together, waiting for Riley and Hunter.

Dr. Mishky settled into her own chair in front of a whiteboard at the head of the circle. She was the youngest doctor of the program, but you’d never guess from her love of ’90s wind suits and her overlarge tortoiseshell glasses, complete with the neck chain. She smiled affably, but that didn’t make Riley want to throw his book at her any less.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said, pulling her glasses off to dangle on their chain. Riley eyed them judgmentally. This was his least favorite of the groups. He’d rather talk about his feelings than try to explain why he lacked….

“Impulse Control. For you new fellas, that’s what this group is all about. I see new faces.” Her eyes wandered to each of the three new additions, landing on Hunter last. Riley looked to Hunter, who stared at the doctor, expression blank. The only way Riley knew Hunter was amused was the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth, the twitch that meant he was trying not to smile.

“This is especially helpful for those of you with drug and alcohol dependencies. My two rehab boys, have you been thinking about those exercises we discussed last week?” The two guys mumbled their responses. “Excellent. We are trying to identify our triggers and find ways to work on controlling urges. So let’s jump into it. Guys who have been here for previous groups, can we name some of our triggers?”

A few people responded on cue, creating a low hum of mingled voices that Riley didn’t really care to focus on. He’d been absently staring at the floor when Hunter leaned over and whispered, “I think I have great impulse control. Did last night, anyway.”

Heat engulfed Riley’s face, half from embarrassment, half from wanting to laugh his ass off right in the center of all those people. No need to cause a scene.

“Did you say something?” the doctor asked, fixing her cold gaze on Hunter.

“No, ma’am,” Hunter dutifully responded, slumping back in his chair.

“Riley?”

Riley shook his head, immediately falling into his old, familiar routine of keeping his trap shut and saving the hard stuff for the one-on-ones.

“Riley,” she said, crossing her arms and pursing her lips. She had the same stern and unforgiving look Mimi used to have. No wonder he didn’t feel like opening up. “You’ve been here nineteen months, and you haven’t participated at all. I told you to do the exercises and find your trigger, and yet you refuse to cooperate.” Her voice lowered in pitch and rose in volume, remaining well below a yell. He already hated her. She was quickly becoming his worst enemy. “Do you want to stay here? Do you not want to get better?”

The serious case of pissed off exploding inside him lit a fire under his ass, and he pushed up from the chair, sliding it across the room before storming toward the door.

“You can’t leave,” she warned.

“And how the hell do you think you’re gonna make me stay?” he growled back at her. Then he spun around and locked his hand on the doorknob.

“You know what’ll happen if you walk out that door,” she said.

He spent exactly thirty seconds considering the consequences of storming out of that room. They would lock him away and make him eat alone, make him sit in the quiet and consider the way he’d acted. Storming out would lead to more therapy, but….

“I don’t care.”

“Whoa.” That was Hunter’s voice, awkwardly thrown into the mix of aggravating-doctor/hostile-patient banter. He had his hand on Riley’s forearm, gripping it hard. “Dude, don’t.” Hunter hit him with his penetrating stare, the one that made Riley both shudder and melt. “You don’t have to talk, but come sit down with me.” Hunter lowered his voice when he said, “I don’t want them doing anything to you. Please, just sit down.”

As long as he kept his eyes locked with Hunter’s, he didn’t have a whole lot of fight in him and probably would’ve done anything Hunter told him to do. Hunter kept him calm, kept him grounded.

He let Hunter drag him back to their chairs. Riley sat down first. Hunter followed. The doctor seemed to approve, of one of them, anyway. At least this time around, she didn’t prod at Riley to open up about triggers and shit. Honestly, had he not been so hardheaded, he might’ve admitted to one of them being the pitch-black dark. Last night should’ve opened him up to accepting that one. Yet there they sat, another day and another hour of insolent silence.

Scowling, Riley crossed his arms over his chest and conceded to the reality of keeping his ass glued to that seat for another—he glanced up at the wall clock—forty-fucking-seven more minutes. Slow. Torture. Didn’t the Geneva convention have rules about torture?

Voices trickled around the room, background noise to Riley’s internal rambling. He found himself reliving last night: the walk on the bluff, the feel of Hunter’s lips on his, the way their hands laced together so perfectly. Their first date.

Warmth radiated onto his arm. Hunter had eased closer. They didn’t touch, but were close enough if either of them decided to move a hair. Riley swung his gaze up and met Hunter’s stare. There was a softness there, kindness, and a remnant of the happiness they’d shared in private last night. Something about the sight relaxed Riley, and the torture wasn’t so… torturous anymore.

“If no one has anything else,” Dr. Mishky said, “then I think we’ll call it.”

No one said a word. Everyone knew not to keep group going longer than it had to, simply because some people didn’t like the group setting and didn’t want to deal. If someone needed to talk more, that’s what the private sessions were for. Frankly, Riley didn’t have shit to say, not about impulse and triggers, not about his fears, and definitely not about blowing up in that room.

He stepped out into the hallway, Hunter in tow and close on his heels. Riley wanted to hide in his room with his face in his book but got the distinct feeling that wasn’t going to happen. Their feet hit the linoleum, and as soon as they rounded the corner toward the common area, commotion from the double doors jerked Riley’s attention from his rage.

“Do you
really
have to hold my arms that tight?”

Lodged between two huge orderlies was a bouncing blond with sun-kissed skin and smiling pink lips. He looked like an athlete gone wild. Broad shoulders and round pecs pulled the standard white shirt tight across his body. He jerked his arms and kicked his legs, fighting to get away from Dumb and Dumber. They held him tighter, threatening to sedate him if he didn’t calm down. He didn’t.

Riley stared. Hunter stared. Hell, half the beans in the can were staring. Commotion always got attention. Even the Froot Loops with half a brain got excited when a troublemaker rolled through the doors. However, Riley believed none of them had seen any that looked as good as Sunshine.

Appropriate nickname.

Amused with himself, he turned his head to share the new guy’s name with Hunter. But when he found his roommate slack-jawed and wide-eyed, gaping at Sunshine, Riley wasn’t sure if Hunter was shocked by the way he was acting or shocked by how hot the guy was.

“Connors.”

Fuck.

Riley’s head dipped forward. The voice belonged to someone Riley hated being alone in a room with. Dr. Landers was the therapist who oversaw most of the suicide cases at Hartfield. He was a nice guy, soft-spoken, and for the most part, pretty understanding of the phrase “I can’t talk about it.” But his patience had worn thin with Riley about six months ago. Doc kept promising Riley would get better and get out of here if he’d open up. Only problem was, when Riley opened his mouth to share the hard stuff, most of the time, his brain said sayonara.

“We need to talk,” Dr. Landers said.

Riley’s eyes swung from the doctor, to Hunter, to Sunshine, then back again. The idea of leaving Hunter alone with someone who looked like Sunshine didn’t set well with Riley, but when the doctors came a knockin’, the crazy people had no choice but to answer.

“Your office?” Riley asked flatly.

Chapter 10

H
UNTER
WATCHED
Riley walk off with the doctor, throwing curious, annoyed glances over his shoulder. Hunter smirked at him, getting a haughty snort and upturned nose for his trouble. He laughed and gave his attention to the bouncing new guy and orderlies coming toward him from the other direction. The guy was smiling, like the fact he was being detained was a joke. He was certainly hyper. Must be why he looked like that, all solid muscle, built for strength and speed. With that much energy, he had probably had to play every sport he’d ever encountered to tire himself out. He was practically vibrating with hyperactivity—even stranger, from good humor.