Zero at the Bone (28 page)

“No argument here,” D said, cupping one hand around the back of Jack’s head, tilting into him, mouths working each other over.

“D,” Jack breathed, as D kissed his way down Jack’s arched neck. “What do you want?”

“Want you,” D said, coming back to Jack’s mouth. “Want ya so damn bad.” Jack groaned and pushed D onto his back, falling on top of him, still kissing him. D

wrapped his arms and legs around him, arching his groin into Jack’s. “Jesus God,” Jack gasped.

“C’mere,” D said, pulling Jack’s mouth back to his, their groans lost into each other’s mouths as they rocked together on the bed, Jack bracing himself on his elbows, D’s hands gripping Jack’s ass and pulling him closer and tighter, their mouths sealed together. They came in quick succession, rushing impatient toward it, no time for anything but this, this which went on as they came down, laced tight together, their kisses slow now and languid, stopping only as they fell down into sleep, lying where they’d fallen.

Zero at the Bone | 125

JACK blinked and stretched, yawning himself awake. The sun was pretty high on the wall; it had to be after nine at least. He wasn’t surprised to be alone in bed. He rolled over and checked the clock. Yep, quarter after nine.

He got up and put on his track pants and a T-shirt, then shuffled out into the kitchen, still yawning. D was lighting a burner on the stove, a mug of coffee in his hand.

“Morning,” Jack said.

“Mmm,” D grunted. “Want some eggs? Just ’bout ta start.”

“Sure, thanks.” Jack bent and got out the toaster, then the bread.

“How?”

“Scrambled.” Jack leaned over D to get a mug for himself out of the cupboard, catching D eyeballing him as he drew back. He smiled, getting a little lip-twitch in return.

“You, uh… okay?” he said, watching D’s profile.

D glanced at him, frowning. “Yeah, why?”

“Well, you unloaded some things last night. Things you’d been carrying for a long time. I just wondered if now, you know, in the light of day….” D turned toward him. “What’s done is done. Ain’t no use dwellin’ on it; couldn’t take it back anyhow.”

That answer wasn’t quite what Jack had been hoping for. “But, I…,” he stammered.

“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter,” he said, turning around to fill his mug.

He heard D sigh behind him, a world-weary sigh that practically spoke full sentences, sentences like
Jesus Christ, what’ve I gotten myself into?
“Jack, I ain’t regrettin’ that I told you them things,” D said, his voice low.

Jack turned. “No?”

“No,” D said, shaking his head. He took a few steps toward Jack. “Never expected it,” he said, staring at the floor, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I thought all that shit was locked away for good, and glad for it ta be so. I never wanted ta show it ta nobody.” He flicked a quick, shy glance up at Jack’s face. “Not ’til now.” Jack swallowed hard. “I’m glad.”

One side of D’s mouth curled into a half-smile, a glint of mischief coming into his eyes. “C’mere,” he murmured, reaching out and grasping Jack’s upper arm. Jack came toward him willingly, still holding his mug, but didn’t make a move. D’s glance flicked to Jack’s mouth and back up to his eyes. Jack just arched one eyebrow.
Well? What are
you waiting for?
D leaned forward, hesitant, waiting to be met halfway, waiting for it to be Jack’s kiss and not his, waiting for Jack to take over, which he had no intention of doing. Jack stayed where he was, watching D’s face, the twitchy eyes, the flush rising to 126 | Jane Seville

his ears. D stopped and glanced up at Jack again. He tried once more, angling his jaw forward, his tongue sneaking out to wet his lower lip, but Jack held his ground and D

stalled out halfway home.

D drew back with a sigh, shaking his head. “Fuck you, ya smug bastard.” He chuckled, then pulled Jack tight to him, his free hand going around the back of his neck; a grin broke over Jack’s face but barely saw daylight before D’s mouth was on his, hungry and demanding, his hand in Jack’s hair. Jack fumbled behind him in what he hoped was the general vicinity of the countertop and let go of his coffee mug; he heard it tip over but thankfully not all the way to the floor. That hardly mattered now that both hands were free to grab big handfuls of D’s T-shirt, arms wrapped around his waist, a shiver running through him at this first intimate contact outside the bedroom. Whatever this was, it was now drug out into full view, not shuttered behind closed doors where it could be written off as a fluke or a need.

D’s hand was up underneath Jack’s T-shirt, warm and dry. The initial rush past, their lips were meeting now in a quiet, undemanding lazy-Sunday sort of acquaintance: stroke and rub, pull and taste, smile and breathe without parting and shift into each other like drifting dunes molding beneath the wind. The touch of D’s tongue stealing into his mouth, tentative to make Jack want to weep for him, rejection so harsh a master, but warm and wet and his, his to claim and draw out.

Jack sighed, wondering if he might swoon like some kind of Victorian damsel.
I
could get used to this.
D drew back, his eyes averted, his flush creeping down to his cheeks now.
Like a kid stealing kisses on the porch at curfew,
Jack thought. He smiled, forgetting for a moment to school his expression and rein in his emotions; all of a sudden it zinged up his spine and exploded in his skull like a time-lapse photo of a blooming flower. Jack exhaled sharply.
Jesus. Is this what it feels like?

He stepped out of D’s arms and turned to rescue his coffee mug. “Shit, I spilled the hell out of this, didn’t I?” he said, keeping his back turned while he went for the paper towels.

“Guess… start breakfast then, huh?” D said, sounding a little confused.

“Sure, sounds great.”

No one spoke for a few moments; the only sounds in the kitchen were of D cooking.

Jack stood at the patio door and looked out into the backyard, drinking his coffee. “Better go ta the store today,” D said. “Gettin’ low on… stuff.” He half-swallowed this last word, letting Jack know that D had noticed that they were running low not only on coffee and bread but also on lube.

Jack took a deep breath and rejoined D by the stove. “Can we swing by a bookstore or something? I’m dying for some new reading material.” D shot him a look. “Ain’t no ‘we’ here, bud. I’ll be goin’ by myself.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Jack said.

“I ain’t kiddin’. Too risky fer you ta be out ’n’ about.”

“What, you think armed assassins will be staking out Albertson’s on the off chance that I’ll wander through?”

“It’s possible.”

“No, it isn’t. You’re being paranoid.”

“Paranoid’s saved my ass more’n once. Now it’ll save yers.”

“D, I have got to get out of this house.”

“Got the yard there out back.”

“I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that. I am not a house pet!” Zero at the Bone | 127

“Great. Now yer getting pissy,” D grumbled, stirring the eggs more forcefully.

“Maybe I am. We’ve been here a week, nothing bad’s happened, you yourself say we’re safe here, why shouldn’t I go out?”

“Because I don’t wanna push our luck, all right?” D exclaimed, banging the pan down on a cool burner. “Willya just stay here, please? Gimme a fuckin’ break, Jack.” Jack’s temper flared.
Oh no, he did NOT.
“Give
you
a break? Sure, why not? I’ve only been uprooted from my life twice now, had to abandon my career, my home, my friends and family so I could be a hunted fugitive, but I guess you need a break, huh?” He threw his mug into the sink and walked away, the frustration surprising him with its ferocity. He banged through the patio doors and stomped off into the backyard, stopping when he reached his favorite tree. He sat down with his back to its trunk.

Jesus. Get a grip.
But he’d been getting and holding that grip for weeks now, and his fingers were getting slippery. He’d pushed so much of the reality of his situation far from his mind so he could concentrate on other things, like surviving, but now in this place that was starting to feel safe, it was creeping back. Likely he’d never see his parents again, or Caroline, or his friends. The coffee shop on the corner by his apartment, the cranky nurse who worked the OR intake desk.

He found himself thinking of Julia, a little girl he’d been treating for nearly two years. She’d been born with some severe jaw deformities and had required a series of surgeries to correct them so she could speak and eat normally. She was only four years old but her face was like sparkling sunshine. She knew that every trip to the hospital meant pain and discomfort, but still she hugged him when she arrived, calling him “Dr.

Jacky” in her distorted speech and giggling when he tickled her. He remembered her face when she’d demonstrated to him all the new words she could say with her new jaw and how she’d been brave and hadn’t cried when she realized it was time to go to surgery again, though her lip had trembled and her big brown eyes had filled with tears.

Who was caring for Julia now that he’d gone? Was that doctor holding her hand?

Was he visiting her in recovery and waiting to see her eyes open? Did he care about minimizing her scarring, was he being careful with her gums so her permanent teeth could come in later? Did she remember Dr. Jacky and wonder why he wasn’t taking care of her anymore? Did she feel abandoned?

Julia was just one of many patients he’d had to leave behind, whose care he had been forced to entrust to colleagues. Most of them hadn’t even gotten the courtesy of a conversation with him first; things had happened just that fast.

Jack felt a tear spill over and fall down his cheek. He dashed it away with an impatient swipe of his hand.
You’re alive. Be grateful.

Jack leaned his head back against the tree trunk. He’d expected his whole life to change, but he hadn’t expected to meet somebody he’d have feelings for, feelings that frankly scared the shit out of him… mostly because he was having a hard time imagining any other outcome than one in which he got his untested heart truly and thoroughly broken.

D WATCHED Jack storm out of the house, a little relieved. Jack had been Mr. Okay-With-It nearly since he’d met him, cracking wise and coaxing D out of himself to a degree he would never have believed possible, and that was bound to get old sooner or 128 | Jane Seville

later. It was good to see him feeling it, whatever it was. It wasn’t an easy thing he was doing, and it wasn’t going to get any easier.

Yer not makin’ it easier by fuckin’ him eight ways from Sunday, neither. As if you

’n’ him gonna have some kinda loving supportive relationship. Not too fuckin’ likely, but
ya know he’s thinkin’ it. Jus’ gonna get him hurt in the end, and ya think he needs this
shit on top a everythin’ else?

He stood there leaning against the counter, stuck as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Two weeks ago, he would have let Jack be and gone about his business, but it wasn’t two weeks ago. Part of him was pulled out there, wanting to go to Jack and get him to talk, or maybe just….

He sighed, shutting his eyes.
Admit it, asshole. Part a you wants ta jus’ go out there

’n’ comfort him. Put yer arms ’round him ’n’ hold him ’til he feels better, dry his tears,
maybe kiss him ’til he forgets why he’s upset.

Jesus. What was he turning into? A fucking girl? One of those sensitive New Age guys who’d run their mouths for hours about their feelings without saying a single thing that made any sense?

One of those… gay guys?

Jus’ let him alone, fer cryin’ out loud. Would you want him bargin’ in on ya when
yer havin’ a moment? He’ll be fine, come back inside all his normal self again.

He sat at the table, his back resolutely toward the patio doors, and ate his eggs and toast. He didn’t taste much of it. He made a list of things to get at the grocery store, adding items he knew Jack would like without realizing he was doing it.

He put the dishes in the dishwasher. He scrubbed the pan he’d used for the eggs. He put away the toaster and rinsed the coffeepot, and when he could stall no longer he took a deep breath and went out into the backyard.

Jack was pacing, arms crossed, eyes on the ground. D was pretty good at reading body language and everything about Jack’s was saying “Fuck you, fuck me, and fuck off.”

He stopped a few feet away and just waited, at a loss for what to say, or if he should say anything at all. Jack didn’t acknowledge him. “Hope it ain’t me’s pissin’ you off,” D

finally said, going for a little levity.

Jack glanced at him, and then shook his head. “No. Just… I guess some things are hitting me all at once, here. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you fuckin’ apologize, y’hear? You been through hell these past weeks, yer entitled ta some frustration. I been amazed at how calm ya been, frankly. Most folks woulda lost their fuckin’ minds by now.”

“Yeah, well. That’s my way, isn’t it? Put on a happy face, pretend it’s all fine so no one else has to be bothered.” He raked his hand through his hair. “Swallow it and smile.