Fated (7 page)

Can you talk?

Give me five.

The sheets felt cool against Hart’s slightly overheated skin when he slipped between them. The combination of medication from earlier and most of a bottle of red wine left him feeling boneless and compliant. A low arousal sent his bones humming, but he was too tired to acknowledge it fully.

It still took him a second to lie comfortably so his side and wrist didn’t ache, and just as the pillows behind him cradled him nicely, his phone rang, the screen lighting up with Isaac’s sweet grin.

“Hi.”

“Hey, I—I didn’t wake you, did I?” Isaac’s voice came through clearer than it had through the old landline downstairs, and it felt strangely intimate to talk to him like this. There could be no harm in preserving that feeling here by himself, where no one else knew, so Hart turned off his bedside lamp and settled in with nothing but the sheets caressing his skin and Isaac’s voice in his right ear.

“No, but you sound like you’ve been asleep yourself.”

“Uh, yeah. I figured I’d have a better chance getting ahold of you at this hour. I didn’t want to disturb—”

“You’re not disturbing me, Isaac. Call me anytime, all right? How’s it going?” Hart felt himself relax further, and he sank deeper into the pillows, his lower back pleasantly easing out of an ache.

“Good, uh, yeah. Really good. I separated the little, what’s it called? Sunburst?”

“Sunburst Platy, yes.”

“I like that,” Isaac said, and Hart grinned. He liked it too. “So yeah, I separated her from the rest because, like you suspected, she’s gotten pretty fat.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that.” Hart closed his eyes, feeling himself drift a little on the sound of Isaac’s voice. He imagined his tropical aquarium. The filters would be buzzing slightly, and the fish would be gliding to and fro, caught up in their own compact world. Was Isaac looking at them now? Or was he in bed, Hart’s possibly, or the spare one—he’d been given free use of either.

“Ha, no. So, she’s gotten pretty big, and she kind of hung out by herself in the corner of the tank, so I put her in quarantine like you showed me.”

“Good. That’s great, Isaac. Thank you. You know what to do when she gives birth?”

“Yeah, I’ve still got the notebook, but I know it all by heart now. Uh.” Isaac fell silent, and Hart grinned. He could imagine that young face so clearly as it blushed a fetching pink.

For a while now, Hart had figured Isaac would grow out of this crush eventually. He still hadn’t, and it didn’t bother Hart as much as it probably should have.

“Listen, are you all right out there? It’s probably got nothing to do with you because you’re pretty far out of town, right? But we heard on the news about this car exploding, and—”

“Ah, yes. That was my car, actually.” Shit. Apparently pain meds and alcohol combined to loosen the tongue.

“
What
?” Isaac sounded awfully awake now. Hart heard bedding shift, bedsprings creaking, and tried very hard not to imagine Isaac with pillow creases on his face. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Jesus Christ.”

“Hey, hey.” Hart pushed himself up on one elbow, as if Isaac could actually see him reaching out, and winced. “Listen, I’m fine. My eyebrows got scorched a little, but I’m okay.”

“I don’t believe it,” Isaac breathed as if Hart hadn’t spoken. “What happened?”

“We don’t know yet.” Hart kept his voice low and calm. “But don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, I guess. But man, I can’t…. Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need help?”

“I’m fine, Isaac.” Hart sighed. He had to give the kid something, or he’d never leave it alone. “The left side of my face is a little burned, so are my side and my left arm, but none of that will last, apart from maybe a little scarring on my forearm.”

“Are you good to stay by yourself? Do you want me to—” Whatever he was about to say, Isaac swallowed it back.

“I’m good here. But thank you.”

“Do you have any idea why?”

“It’s related to a case. I can’t really—”

“Talk about it. No, I get it. Was anyone else injured?”

Hart blinked. He hadn’t thought about that. If anyone had died in the explosion, Freddie would’ve told him, though. “Not that I know of. I’ll check in the morning.”

“I’m sorry. You probably need to rest. I’ll let you do that, just….”

“What?” Hart sank back in the pillows, his body feeling tired, sore, and heavy, but the blood in his veins buzzing pleasantly again as he sensed Isaac relaxing on the other end.

“Take care of yourself, and come home soon.”

Hart smiled. “I will. And thanks for your call, Isaac. It was good to hear from you.”

“Any—Anytime, Hart. Bye.”

“Bye.” Hart watched his screen go dark, then plugged it into the charger and switched it back on to set his alarm. When he settled in to sleep, he felt more relaxed than he had all day. It could’ve been the chemical mix, but in truth it felt nice to know someone out there cared.

H
E
WOKE
before his alarm, momentarily disoriented by the stained glass lamp that hung over his head. He took in the blue and black curtains closed above a roll-top wooden desk and the faces staring down at him above his bed. Hart closed his eyes to his childhood bedroom, wondering why his dad had never taken down the band posters. When he opened them again, early dawn light spilled through the gap in the curtains, bouncing off the blue, green, and red panels of the lamp, fracturing the light into a rainbow of shattered colors across the room. His body hurt more this morning than it had the day before, and Hart wished he had brought his painkillers to bed with him so he wouldn’t have to struggle down the stairs before he could take them. Granted, the pounding headache could’ve been avoided.

Gingerly he lifted himself up, sparing his left side. “Get it together, Hart.” His mouth felt awful and dry. The bandage around his waist and shoulder was clean, but the one around his wrist had a large reddish-yellow mark on it. He’d have to go to a pharmacy for some supplies to change it later.

The sharp trill of his phone made him startle, raw skin under his bandages burning as he twisted to look for it. The screen lit up with an unknown number.

“Hart.”

“Oh, you’re up. Hi, it’s Toby.”

“Toby?”

“Yes, Doctor Tobias Darwin,” Toby said, sounding a bit miffed.

“I know who you are.” Hart grinned. “I just wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

“Ah, well, I—Freddie gave me your number. I just wanted to make sure you were doing all right, and, I know it’s not regular procedure, but I wanted to see if you needed help with your bandages.”

“I was going to go to the pharmacy later,” Hart said, bemused.

“If it’s not too much of an imposition, I don’t have surgery scheduled for another two hours. I could redo your bandages for you.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Hart stared at the wooden floor under his bare feet. By all accounts it should be a little dusty at least, but the floor—the entire room—was as clean as the rest of the house. Maybe his dad had hired a housekeeper over the past couple of years. It’s not as if Hart would know.

“It’s difficult to wrap your own shoulder and wrist. It won’t take me long.”

“Okay.” Hart rubbed his eyes. They still felt a little gritty but not as bad as yesterday. “Sure, come on over.” He gave Toby the address.

“If you haven’t showered yet, remember to keep the water lukewarm. I should be there in half an hour.”

“I—all right. I’ll see you then.” Without waiting for an answer, Hart hung up. How exactly he felt about Toby coming into his dad’s home, Hart couldn’t figure out, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about the burns.

When he turned to the bathroom mirror, about to start on the dressings, he noticed the gluey heart monitor stickers still clinging to his chest. Hart snorted and peeled the little circles away, wincing where they caught the dark hairs.

Removing the dressings from his chest turned out to be quite easy, but the one around his arm felt like it stuck quite deeply into the burn, so he left that one on. The skin on his side and shoulder didn’t exactly look pretty, but he’d expected worse, and if no one studied him too closely, the left side of his face could pass as mild sunburn.

Somehow he managed to wash without getting his left arm too wet, but by the time he finished brushing his teeth, he’d begun to feel a little lightheaded. He’d just put on his jeans, and was contemplating pulling a T-shirt on over the wet bandage, when the doorbell rang. He stumbled down the stairs, dripping water over his jeans and the books littering the steps.

Toby took one look at Hart’s face and pushed his way into the house, grabbing hold of Hart’s good arm. He had a neat white bag clutched in his other hand. “Next time before you shower, have something to eat and take a painkiller first.”

“You said you’d be here in half an hour. I didn’t want to leave you standing on the front step.”

“You needed half an hour in there? Do you shave your chest or something?” Toby’s eyes drifted down before he caught himself and quickly looked away again. “Sorry, I keep being inappropriate around you. Come on, show me your kitchen before you fall over.”

“I’m not about to fall over.” Hart showed Toby into the kitchen.

“No, I’m sure you always look this particular shade of green in the morning.”

Hart laughed, then winced and let Toby maneuver him onto a barstool by the island. “You always this pushy?”

The moment stilled. Outside, a single horned lark cried out once and then went silent too. Above the entryway to the living room, a clock gently ticked the seconds of the day away. A flash of intensity passed over Toby’s eyes, and Hart found himself dying to know what he would say. But it passed, as all these little moments between them seemed to do.

“Painkillers first,” Toby said. “Did you eat?”

Hart shook his head. “You beat me to it.”

“All right. You have to eat something with these pills, or they’ll burn a hole in your stomach wall. Where do you keep your plates and stuff?”

“I’ll get it.” Hart put a foot on the floor, but Toby stopped him with a hand on his good wrist before he could step away.

“Let me. Sit tight, and tell me where I can find everything. There’s no one here but you and me, so you can drop the Lone Ranger act.”

“That’s not—”

Toby’s mouth lifted in a half smile, and his eyes softened. “Just let me.”

“All right, fine.” Hart pointed around the kitchen. “Plates, mugs, coffee machine.”

As Toby began to rummage around, Hart slid off his barstool anyway. “Do you want some toast?”

Toby looked over his shoulder as he poured water into the coffeemaker and rolled his eyes. “Yes, sure. Why not? Do you have marmalade?”

“Just normal strawberry jam, I’m afraid.”

“I guess I’ll have to make do.”

It was odd to stand in this kitchen, making breakfast with another man who wasn’t his father. Everything about it was familiar and strange at once. It made him feel young in his skin, like the kid he’d been when he lived here. How often had he stood in this very spot, on a step stool right beside his dad, adding chocolate chips to his banana cake? He couldn’t bake much, wasn’t very good in the kitchen at all really, but that banana cake had been to die for. Any of Hart’s attempts to recreate it later had proved pretty futile.

As if he could read minds, Toby said, “How old were you when you left Brightly?”

“Eighteen.” Hart’s side and arm were throbbing by now, and his chest was beginning to break out in a sheen of cold sweat.

Toby took one look at him. “Go sit down.” He steered Hart back to the barstool and handed him the toast and coffee.

“I could get used to this.”

Toby rolled his eyes and ducked his head, but Hart caught the pleased little smile.

“All right.” Toby took his plate away when they were done and handed him a glass of water with two pills. “Take these.” He unpacked gauze, bandages, cotton, and a small bottle of brown liquid onto a carefully unfolded green piece of paper. Toby snapped on white gloves, took a pair of scissors out of a sealed plastic bag, and began to cut open the wrapping around Hart’s wrist.

“Tell me if you feel dizzy,” Toby said, and then silence fell as Hart watched him work. He took the first few layers off swiftly, but as he neared the injured skin, he took more care, dripping some of the liquid to soak the gauze where it stuck in the wound. To take his mind off the sharp pain, Hart used Toby’s preoccupation to study him in detail. His dark hair was as meticulously styled as it had been the first time they met. The dark eyelashes to match the hair curled enticingly outward. His nose was straight and strong, the cupid bow beneath it pronounced. There was no sign of any stubble on his cheeks, jaw, or Adam’s apple as it bopped up and down when he swallowed. This was one attractive man, no doubt about it. And, Hart noticed, no mark on the back of his neck. If a cult happened to be behind the suspicious deaths, at least Toby wouldn’t turn out to be their leader or something.

“Am I hurting you?”