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“But I hate it here,” Alek said.
“Listen to the doctor,” Ian said.
The stern, gruff tone of Ian’s command only made Alek want to act out more, but his ribs still throbbed from his earlier laughter and his wrist felt like it had been crushed in a vise, so he did what Ian said and bid the doctor farewell.
20
ALEK
After another x-ray of Alek’s arm and an agonizing physical exam, the orthopedic surgeon—a CrossFit enthusiast Alek disliked immediately—declared that although his fracture was unchanged, the swelling and soft tissue injuries were markedly worse.
Alek would have to keep his right arm completely immobilized with his hand above his heart. If the swelling didn’t go down, the surgeon would remove the cast, and Ian’s heart-shaped proposal along with it, so he could make a series of incisions that would allegedly relieve the swelling and spare his hand.
He’d asked if they ought to try leeches first if their approach was going to be so barbaric.
His newest accessory—a scratchy, black sling—restrained him in a decidedly unsexy way. The strap dug into his shoulder and the velcro snagged on his bed linen, picking up lint souvenirs each time he adjusted his blanket.
Ian had already barked at Alek twice when he tried to move his arm accidentally. Instead of snapping at Ian for being overbearing, Alek was halfway through plotting how he was going totie Ian up with the sling and pound the bossiness out of him once his arm healed.
Ian was sprawled out on his back on the pull-out couch with his hands under his head and his long legs spilling out over the armrest. Alek had made him drag the couch over to his bed and it felt like they were having a sleepover—or at least that’s what he assumed it felt like, as he’d never had one as a boy.
“What room do you want to work on next?” Ian asked in a near-sleep rumble Alek knew well.
Alek rolled onto his side, hanging his good arm down to tangle his fingers in Ian’s hair. “You know what room.”
Since purchasing the Victorian, they’d taken turns choosing which room to tackle next. Alek always asked Ian to fix the attached greenhouse. Ian always said no. It was too expensive. It would take forever. The glass would have to be custom-made. And Alek would agree because he was supposed to have the finances of an antique furniture restorer.
Ian flipped over onto his side, resting his cheek on his bicep. “I was hoping the head injury would make you forget about the greenhouse.”
Renovating the greenhousewouldbe a massive undertaking. All that remained of their greenhouse was a skeleton of rusted wrought iron wrapped around an octagonal red brick foundation. Oh, and a forest of blackberry brambles and volunteer trees.
“Come on, Ian. It’ll be gorgeous. I can’t wait to stand inside during a thunderstorm and watch the rain pour down overhead.”
“That sounds like a highly effective way to be struck by lightning.”
“Hardly,” Alek scoffed. “Iron conducts electricity, which makes the greenhouse a gothic wet dream of a Faraday cage. It’sperfectly safe. Now that that’s settled, it brings me to my next point.”
“Oh no.”
Ignoring him, Alek continued. “I think you should take a sabbatical from work. Supervise the Queen Anne and the Craftsman as remotely as you can, and then we can finally finish the Victorian.” Now that he had Ian back, he wanted to keep him close, lest distance break the fragile spell he still held over him.
“Wait. You have to slow down when you throw around vocabulary words. I’m not used to your accent.”
Alek rattled off a series of his favorite curse words and then repeated back what he’d said before.
“I can project manage remotely until you recover, but I’m not closing up our business. I need to keep it solvent and present in people’s minds.” Ian pulled Alek’s hand from his hair and kissed it. “Even if I have an independently wealthy fiancé.”
Alek snatched his hand away. He could read between the lines. Ian wouldn’t risk their business. It would be irresponsible to put his financial future in Alek’s hands. Their relationship might not make it. Maybe he wanted to cache money for an escape plan.
“What makes you think I’m independently wealthy?” Alek said. “Maybe I was lying about being able to buy you out of the Victorian.”
Ian smiled good-naturedly. “Were you lying?”
“No. I do have money.”
“Okay.”
Alek huffed. “That’s it?”
