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He’d tried a few times to do something other than lie there or force himself through his therapy, but between the drugs, the resulting pain, and the scolding he’d taken from Gray and Mason about needing to rest, he’d quit trying. Now, however, even his favorite shows had gotten old. He was stiff and sore in places that had nothing to do with his injury. He hadn’t been thisinactive ever. He was so out of sorts he hadn’t even jerked off since the accident. Part of him was angry that he’d been shot and that he didn’t know what to do with himself, almost angry enough to force himself up off the couch and push through the pain so he could go for a walk, get some fresh air, and truly breathe again.
He longed to feel something other than this painkiller-induced fog, but another part of him wanted to pop another pill or two, fall asleep, and ignore everything for as long as he could get away with it. The less ambitious part of him won out. He winced as he stretched to reach his bottle of meds. The water glass Mason had left on the table when he went to work was empty. Rather than getting up to take the slow, painful walk to the sink, he dry swallowed a few pills and waited for oblivion.
More days went by. Jack was stronger physically, getting up to use the bathroom hurt less. Breathing hurt less. But thinking about his future or that moment of indecision when he hesitated to shoot Morales—it had been the man himself—hadn’t gotten any easier. His shot had hit true, and unlike him, Morales hadn’t gotten lucky. He’d died at the scene.
Watching Gray walk out the door to face danger every day was killing Jack, but instead of talking about it, Jack shut down. By that point in his recovery, he could have gone back to Gray and Mason’s bed without risking excruciating pain, but he stayed in the extra room. He was afraid if he opened himself up to them, if he let himself feel again, he would crack apart, not physically this time, but emotionally. He hated feeling so fucking fragile. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore, and he’d become more andmore terrified he wasn’t the man he’d thought he was. If that was true, then he wasn’t the man Gray and Mason loved. If he stayed quiet, maybe they wouldn’t realize it and send him packing.
The TV was on, but Jack wasn’t paying attention to what he was watching. He’d dragged himself out of bed after Mason and Gray had left, feigning sleep until the door had closed behind them. He hadn’t bothered to shower, and he’d worn the same t-shirt and sweats the day before and maybe the day before that too. He should care, but he didn’t. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere or that he was going to fuck his boyfriends any time soon. They’d barely even kissed since he was shot.
The thunk of the front door shutting woke him some time later. He rubbed his eyes and opened them to see Gray and Mason frowning down at him. “When did you last shower?” Gray demanded.
Jack shrugged and blew out a harsh breath. One that likely smelled as foul as his mouth tasted.
“This has gone on long enough. You’re going to clean yourself up, brush your teeth, put on clean clothes, and come back out here to talk to us.”
Jack wanted to be pissed off, but apparently that would take more effort than he had to expend. “I don’t feel like talking.”
Gray growled. “I don’t give a fuck.”
Mason scowled at Gray, then said, “What happened to you sucks. We get that, but you can’t keep hiding.”
Jack pushed a hand through his hair. “I’m not hiding. I’m right here.”
“The hell you are,” Gray said. “You don’t talk to us. You don’t sleep with us.”
“My chest fuckin’ hurts. I don’t need you rolling over on me.”
“You could handle it now. I’ve seen you working out. That’s the only thing you give a damn about.”
Lately he hadn’t even been doing that as well as he could. Basically, he’d only done the physical therapy to spite the self-satisfied therapist who seemed determined to break him. Now that he saw the therapist less frequently, he’d slacked off.
“I miss you, Jack,” Mason said. “I don’t think you’ve said ten words to me this week.”
“I talked to you last night.”
“You mumbled at me and asked me to get your pills.”
“I—” Mason was right, and Jack couldn’t think of a single more meaningful interaction he’d had with Mason or Gray recently. “Fuck.”
Gray snorted. “Not likely.”
“I’m not supposed to have sex yet. Doctors or?—”
“Since when do you give a fuck about doing exactly what a doctor says?”
“Since I almost died.”
“Yeah, you almost died, but you didn’t, so stop acting like you did. And while you’re at it, think about this. Maybe I’d like to have a chance to touch you, to remind myself that you really are here, but you’d rather take yourself off to happy pill land than even fucking talk to me.”
“Goddamnit. I’m in pain, Gray.”
Gray started to speak, but Mason laid a hand on his arm. “We know, and we’re not saying you’ve abused the painkillers, but we wish you weren’t always in a fog instead of here with us.”
Jack should want that too.
“Go shower. Now,” Gray said.
Just like old times, Jack’s body instinctively obeyed. He rose from the couch and turned toward the bathroom. For the first time since he’d woken up in the hospital, he remembered how good that could be, turning control over to Gray. His dick twitched as his mind formed an image of Gray flogging his ass, helping him release all that had been dragging him down so he could fly. He needed that, a moment of perfection with his lovers. He looked back over his shoulder. “I love you,” he said to the two of them.
