22
Freddie
Forget sandpaper, my throat’s been replaced with glass. It cracks each time I cough and I’m terrified it’ll shatter. I’m moving at a shuffle, following Ryker into the house. Liam is behind me, still not talking and blank faced, but I know he’ll catch me if I fall.
The doctor listed symptoms Imaybe experiencing, sore throat, shortness of breath, coughing, sore eyes and nasal passages, nausea and dizziness. Looks like I lucked out. I have every single one. Who knew almost dying could be a pain in the arse afterwards.
“Home sweet home,” Ryker announces.
The way he says it, like it’s home for all of us, isn’t subtle in the slightest. I’m too tired to protest—it’s such a relief to be out of the hospital—and it might not bemyhome, but it’s theirs, and it smells like them, and their possessions are everywhere. They, Ryker and Liam, are the closest thing tohomeI have. I check my arm and find myself surprised that I’m disconnected from mydrip. The drugs are gone. There’s no excuse for my sentimental, sappy thoughts other than the clarity that comes with a near miss. Maybe we’re moving too fast, maybe we’ve got lots to discuss, but right now I just need them any way I can have them.
Ryker turns around. His smile dims as he considers me. Apparently, my thinking face is a cause for concern. We both jump when the front door slams shut.
“Christ, Liam,” Ryker says, massaging the skin in front of his heart.
Liam doesn’t apologise.
Ryker shakes his head. “We’ve got your clothes upstairs—”
“In the chest of drawers in my room,” Liam says.
I nod. “Cool.” I tug at the thin hospital gown I’m wearing. “Anything’s better than this.”
“Except your smoke-covered jeans and shirt,” Liam replies. From the crinkling sound, I’m guessing he’s holding up the bag with the offending items. I don’t look, but Ryker does. He widens his eyes in a blatant “what the fuck” way, not at the clothes, or so I hope, but at his brother.
“I’m going up to get changed.”
I start for the stairs. It’s going to take me ten minutes to get up there. I might need to lie down on Liam’s bed for a rest before I pull on my clothes. The nurses helped me get them off in the hospital. Thankfully Ryker was out of the room being seen to himself at the time, otherwise he would’ve helped. I feel stupid enough that my sleeping arrangements have been exposed—and to think, I thought myself sneaky, got smug thinking I could trick them so I could sleep in the canteen.
“You need to shower first,” Liam says. “Both of you reek.”
I grab the banister. There’s no fight in me right now. I sigh. “Ryker, you can go first.”
“No.”
I stiffen at Liam’s voice.
“You’ll go at the same time. We’re all going together. I’m not letting you out of my sight right now, either of you.”
Maybe I should protest, be shy, be . . .something. . . but I’m tired, and the idea of having a shower and washing this smell of smoke off my skin and out of my hair is appealing. My back and chest ache from coughing, and the warmth will do both good, I’m certain of it, but can I stand under my own power beneath the spray to reap the benefits? From the shake in my hand on the banister, I doubt it.
It tremors up my arm and I know they both see, but before they can do something as mortifying as carry me, I begin my trek up the stairs. Both brothers follow behind me without a word. I’m the guide on this treacherous expedition, and by the time I get to the top of the stairs, I’m bent over and breathing hard at my knees.
Ryker squeezes by to go into the bathroom first. He starts up the shower, then waits for me. Liam is the shadow at my back, guiding me into the room, ready to catch me if I fall, or grab me if I run. I do neither. This time he shuts the door softly. Ryker strips off until he stands waiting for me in his birthday suit. Liam’s clothes thud to the tiles behind me, and now both brothers are as bare as the day they were born. It strikes me as funny. They both came into this world naked together, and now they’re both naked in this room with me standing between them.
Ryker curls his toes. “What is it?” he asks.
The instant they started undressing I glued my gaze to the floor, and now I’m about to engage in conversation with Ryker’s feet. “Nothing,” I say.
Ryker wriggles his big toe.
“Do you need some help getting undressed?” he asks.
Ah, fuck, that’s why we’re standing here frozen in a moment. It’s me who’s stopped it going any further by forgetting I also need to lose my clothes to get into the shower. It’s notsex or sexuality that makes me reluctant, it’s this deep-rooted insecurity I think everyone experiences in their lives when you compare yourself to another and find yourself wanting.
They’re big, muscular, and handsome. They’ve got the bodies of heroes that exist in Greek myths, and the faces of catalogue models. Ryker’s favourite way to chat up men is to mention he was Mr December in the previous year’s firefighter calendar. But I can push all that to one side and accept we’re different. I’m slimmer, shorter, with an average body type. Fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine.
“Freddie . . .” Ryker tries tentatively.
