“Wow.” Monte picks at his coat zipper. “Are you, uh, sad about that? Like, do you miss your parents?”
“That’s a complicated fucking question.” Iggy slows for a red light and scans the street signs, pretty sure the hardware store is up another few blocks. “Do I miss the idea of having parents like what other guys have? Like what I see on TV? Abso-fucking-lutely. Do I miss my specific parents? No.”
“Oh.”
He should not be opening a vein to Monte, pouring his truth out like this, but something in his core trusts Monte. Trusts him in a way he’s trusted very few people in his life, and it helps that Monte is listening. Actively listening and interested, and Iggy will bet his uncle’s car that this isn’t an act. Monte isn’t prying for information on the new guy to take back to his buddies, so they can harass Iggy later.
They don’t speak again until Iggy’s parking by the hardware store.
“I don’t know if they sell Epsom salts here,” Iggy says softly, “but we can stop somewhere else on the way back to school.”
Monte’s fists clench and unclench in his lap several times before he turns his head. Sad eyes meet his. “Can we stop at Subway, too? I was too wound up to eat at lunch, and now I’m…I feel better. Hungry.”
“Sure, we can.” Iggy resists the urge to reach over and squeeze Monte’s knee, to offer some sort of physical reassurance that things will be okay. He can’t promise that. “What do you like there?”
“Turkey and Swiss with mustard and sweet pickles.”
Iggy grins. “Want to split a foot-long?”
“Okay.” Monte returns the smile, relief and gratitude all over his damned-cute face. “Thank you, Iggy.”
“It’s what friends are for.”
They get the paint, and then the salts and sandwiches, and they don’t talk about Monte’s mysterious bruises againfor a while….
…Malcolm lovedeverysingle thing about sharing a turkey and Swiss sub with Iggy again, even though it was in a hospital room, with the roommate watching some game show on the other side of the curtain. He was slowly sliding right back under Iggy Donohue’s spell, and he was helpless to resist.
Iggy had charmed him a lifetime ago with those big, dark brown eyes, so full of concern and direct, positive attention, and nothing had changed. Okay, something had change, and not just them both getting older. Iggy had a wall up, and Malcolm wasn’t self-centered enough to believe the whole thing had been built by their long-ago breakup. Maybe a few bricks, but not the whole thing. And it wasn’t just Howie’s illness, either.
Iggy was haunted by something else, and Malcolm wanted to fix it. To find the ghost tormenting him and pry it off Iggy’s shoulders, to give him peace the way Iggy had given Malcolm peace once. The way Iggy had cared without prying, eased hurts without knowing the full extent—not right away.
Eventually, their past selves each let their guards down. He hoped that happened again in the present. Very shortly, too, so Malcolm could help Iggy face what was haunting him.
“I hate to leave, but he’s slept most of the day,” Iggy said around five. “And I really want to head over to the saloon. See what’s what.”
“I don’t think Howie’ll mind.” Malcolm stood from the uncomfortable visitor chair and stretched his numb ass cheeks. “Hopefully, the crisis has passed, and we can spring him soon.”
“Hope so.”
“Need a ride?”
Iggy shook his head, lips twisting in a wry smile. “I’ve got the wagon, remember?”
“Right.” Duh, dumb ass. “So, I guess I’ll go then. You’ve got my number if you need anything.”
“I do.”
They stared at each other until Malcolm’s skin itched. He checked for his phone and keys before turning and walking right into the divider curtain. Iggy chuckled. Face hot, Malcolm settled the curtain, then did a second check for his phone because he already felt like an idiot, so why not double it?
“Hey, Monte?”
“Yeah?” He turned, hopeful.
Iggy’s careful smile flirted with a smirk. “If you happen to come by the saloon tonight, I promise I won’t accuse you of stalking me.”
Hope flared brightly and Malcolm basked in it. “Good to know, Iggs. See ya.”
Malcolm floated out of the hospital, all the way to his truck and back to Chance. At home, dinner was over and the kids had dispersed around the house to do their homework. A bowl of mixed up spaghetti and sauce was in the fridge, so Malcolm ate the leftovers cold while he debated texting Jake. See if he was up for a few beers at Saddle Up, maybe see if any fame-seekers were going to take up the bull-riding challenge. As much as he wanted to bend his friend’s ear over this situation with Iggy…it was still too unknown.
