Page 8 of See My Words

“You heard the surgeon, right? Once the bruising and swelling go away, you’ll look good as new. No permanent damage.”

No permanent damage? Oh, baby, you’re so wrong…

“You’re going to be fine, Scott,” Rylan went on, his voice hoarse. “I know you will.” He leaned down to feather his warm lips over Scott’s chapped ones, slipping off the bed to sit in his chair again.

Scott drifted to sleep before his painkillers could loosen his tongue, Rylan’s fingers firmly entwined with his.

Chapter Two

“GOTCHA, BUD.”

The orderly gripped Scott’s elbow when his knees buckled, holding on to him firmly as they navigated toward the wheelchair Rylan was standing by with. Once seated, the orderly handed Scott a manila envelope filled with the discharge paperwork the nurse had gone over with him about an hour ago.

“If you want to pull your car up to the entrance now, man, I’ll wheel him down for you.”

Rylan nodded before heading for the elevator, Scott’s car keys jingling in his hand. After doing a last sweep of the room to make sure Scott had all his personal effects, the orderly pushed him toward the service elevator and down to the first floor, where they joined the queue of young mothers clutching their newborn babies while they waited for proud daddies to pull up to the door.

When Rylan finally appeared, behind the wheel of Scott’s car, the orderly trundled him out to meet him. Another strong helping hand, and Scott was ensconced in the passenger seat, belt fastened. With a jaunty wave good-bye, the orderly jogged off to collect his next lucky passenger.

“You know how to drive this thing, Ry?” Scott muttered, reclining his seat back as far as it would go. His jaw was still killing him, but already Scott was learning to manage the pain like he’d learned to manage all pain—by tamping it down and ignoring it.

Rylan threw him a withering look. “I had a car in Miami, and I sold it for a little extra cash before moving out here. Yes, I do know how to drive.”

“’Kay, just asking.” Scott lapsed into a moody silence, thinking about how Chris had rushed back to the hospital earlier to take Rylan over to the club to collect the car.

“Doesn’t he have a job?” Scott had asked, trying hard to keep the jealousy from his voice.

“He’s just come back from a photo assignment in Libya.” Scott hadn’t liked the way Rylan’s eyes gleamed with a distinct hero worship as he spoke. “Taking some downtime to visit his parents, friends, things like that. He said it’s absolutely no trouble.”

Then Rylan had gone off with Chris—Scott was getting so sick of that name—and hadn’t come back for almost two hours.

“He treated me to a late lunch so we could talk,” Rylan had informed him when he’d breezed back in and Scott had snapped at him over where he’d been. “He’s got so much experience, and I love to get inside his head.”

There were so many snide responses to that, Scott had had to bite his tongue and feign sleep.

Rylan turned out to be a more than competent driver, and the ride to the condo was short and uneventful. As they made their way from the parking garage through the lobby and toward the elevators, Scott tried not to notice the horrified stares and whispers as people took in his bruised and bandaged face, the blood still matting his hair.

He kept his eyes fixed ahead as he hobbled across the shiny floor. “Not used to people looking at me like that,” he admitted when they were finally on the elevator, away from prying eyes. “With such—disgust.”

“I saw pity and curiosity, not disgust,” Rylan said gently. “People wondering what happened to you and feeling bad about your injuries.”

Scott shrugged, but he knew what he’d seen, and he was chagrined to realize how much it stung not to be the object of blatant admiration for once. It made him feel raw and exposed, like a performer who’d lost his mask, leaving his true identity unprotected…and vulnerable. He just wanted to hide, so when the elevator doors slid open a moment later, the last thing he needed to see was his neighbor Elizabeth standing there, shopping totes over her arm.

“Oh, sweet Lord,” she exclaimed, clapping a hand over her mouth. “What on earth?”

“Tripped and fell,” Scott lied, not wanting to go into it. “Broke my jaw.” Rylan gave her a rueful smile and moved ahead to unlock the apartment door.

“Oh, you poor dear! Well, my son broke his jaw when he was fifteen, had to have it wired shut for several weeks.” She patted his arm anxiously as she walked beside him. “I know just what you’ll need to eat, so thank goodness I was already headed to the market!”

Scott wanted to protest, to tell her that she didn’t have to, but stopped himself when he noticed the sense of purpose on her face, the way her eyes glowed with resolve instead of the tinge of loneliness he was used to seeing. “Don’t go to too much trouble,” he mumbled. “But thanks.”

“I need to make a list! And I’ll text Robbie and ask what his favorites were. So much to do! Bye, love.” She hurried off, a renewed spring in her step.

“That was nice of her,” Rylan said as Scott limped into the apartment. “I think we’ll both benefit from this arrangement since I’m a terrible cook and now I won’t have to do it.” His voice was teasing.

Scott felt about ready to collapse, and he headed toward his bedroom on increasingly shaky legs, managing to sink down on the edge of the bed before he fell over. “God, I’m so fucking weak. Need a shower. I can’t get in my bed like this.” He looked down at himself, so sweaty, stinky, bloody.

“How about I run you a bath?” Rylan suggested. Without waiting for an answer, he went into the bathroom, and a moment later, Scott heard the squeak of the tub spigots. The thought of sinking down into hot, soothing water gave him a sudden burst of energy, and he managed to push to his feet and shed the thin scrubs the hospital let him wear home. He padded into the bathroom unapologetically naked, used the toilet, and by the time he was done, the oversized tub was filled almost to the brim with steaming water.