Page 87 of See My Words

Scott shook his head. “Nope. Everything’s great. Corey thinks my abs are on point, and Lance offered to suck my dick. Pretty much got the world by the tail right now.”

Rylan’s expression didn’t change, and his eyes were steady. “You do, if only you could see that.”

Scott gave a harsh laugh. “Nope again. I don’t want pity, Rylan.” He advanced on him, sliding his hands onto Rylan’s hips. He lowered his head and grazed their mouths together. “You said once you were too old to fuck against the wall in the club,” he breathed, reaching around to give Rylan’s ass a squeeze.

Rylan quirked his lips. “I am,” he murmured, arching against him. “But if that’s what you need right now—”

His patient, reasonable tone inexplicably sent Scott into a cold fury, and he grabbed Rylan’s hand and pressed it lewdly to his crotch. “What I need,” he hissed, “is to do something with this fuckin’ boner Lance gave me. So I thought of you.”

Rylan gave an infinitesimal flinch, and Scott felt a vicious satisfaction well up at the sight of it. He ignored the voice in his head screaming at him to stop, to shut the fuck up, and went on, “I don’t need anything from anyone except this—” He thrust into Rylan’s palm. “—nor do I want it. I never have, and I wish to fucking God I hadn’t bothered to stop for you that day.”

Every ounce of color drained from Rylan’s face. Scott dropped his hand and turned to run down the stairs, his legs shaking so much he almost fell. When he reached the bottom, he staggered into the wall, a wave of nausea sending bile surging into his throat, gagging him.

What are you doing, you stupid fuck? Go fix this!

Scott started back toward the stairs, but Chris stepped in front of him, his eyes holding the same goddamn pity and concern, his mouth moving as he said something, and before Scott knew it, his fist was flying toward Chris’s face.

Chris ducked, and Scott punched the wall, fiery flames of agony shooting all the way up into his shoulder. Screams echoed from all sides. Jerry barreled into him, putting Scott into a restraint hold, pinning his arms.

Scott could see Rylan still halfway up the stairs, his blue eyes shimmering with tears, and suddenly Byron appeared behind him. He put his palm in the middle of Rylan’s back and gave him a massive shove.

“No!” Scott roared, fighting with all his might to get free, tearing loose from Jerry’s grip and dropping to his knees beside Rylan’s crumpled form. Chaos reigned as Jerry tackled Byron, people shouted into their phones, and Rylan never moved.

Chapter Fourteen

“SO TO BE CLEAR, YOU’RE declining transport to the hospital?”

The paramedic shone a penlight into Rylan’s eyes again.

“Yes.”

“It’s your right to refuse transport, but with a blow to the head and loss of consciousness, I’d strongly advise you to be seen at the ER. The doc might want to run a CAT scan.”

“I’m okay.” Rylan tried to nod encouragingly, unable to suppress a flinch as the movement sent pain shooting through his skull.

The paramedic pursed her lips. “Your pupils are equal and reactive,” she allowed. “You’re oriented as to time and date. No slurred speech. However, I’d still advise a ride in my rig. That was quite a tumble.”

Rylan still wasn’t sure what happened. One minute he was standing on the stairs—frozen in horror as Scott threw a punch at Chris only to be tackled by a bouncer—and the next he was opening his eyes to Scott’s bone-white face hovering above him, his green eyes full of terror.

“I think I’m okay,” Rylan repeated, running his fingers through his hair, feeling a tender spot above his left ear but no lump. There was no blood, no broken bones, just a headache and some rug burn along his left arm where he apparently bounced and slid along the heavily carpeted stairs.

He could feel his muscles stiffening up, though, the longer he sat, and he struggled to his feet, holding on to the banister for purchase. The paramedic watched him closely, and Rylan did his best not to sway, his body trembling from all the stress and shock he’d been through in the last hour.

She stood, too. “Who’s taking you home and staying with you tonight?”

Rylan opened and closed his mouth, not sure what to say, and then a quiet voice said, “I will, ma’am.”

Chris slid his arm around Rylan’s waist, and Rylan couldn’t help but lean against him gratefully. “Do you think that’s a good idea—” he began, and Chris squeezed him.

“Minh is going home with Scott,” he said. “As soon as the cops are done interviewing him.”

Rylan nodded, his head throbbing with a thousand jackhammers. He listened dully as the paramedic gave Chris a list of concussion and head injury danger signs to watch out for during the night. At last she had Rylan sign something indicating his refusal of further treatment, packed up her equipment, and left with her crew.

Chris bent to pick up Rylan’s camera, and Rylan watched anxiously as he inspected it.

“Looks okay,” Chris said. “It’s lucky these stairs have such thick carpet.” He wrapped his arm around Rylan’s shoulders and hugged him hard. “You’re lucky, too. When I saw you flying through the air like that, the way you bounced and rolled—” He broke off, pressing a careful kiss to the top of Rylan’s head. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

He led Rylan past throngs of chattering, excited people, and Rylan tried not to shrink away from the stares, the pointing. What the ever-loving fuck happened? He knew he’d been pushed, but by whom, and why?