Page 88 of See My Words

Rylan saw Scott sitting on one of the couches in the conversation pit, surrounded by a couple of uniformed cops and the same detectives who’d interviewed him in the hospital after his own attack. Tears burned in the backs of his eyes at Scott’s defeated posture, the way he was hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees, his head hanging. Rylan stopped uncertainly.

“Come on,” Chris said quietly. “Let’s go.”

“Don’t the cops want to talk to me?” He willed Scott to look at him, but he never did.

“Yeah, they do, but they said they can wait until tomorrow. Witnesses told them you probably didn’t see anything, that your back was to your assailant. But they do want to get some background after you’ve had a chance to rest.”

Rylan hesitated a few more seconds before taking a few shaky steps, leaning on Chris when he offered his arm for support. “I’m weak as fuck,” he said ruefully. “Everything hurts.”

“I wish you’d go to the hospital,” Chris chided him as they made their way slowly to his car. “Just get checked out.”

“I’m fine. Just some sore muscles and a headache, nothing a hot shower and some ibuprofen won’t cure.” Rylan made his voice as reassuring as possible, even though the pain coursing through him made him want to throw up. It wasn’t all physical, though… His heart ached as bad as his head did.

When they were settled in Chris’s car, Rylan asked, “Did you see that guy push me? What happened?”

Chris’s jaw tightened. “I actually didn’t see it, because I was too busy trying to avoid eating Scott’s knuckle sandwich.”

Rylan gasped, reaching over to grip his forearm. “Did he actually fucking hit you?”

“No. But only because my reflexes were faster than his. It was obvious he’d been drinking, and he was really agitated about something.”

Rylan cringed as he remembered Scott’s cruel, dismissive words, his crude actions. “He’s been going through a lot of personal shit lately,” he said quietly. “I think it just came to a head tonight, that’s all.”

Chris glanced at him. “Apparently the guy who pushed you has been obsessed with Scott for months, thinks they have some sort of relationship.” He hesitated. “I heard rumors he confessed to being the one who broke Scott’s jaw that night. If so, he’s really unhinged, and you were lucky what he did to you wasn’t a lot worse.”

Rylan shuddered at that, putting his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. They made the rest of the drive to Rylan’s apartment complex in silence. Chris followed him down the walkway, hovering close as Rylan pulled himself painfully up the concrete stairs. The apartment was cool and musty-smelling, and Rylan flipped the lights on, muttering an apology for the dust and clutter.

Chris smiled. “I haven’t been back to my place in weeks, since I’ve been spending all my time over at Minh’s. I bet I can plant flowers in the dirt that has to have accumulated on top of everything.”

Rylan got a bottle of water from the fridge and rummaged in a cabinet for some painkillers. “Doesn’t he have a bunch of roommates?” he asked in surprise. “You don’t hang out at your apartment for privacy?”

Chris leaned his hip against the counter and watched as Rylan swallowed the pills. “I enjoy the company, laughter, and the camaraderie more than I worry about the need for quiet.” He waggled his eyebrows. “That’s what gags are for.”

Rylan snorted. “TMI. Although I’m sure Teena keeps lots of silk scarves around.”

“Indeed.”

They chuckled together before Chris sobered, stepping close to ease Rylan into his arms. “You okay, hon?”

Rylan shook his head against Chris’s chest, holding on to him. “No,” he rasped. “I’m not.”

Chris rocked him as he cried, stroking his hair, until Rylan pulled back, striving for control. He swiped ineffectually at the huge wet spot on the front of Chris’s T-shirt, and Chris brushed his hands away, holding on to them. “Don’t worry about it, Ry,” he said gently, squeezing his fingers. “It’ll dry.”

Rylan blew out a breath. “Shit,” he muttered, tugging free and turning to brace himself against the counter, his head down.

Chris put his hand on the back of his neck, his thumb making firm circles, the soothing motion helping to calm Rylan’s headache. “Everything in me wants to tuck you into bed and let you sleep, but you’re supposed to stay awake so I can observe you.” He squeezed Rylan’s shoulder. “So how about you show me some more of your fantastic portfolio?”

They spent the next couple of hours huddled close together in front of Rylan’s computer, going through each picture on his hard drive, including the nondigital ones Rylan took years ago that he’d since scanned in.

“Even when you were a teenager,” Chris said admiringly at one point, brushing his fingers over the lip print on Diane’s glass, “you had a fantastic eye for lighting and composition. And with an old-school disposable camera, too. You’re amazing.”

Rylan flushed with pleasure, happy for the distraction as they talked shop and traded stories about various photographic adventures. Chris paused every once in a while to peer into Rylan’s eyes, measuring his pupils, carefully observing him. Near dawn, Rylan was happy to report the ibuprofen had taken care of his headache, and he felt much more human again, other than being fucking exhausted.

Chris gave him a sympathetic smile. “The paramedic lady said I could let you go to sleep about nine or ten. Not long now.”

Rylan had just headed to the kitchen to put a pot of coffee on to brew when a quiet knock sounded at the door. He tensed, and Chris put his hand on his shoulder.

“Do you want to see him?” he asked softly. “I have no problem sending his ass away.”