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Chapter Fifty-four
Rayne
Rayne checked his watch again. Now it was after midnight. Another hour had gone by. That made four. Mike was still in his workout room, breaking himself apart. Each time Rayne peeked inside, Mike was either punching the hell out of the heavy bag, doing push-ups, cranking out pull-ups, or bench-pressing far too much weight than he probably should. Anytime Rayne tried to get his attention, he hissed at him to go away, and he did, but he never went far.
Rayne understood Mike was hurt by his son eloping—any parent would be—but he didn’t have to punish himself because of it. Ivy was the one who’d brought all of that drama to the house; it was just real bad timing. They could still celebrate Edison and Bishop’s union with a reception or a nice dinner. This didn’t have to be a terrible thing.
Rayne sat at the top of the stairs in the dark, waiting for Mike to wear himself out, pass out, or something. His heart ached with each strained grunt and growl Mike released, with every cry of pain that reached Rayne’s ears. Since Bishop had told Mike about the proposal, he’d been working nonstop in the evening, making deals, calling in favors, all to give his boy and his fiancé the wedding they deserved. In bed last night, Mike had told him that doing this was finally going to make up for all the times he hadn’t been able to give Bishop what he wanted.
Rayne drove his hands through his hair, still damp from his shower. How was he supposed to get Mike to see it differently? There were a few minutes of silence, and Rayne jumped to his feet and cracked the door open.
“Mike,” he said, his voice low.
Mike had a pair of earbuds in his ear, and Rayne could hear the muffled heavy-metal noise from where he stood near the door. He waved his hands to catch Mike’s attention while he was selecting a set of dumbbells.
Mike’s face was flushed a deep crimson, and sweat rained down his face and bare chest like he was in the shower. His veins bulged in his neck and forearms, and his hands looked swollen even under the protective tape. Mike removed one earbud long enough to mutter, “Out, Rayne.”
“Mike, please. How about you stop for now; you can always come back and do more later. Let’s get in the hot tub outside and get a little night air.”
“Not right now. Out, okay.”
“No.”
Mike hefted a set of fifty-pound dumbbells and began to alternate bicep curls, veins bulging out of his forehead and temple. Jesus, if he didn’t stop soon, he was going to cause permanent damage since his muscle fibers had to be well torn by now. Continuing to overstrain them was only going to make the delayed onset muscle soreness even worse. Unable to move, kind of worse.
“You still haven’t drank the bottle of water I set over there or eaten the cheese and salami rolls. You need to hydrate and eat some protein, Mike, or else—”
“Rayne. I don’t need a goddamn biology lesson right now. Go to bed,” Mike croaked. He set one weight down, shoved his other earbud back inside of his ear, then picked it up again.
With a sinking heart, Rayne inched backward out the door into the hallway and pressed his ass against the wall. He pushed his fists into his eye sockets, feeling frustrated and defeated. Nothing else he’d tried had worked either. Mike didn’t want to watch a movie, he didn’t want to go to bed, he didn’t want to go for a ride on his bike, he didn’t want to have a drink at a bar or a restaurant—nothing Rayne offered was shifting Mike’s focus off his pain.
Rayne had already talked to his sponsor, and his advice had been sound, but it hadn’t worked. He’d tried to give Mike the space he needed and take care of him from afar, but that wasn’t good enough. Every hour that went by was like a knife to his stomach—painful and a slow agony that built and built until he’d eventually double over.
He felt out of options. Despite the hour, he’d called Chelsea, and she’d picked up on the first ring. She’d been driving home from a meeting, so he gave her the quick version of what’d happened and his current dilemma. Chelsea was in healthcare; maybe she’d know of a way for Rayne to take care of Mike’s body after he finished doing what he was doing to it.
Rayne was almost in tears as his friend tried to convince him that everything was going to be okay, that Mike would be okay.
“I’ve seen him angry before, Chels. I saw him want to kill my uncle for locking me in a room. I know what he did to Score’s brother-in-law. I’ve seen him after spending a night in jail, and today with Bishop’s mom… Mike was beyond mad—he was furious. But every time, he was able to control himself. I’d been able to get through to him. He’d listened to me.”
“It sounds like this kind of hurt is new to Mike and he can’t handle it, hon.”
“So what am I supposed to do?”
Chelsea sighed. “You may not like my idea, but I think you should use your persuasiveness like you used to do when you wanted a man to do what you said.”
Rayne slapped his hand to his forehead. “Chelsea. Cliff just told me to stay true to my recovery.”
“And you are,” she stressed. “You’re in an exclusive, committed relationship. Mike is your man, and I know you love him whether you’ve already told him or not. You wouldn’t be using your body to con some unsuspecting wimp into giving you something. Your guy needs you, and I think you should be allowed to do everything in your power to help him if he’s lost. And if the strongest weapon in your arsenal is sexual allure, then seduce your man out of the fog, Rayne.”
Rayne told Chelsea he loved her and that he’d call her in the morning. He had a job to do. It didn’t take him long to formulate a plan. He went into his bedroom and set the bathtub running with mostly hot water. He added a decent amount of Epsom salt to the water, then a few drops of eucalyptus and chamomile oil for pain and inflammation. He lit his serenity candle and placed it on the sink, then turned off all of the lights. In the bedroom, he set up the massage table, confident he’d get Mike onto it soon.
Rayne removed his sweatpants and tank top and threw the clothes in the hamper. He went to the armoire he’d found at a thrift store and took out a pair of black satin briefs that hugged his ass like a sleeve. He opted for the black-and-gold Bohemian silk kimono and slid the luxurious material over his shoulders. Rayne finger-combed his hair, leaving his waves loose. His final touch was a dab of Kilian Arabian nights oil at the base of his throat that he’d got in Italy. His big gun.
One final check of the room and he was ready. Rayne stood outside the door of the workout room for a second and took a few deep breaths before he opened the door, hopefully for the last time.
“Mike,” he called out. “That’s enough.”
Mike’s back was to him while he cursed and struggled through another set of push-ups. Rayne didn’t call out again because he knew it’d only be a few seconds before his scent drifted across the small room.
Rayne waited patiently, and without fail, Mike stopped midway down and swung his head around toward the door. He looked Rayne up and down, then dropped his weight to the floor in an exhausted heap. Mike turned over onto his back with a loud groan and removed the earbuds from his ears. Rayne slowly walked across the thick carpeting in nothing but his briefs and open robe and squatted next to Mike.
“Come with me. I’m not gonna ask you again.” Rayne stood to his full height, and Mike worked his way off the floor and stood staring at him with pain and regret radiating in his dark eyes. Rayne stepped closer and tilted his head back and to the side. “Breathe.”
Mike dropped his face in the crease of Rayne’s throat and inhaled a deep breath before he released a tortured groan that made his knees buckle. Rayne caught Mike around his sweaty waist. “I got you.”
