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Chapter Forty-eight
Mike
The downstairs lights were on when Mike pulled his truck into the garage a little after five in the morning. He didn’t want to go inside looking the way he did, but stalling wasn’t going to make it any better. Before Mike could kill his engine, Rayne opened the garage door and rushed outside to him. The expression on his face said it all as he reached for him and pulled him into his warm chest. And for the first time in hours, Mike took a long, calming breath.
Rayne squeezed him, his face buried in Mike’s sweaty throat. “I’m glad you’re home,” he whispered. “Come on. Let me take care of you.”
Mike didn’t have the strength to fight anymore. He was physically and emotionally beat.
“Mike.” Rayne cupped his cheeks in his gentle hands and tilted his face up. He could feel the blood from the right fist he took drying on his jaw. His knuckles—shit, Mike’s entire hand—were bruised, raw, and swollen. He couldn’t look his gentle Rayne in the eyes. Not when he’d failed a good friend. “Let’s go inside.”
He was glad Rayne wasn’t disgusted by how he looked, but he did seem nervous. He locked up behind them and carefully held Mike’s bloody hand as he led him to the breakfast bar in the kitchen and parked his tired ass on the stool.
“Your breathing is erratic… Try to calm down, please.”
“Rayne,” Mike gritted.
“Shhh.” Rayne shook his head slowly as if he didn’t want to hear it.
Shit.
“You don’t have to talk about it if it’s… too hard,” Rayne whispered in the dark as he pulled a couple of bags of frozen vegetables from the freezer.
Where the hell did those come from? Rayne led him upstairs in silence and into the hall bathroom. He sat Mike on the toilet and pulled out the first aid kit from beneath his sink. It was brand-new, with the cellophane still wrapped around it because there’d never been anyone to tend to Mike’s wounds before, and he’d just never bothered.
First, Rayne cleaned the blood from his cheek and used some antibacterial ointment on the cut that stung like hell, but he didn’t let his grimace show. Then his lover did something that made his head spin. He held Mike’s hands under the warm tap and took great care and attention to clean his swollen hands. Once Rayne was satisfied with how he’d tended to the cuts, he turned on the shower and began to remove his sleep pants. Steam filled the bathroom, and Mike felt dead on his feet, but he wasn’t going to turn down the invitation as Rayne stepped under the hot spray and held his hand out to him.
Mike braced his palms against the tile as the hot water beat over his shoulders and upper back. He kept his head lowered in shame while Rayne used a thick washcloth to clean him from his head to the soles of his feet. A murky pool of crud, blood, and grime rinsed down the drain, but too bad his guilt wasn’t as easy to wash away.
Mike was toweled off and led to bed like a toddler, but instead of feeling like a child, he felt… Mike exhaled a sharp breath, his heart in his throat… he felt loved. When Rayne had tried to convince him to stay in bed by mentioning that they’d just made love that night, he hadn’t been waxing poetic like Mike figured—he’d meant it.
Mike noticed his sheets were changed and his room was cleaned, like Rayne hadn’t slept while he was gone. Lying flat on his stomach, Mike closed his eyes when the top sheet was pulled over his naked ass. He heard Rayne moving around the room, but he was too exhausted to crack his eyes open. All he wanted was to sleep and end the nightmare he’d just lived through.
He hissed when Rayne placed two cold bags of vegetables on each hand before he climbed into bed beside him. The entire time Mike was gone, all he could think of was what was waiting for him back here. Rayne rubbed his neck with a different purpose than he did earlier. This massage was for comfort and emotional healing. Mike could feel it, feel the peace Rayne radiated from his soul.
“You can talk to me,” he said after a long moment.
My gentle Rayne. Mike kept his eyes closed because he only wanted to feel the calm that Rayne was giving him, not the rage he’d just unleashed. But the harder he tried not to think about it, the more he saw Score’s devastated face when they walked into his sister’s house and found her lying in a crumpled heap while the paramedics and firemen hurried to take care of the children first. When his good friend saw his sister’s and nephew’s blood on the carpet, something in him snapped. Something in both of them did.
“It was Score’s sister. That’s why I had to go,” Mike said around a scratchy throat that was raw with emotion. “She left her abusive ex about a year ago, but the protective order she has against him is a worthless piece of paper I could wipe my ass with.”
Rayne didn’t interrupt, and Mike was grateful because he wasn’t sure how much he could stomach telling, but he also didn’t want them to have secrets.
“But… he was there waiting for her when she got home from work. She wasn’t paying attention, and he came right in behind her and the kids.” Mike squeezed his eyes tighter when he pictured the unnatural angle the two-year-old’s arm had been bent in. “A neighbor heard the fighting and shit breaking and called the cops, but the coward piece of shit ran off before they got there.”
“Oh no.” Rayne frowned. “Please tell me the police caught him?”
Mike shook his head, and he didn’t want to see Rayne’s expression when he admitted, “No… me, Score, and Manny found him first. Now he knows what it feels like to be in critical condition.”
