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And Caleb stepped in.
"Got the ice," Caleb announced, holding up the bucket as he sauntered into the room.
Yet, something was off. There was a hesitance to his stride, a tightness around his eyes that belied his casual tone.
A flicker of unease gnawed at the edge of Ryker's consciousness. "Everything all right?" he asked, keeping his voice steady and light.
"Of course," Caleb replied, flashing a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Why wouldn't it be?"
Ryker watched as Caleb moved around the room, placing the ice on the counter while his gaze shifted about, seemingly searching for something. The uncharacteristic tension in Caleb's form set off alarm bells in Ryker's mind, but he chose to keep his suspicions hidden for now, not wanting to spook his lover.
Caleb's eyes darted around the room, his gaze skimming over the rumpled sheets on the bed and the discarded clothes that lay scattered across the floor. His movements were hesitant, and Ryker felt the tendrils of unease begin to curl in the pit of his stomach.
"Looking for something?" he asked casually, watching as Caleb jumped, clearly startled by the inquiry. The younger man attempted to mask his surprise with a careless shrug, but the tension in his lithe body betrayed him.
"Uh, no? Just..." Caleb trailed off, his gaze flicking back and forth between Ryker and some unknown point in the room. The silence stretched taut between them, fraught and electric, as if one wrong move could cause it all to shatter.
Ryker closed the distance between them in three long strides, his heart pounding against his ribcage. He reached out and gripped Caleb's wrist firmly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear that he wasn't going anywhere.
"Tell me what's wrong," he demanded softly, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down Caleb's spine. The young man hesitated, his eyes wide and vulnerable, before attempting to brush off the concern with a shaky laugh.
"Nothing, really," he insisted, though the tremor in his voice belied his words. "Just... got a little turned around, is all."
But Ryker knew better than to accept such flimsy excuses, especially when the man standing before him had captured his heart so completely. He searched Caleb's face for the truth, his gaze lingering on the curve of his lips and the dark lashes that framed his eyes, before finally coming to rest on the expanse of skin that was visible beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt.
That's when he saw it – or rather, didn't see it.
Caleb's body was marked by scars. None of them were dramatic, but they peppered his skin here and there in small, silvery lines. When Eli was asleep, Caleb could be goaded into sharing the story of each: here was where he'd tried skateboarding to impress a boy, and immediately fallen over; here was where he'd nicked himself while dumpster diving; here was a bite from a scared puppy he'd found on the streets and fed back to good health; here was where a client got too intense…
But the now-familiar scars that should have marred the smooth flesh of Caleb's forearm were conspicuously absent, replaced instead by unblemished skin.
Ryker's blood ran cold.
"Who the fuck are you?" he snarled, his grip tightening on the imposter's wrist. "And what have you done with Caleb?"
The man's eyes widened in genuine surprise, and for a moment, Ryker could almost believe that he was looking into the face of his lover. But the missing scars were a glaring reminder that this was someone else entirely – someone who had managed to slip past his defenses, wearing the guise of the one person he cared for most.
"Answer me!" Ryker roared, his voice thundering through the room like a storm. "If you've hurt him, I swear to god, I'll rip you apart."
The man tried to maintain his facade, but fear flickered in his eyes as he met Ryker's furious gaze. "Alright, alright!" the man yelped, his expression shifting from fear to resignation. "I really didn't think I'd be so bad at this… Wow."
He paused and looked Ryker dead in the eye. "I'm… actually Rowan. Um, Caleb's brother. He's fine, I promise!"
Ryker's heart skipped a beat at the mention of Rowan's name, his grip on the imposter's wrist loosening ever so slightly. The resemblance between the two brothers was uncanny, but there was something in the way Rowan held himself that set him apart from his more carefree sibling.
"Rowan?" Ryker echoed, his mind working furiously to process this new information. He knew how much Caleb worried about his brother, how he carried the burden of Rowan's presumed death like a millstone around his neck. To have him standing here now, alive and well, felt like a cruel twist of fate.
"Never thought I'd hear anyone act like that about Caleb," Rowan said, studying Ryker with open curiosity. "He must mean a lot to you."
"More than you'll ever know," Ryker muttered, his jaw clenching as he fought to keep his emotions in check. He couldn't help but feel a strange sense of intrigue towards Rowan, this man who wore Caleb's face but bore none of his scars - both literal and metaphorical.
As he released Rowan's wrist, Ryker couldn't help but reflect on the gut-wrenching way Caleb's eyes would darken whenever he thought about his brother. It had always been a source of pain for Ryker that he could never reassure Caleb that Rowan was truly okay, that he hadn't perished in some godforsaken corner of the underworld they both inhabited.
Now, however, he finally had the chance to ease that burden, and it sent a shudder of relief coursing through his veins. But that relief was tinged with caution, as he observed Rowan's demeanor - so different from Caleb's.
"Where is Caleb?" Ryker asked, the heavy weight of responsibility settling on his broad shoulders. The lingering tension between them was palpable, like electricity crackling in the air. He could feel the overpowering urge to protect and possess, to reclaim what was rightfully his.
Rowan sighed. "I messed it up!" he shouted. "Come in."
