Breakfall (30 page)

New concepts whirled in his mind, looking for a place to settle in the great jigsaw puzzle that was Adrian’s insight. Words such as independence and autonomy and self-respect. Concepts such as rebuilding, dependence, and shame.

Flashbacks and fears.

Pride and anguish.

Struggle to do the most basic, everyday things with the knowledge that you’re being observed by an unfriendly entity. Sean’s resistance to what Asbjorn had seen as basic teamwork now presented itself in an entirely different light. How could he have been so blind? So stupid, not to have seen what was going on?

There had been that one time when Sean had hesitated to go return a movie to a drop-off only two blocks away from Asbjorn’s apartment.

“It’s dark already, Bjorn.”

“Sure.”

Asbjorn recalled the way Sean had taken a deep breath and, with a look of dogged determination, pulled his boots on and shrugged into his jacket. He had returned soon—his eyes wide, body pumped up with adrenaline.

“You’re back?”
Asbjorn remembered having felt surprised at Sean’s speed.

“Yeah. Nothing happened.”
Sean’s cryptic answer had puzzled Asbjorn then, and he hadn’t understood its full import until today when, in excruciating detail, Adrian had helped him relive Sean’s two-block journey in the dark. Likely dashes from one pool of light to another, slinking past shadowy driveways, wary of dark places where an attacker might hide.

Asbjorn turned toward the house and mounted the stairs with memorized ease.

I should have seen that.

I should have known it was that hard for him.

I should have recognized doing all these things by himself reaffirms his sense of… self.

Damn.

Asbjorn would have flagellated himself further had his attention not been distracted by a dark shape by the side of his door. Partially covered with snow, it reminded him of a large, lumpy duffel bag. He unlocked the front door and turned the light on. Probably something someone dropped off for his downstairs neighbors. He should at least take it inside the foyer.

He brushed the snow off the top of the shape, looking for a handle or a carry strap, when his gloved hand swept a dark piece of fabric off the top. Golden hair spilled out, gleaming in the light, sparking with the fairy dust of the falling snow.

“Sean!”

Instant recognition struck him, and Asbjorn fell to his knees.

There was no response.

“Sean, wake up. C’mon.”

He brushed all the snow off Sean’s cold form and hoisted him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He noticed the backpack Sean had been sitting on and carefully squatted to pick it up, not dislodging his precious load. Moving with automatic precision, he locked the door. Then he carried Sean up to his apartment.

He laid him out on the sofa and pulled off his boots and outer garments. Not wasting any time, Asbjorn got warm water running in the tub. He pulled a Ziplock bag of venison stew out of the freezer and tossed it in the microwave to defrost. He put a water kettle on the stove to boil while he assessed Sean’s condition.

Suppressing an odd feeling that made his way up his chest, Asbjorn knelt by Sean’s form, feeling his cold, pale hands. Asbjorn’s hands shook as he removed Sean’s scarf and unbuttoned his jacket, feeling for his pulse under the jaw. He bit his lip —the pulse was there but slow.

Asbjorn left briefly to turn the water off and returned to strip Sean’s clothing. His movements possessed the efficiency of a man who had performed such services before. Meanwhile, his mind raced, struggling to recall every detail of every rescue mission instruction he’d ever received, from basic training to specialized shipboard ocean rescue units. What did they do for him when he got hypothermia from diving off the coast of Norway?

His emotions were curiously detached as he scooped Sean’s body off the sofa and immersed him in the tub. He soaked a towel in the warm tub water and draped it around Sean’s chest and shoulders, insulating it with a dry towel on top. The tub wasn’t deep enough for Sean to slide all the way under, and a wet, warm towel would keep the drafts off his shoulders.

Now about that tea.

He threw hot pepper flakes, freshly grated ginger, cardamom pods, whole black pepper, clove, and a stick of cinnamon into a teapot and poured the boiling water over it. There… the warming spices of his impromptu chai mixture would help without the hindrance of caffeine. He let it steep and returned to the bathroom.

“Sean.” He ran his fingers through the vibrant hair, noticing how it had grown longer of late.

“Sean. I need you to wake up, Sunshine.” His hand massaged Sean’s scalp. This wasn’t good—not good at all. Now that first aid was taken care of, he should call 911. He went down his checklist again. The water was warm but not too warm. The tea was steeping. Sean’s pulse was a bit stronger and faster, but if Sean wouldn’t respond, he’d need warm intravenous fluids, and then—

“Hmmm.”

Asbjorn thought he heard an incoherent moan. “Sean? Talk to me, Sean.”

“Ahmmm.” It was a “go away, leave me alone” kind of sound, and Asbjorn realized he’d been holding his breath, phone poised in his hand.

“We may have to take you to the hospital, Sean. What do you think of that?”

Sean’s drowsy head lolled toward him, eyelids fluttering in an effort to open. “N… no.”

“Then wake up, Sunshine.” Asbjorn stroked his hair, kissing his forehead. “Is the water warm enough?”

“Uh-huh.” His eyes slid closed again.

“Don’t fall asleep. I’ll be right back.” Asbjorn doctored the spicy infusion with copious amounts of sugar and reached for milk, then stopped himself.

He doesn’t do milk well.

He adjusted the tea temperature with a bit of ice, not wanting it to be scalding hot.

“Here. You need something warm inside you.”

Sean opened his eyes a bit again, and he allowed Asbjorn to lift the cup to his lips
.
“Spicy.”

“Yeah. You need the heat.”

Sean was halfway done with the tea when he lifted his lazy, tired eyes to Asbjorn. “Out.”

“Okay.”

Asbjorn took the large bath towel, nice and warm, from its peg over the heat register. He extricated Sean from the wet, cooling towels and pulled the plug on the drain, then helped him step out. He wrapped him in a warm towel and drew him onto his knee in an embrace, his scruffy cheek pressed against Sean’s chest, suddenly choked up with emotion. He didn’t trust himself to speak without his voice breaking, so he said nothing.

Working in silence and struggling to maintain his former professional detachment, he poured his unresisting ex-lover into his warmest flannel pajamas and fuzzy sheepskin slippers.

“There is some venison stew. You should eat something warm.” Not waiting to see Sean nod, he wrapped his arm around Sean’s shoulders and ushered him to the seat at the table.

Sean’s seat.

He warmed the defrosted stew in a bowl and brought it over.

“Venison?” Sean asked.

“Yeah.”

“Where from?”

“This fall’s archery season.”

“You killed a deer?” Sean’s expression was incredulous as he lifted his eyes to Asbjorn’s.

“Sure. Do it every year. How is it?”

Sean tasted it. “It’s good.” They sat in silence as Sean ate. “You having any, Bjorn?”

Asbjorn measured Sean. “I already ate.”

“Where were you? I was waiting, wanted to talk to you, but your voice mail box is full.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow, Sean. It’s late.”

“Were you studying? I couldn’t find you in any of your regular places.” Sean’s voice was barely audible, his eyes still on his soup bowl.

“I was with Adrian and Don since the party last night.”

“Oh.”

Asbjorn watched Sean’s shoulders stiffen a little. There was no point delaying the inevitable. “Adrian and Don took care of me while I was very drunk. We… we hooked up, sort of.”

There. Like a bucket of cold water. Sean’s head jerked up, and the hurt in his eyes was a knife in Asbjorn’s heart.

“All three of you?” His voice was leavened with disbelief.

“Yeah. Since we officially split up….”

Sean ate some stew in silence, digesting the information.

“Was it good?” Sean asked.

“Yeah.” He didn’t want to elaborate. The way Sean took special interest in stirring his tea, looking lost in the excess flannel fabric, made his voice crack just the smallest bit. He felt the need to elucidate, to explain himself and make it clear that it had not been anything serious, and it wasn’t just a random fuck either.

He didn’t know what it was. What the hell had he been thinking?

“But at the end…. Fuck.” Asbjorn sipped some of the sweet, spicy tea lightened with milk. “At the end, I realized how much I missed you. They knew it even before I did, those assholes. Just… not the same, you know?”

Asbjorn met Sean’s shocked expression. “Eat. You need something warm inside you. Anyway, they figured I needed to think things over, so I stayed to talk. We talked all day long, then we went out to dinner and talked some more, then they drove me home and I found you half-frozen by my front door.”

Asbjorn inhaled and exhaled with exaggerated care. “You could have died, Sean.” The familiar roaring was now audible in Asbjorn’s ears, and he struggled to just breathe in and out, several times, to get the red out of his eyes and the terrified fury out of his voice. Asbjorn’s shout split the air.

“What the fuck were you thinking, sleeping on my doorstep in a snowstorm?”

An expression of relief washed over Sean.

“What?” Asbjorn said.

“I’d rather have you yell at me than ignore me, I guess,” Sean said with a tired smile. “Anyway, when I set out, it wasn’t snowing yet. I came to ask you out to dinner… yeah, that was it, but you were gone, so I figured I’d wait, ’cause I really wanted to talk to you. I was going to give you another ten minutes, but I was so tired after last night and being hung over, I must’ve fallen asleep.” Sean straightened and looked him in the eye. “If you’re with somebody else, I’ll just go, Bjorn. I… I… I just want you to be happy.”

“I’m not with someone else,” Asbjorn growled, his voice low. “Being with Don and Adrian made me realize that….” He looked away, keeping his face a frozen mask. Asbjorn then glanced to Sean’s empty bowl and stood up to clear the table, his eyes anywhere but on the man he ditched in such haste.

He drew a breath as though he was going to speak—several times—but clever words eluded him. Channeling his tongue-tied frustration into action, he straightened up in the kitchen and pulled a second comforter out of the closet. “I’ll sleep on the sofa if you want me to, but I think the body heat will do you good until you recover,” Asbjorn finally said.

“Recover from what?”

“Hypothermia, Sunshine. You almost froze to death. It wouldn’t have been as bad had you not been dehydrated from drinking last night. Anyway… are you okay sharing the bed? I’ll be fine either way.”

Sean leaned against the wall and rolled his eyes before closing them. “I know how damn uncomfortable that sofa is, Bjorn. Of course I won’t kick you out of your bed. C’mon! I’m so tired.”

Asbjorn slipped under the double covers next to Sean, eager to escape the chill in the air. Taking care not to remind Sean that they were over, he pulled him in and spooned him from behind, going for maximum contact with Sean’s skin. The slightly musky scent of Sean’s skin tickled his nostrils like it was Sean’s hair, and he shook his head.

“Are you warmer now? Or do you want more space?” Asbjorn whispered.

Sean sighed and relaxed against him. “I’m good.”

Relieved, Asbjorn buried his face into Sean’s hair. On one hand, Sean was entitled to his personal space. On the other hand, now he knew he couldn’t hook up with someone else without thinking of Sean.

A tendril of guilt inveigled its way into his heart, forcing him to sigh. At least he came clean about it. There was nothing worse than cheating and lying and pretending—maybe Sean would need time and space to make peace with the fact that Asbjorn hooked up with not just one, but two other guys both of them knew, and maybe he wasn’t feeling all that understanding about the rules of the situation.

Then again, if Sean sat on his stoop long enough to fall asleep and let the weather get the better of him, then maybe—just maybe—they still had something to talk about.

W
HEN
THE
Monday morning alarm went off, Sean reached over and killed it. He listened. The silence had a still and peaceful quality to it, as though the world was hiding beneath layers of cotton batting. He slid out of bed and looked out the window.

The sounds from the outside were muffled by two feet of snow. Not even the snowplows made their way to their neighborhood. His phone app informed him that classes have been cancelled. That meant the courts would be closed as well. He thought of his testimony immediately, and as anxiety warred with a relief, he wondered whether it would even be on two days from now.

Sean slid back under the covers. He had woken up disoriented, unaware of the exact passage of time. His rousing had a déjà vu
quality to it, as though he’d awakened like this next to Asbjorn before, disoriented and confused.

He’d come here to talk. His discussion with Ken Swift—most of which was obscured by the haze of alcohol—had produced a great sense of urgency in his mind. He had known what he wanted. He had also been told what he needed. Accepting help from just anyone, especially in an assault and stalking situation, did not come easy. Ken admitted that. The more experienced man had insisted that accepting help need not spell instant humiliation, however, especially when the person doing the helping was uniquely qualified to do so. Had Asbjorn not been Sean’s boyfriend, he would have passed with flying colors. Had Sean not felt like a damsel in distress, forced to rely on others for what felt like the first time ever—rescued by his
boyfriend
—
damn
.

He cursed under his breath. Under normal circumstances, a karate black belt who was familiar with numerous other martial arts and was a combat-experienced Navy veteran to boot, and a hunter and a wilderness survival nut, well…. Those qualifications should have been adequate from the very beginning. Ken Swift had pointed out that a bodyguard hired from a security agency would likely have less training than Sean’s ex-boyfriend.