Chapter 2

Still, pain or no pain, one had to do what one had to do in order to get one’s self out of the face of one’s newly decided enemies.

He set his jaw and stood, fighting against the shock he knew was coming when he put weight on his right side. He locked his knee to try and stop the hitch of his leg, but that made everything worse and he almost forced himself into a stumble. So much for a dignified exit.

“There now, where are you going? Let me help—”

Bryson lifted his hand without turning back to look at Richard. “I’m fine. Get out. We’re done.”

“Bry, come on,” Richard said, his voice suddenly soft and charming.

Bryson heard him rise and then, completely ignoring Bryson’s demand, he was wrapping his arm around Bryson’s waist. “There’s no need to get upset. I’m just saying that it’s not unreasonable that I might want to spend time with some people who are capable of doing the things that you aren’t.”

Pushing away from Richard with enough force to gain any distance was worse for his hip than standing, and he had to take a minute, resting as still as he could while trying not to put any weight on the hurting side of his body. He should have brought his cane, but should-haves and would-haves didn’t change the past. Besides, he hated the stupid thing. The only person who could look cool with a cane was someone who didn’t need it.

He took one second to imagine himself collecting all the pain in his body and rolling it into a ball. Not only today’s pain, either, but allthe pain. Then he transferred that spitting, roiling, burning ball directly into his chest. He looked up at Richard with what he hoped was all the spiteful fury of Satan and offered an appropriate smile. “Oh, Dicky. I don’t mind you spending time with the boys on the boats. Or the tennis courts. Or the rugby field. I mind you fuckingthem.”

At that moment, he would have given almost anything to be able to glide smoothly across the room, but that wasn’t how life was. He hobbled to the window, counting the steps in his mind like a child—just three more, two more, one—but kept the acid in his voice as he did it. “I mind you talking about me to them like you’re doing the world a favour for giving me someone to hold on to. I mind you feeling like I owe you things.” He pointed over his shoulder, hopefully in Richard’s direction. “That watch. The Marmont wallet. That ridiculous belt.”

Richard threw up his hands. “It’s not my fault you like to buy me things!”

“Uh, no. I didn’t even know that I bought you that stupid wallet until I got my credit card statement. I mean, sevenhundred dollars? For a wallet? And you don’t even ask me first? Who does that, Dicky?”

Richard made a sound that was something between a breath of nervousness and a disdained gasp, and Bryson held up a hand to stop him from making more. “Don’t. I get it. It’s the least I can do, right? Poor you, giving up so much to look after the little cripple boy—”

“Your words, not mine!”

“But that’s what you said, isn’t it?” Bryson peered out the living room window, more to hide his expression than to see what was happening on the perfectly landscaped street on which his parents’ house sat. “You really ought to be more careful who’s around when you start your bragging and your trash talk, Dicky boy. Did you think Amaya wasn’t going to tell me that you said something like that?”

“What are you talking ab—”

“It’s over, Dick. No more coercing expensive presents. No more tagging along on the fancy family vacations. Sucks to be you, old boy, but that’s what happens when you start telling people that I better damn well respect what you do for me. And that I should keep my mouth shut if once in a while you want to bang someone who can actually move in bed. Mm hmm. She told me that, too. But the one that really got me was when you said that I should count my lucky stars anyone is even willing to look at me—”

“I did not say th—”

“You fuckingdid!”

“So, you take her word over mine, then?”

The wounded pride in Richard’s voice almost made Bryson laugh. Or it would have, if he hadn’t been trying to swallow the emotion that was doing its best to choke him. It’s not like he hadn’t known Richard was, appropriately, a dick. Bryson had known it the first time he’d set eyes on the man. Unfortunately, he’d also been super cute, pleasingly charming, and he really was blessedly skilled with his cock. Worse, even though Bryson wouldn’t admit it out loud, he probably shouldbe grateful Richard would look at him naked. Let alone be willing to stick his cock in Bryson. Bryson’s body wasn’t exactly pretty to look at.