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There was a tap at the door, then it opened and Rusty peered in. “Hey, you’re awake. Can I come in?”

Yes. Cross’s throat closed up completely, but he waved to the bedside chair.

Rusty folded his big frame into the seat and reached for Cross’s hand. “Hey, babe.”

Something in Cross broke. The first sob clawed its way out of his throat, the second shook his whole body. He reached toward Rusty, unable to hang onto his pride any longer.

“Hey.” Rusty leaned over him, then abandoned the chair to bend and work his arms around Cross’s shoulders. “What’s wrong? Did the surgery not work? Are you hurting?”

Cross shook his head against Rusty’s neck, his hands limp on the covers. Rusty held him in a strong, tight embrace.

I need him. God. This man. This was what Cross had wanted for so long and never found.

Someone he could be weak with, vulnerable with, and not afraid to let go of his control.

Someone he was sure would hang on when he couldn’t.

He cried, unable to stop, and Rusty kept him safe, cradled, rocking him slightly against the pillows.

Rusty’s T-shirt was soaked before Cross pulled himself together and choked his sobs down to breathy shudders, then silence. He rubbed his snotty nose on the shirt, because he could, making Rusty laugh. “Are you boogering me?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” He choked and Rusty eased his arms free to pick up the insulated cup from the bedside stand.

“Water?”

“Thanks.”

Rusty held the straw to his lips and Cross sipped, wrung out, glad to not even have to raise a hand.

When he’d had enough, Rusty set the water aside and leaned in close. “Hey, want to talk about it?”

He didn’t, but what kind of a relationship did they have if they never talked about important stuff? “I’m… scared, and I feel weak. Helpless. I’ve always been able to overcome shit if I worked hard enough, and now… I don’t know if I’ll ever come back.”

Rusty laid a hand against Cross’s cheek. “How can I help?”

Cross turned enough to kiss his palm. “You do. Just by being here.”

“But is there anything else?”

He shook his head. “You can’t do the healing for me, can’t fix my career, but knowing you’re sticking with me? That I matter to someone—” His throat tightened momentarily.”—even when I can’t set foot on the ice? That’s important.”

“Of course you matter. So much.” Rusty thumbed Cross’s lips and their eyes met.

Cross felt like Rusty truly saw him, all of him, the good and the bad, and for once, he didn’t need to hide or pretend or be perfect.

He held his breath till his chest tightened, and gazed into Rusty’s eyes.

After a moment, Rusty bent and kissed him again, soft and sweet and slow.

Then he sat back in the chair and said in a lighter tone, “Will they let me bring you a decent dinner, or do you have to eat the hospital glop?”

Cross was glad to let the intensity fade. He managed a weak smile. “Glop, probably, but this is the private wing. A better quality of glop.”

“Makes all the difference. And tomorrow you come home?”

“Yeah.” He couldn’t sound enthusiastic. He’d be at ground zero again, lying around, foot elevation for almost all his waking hours, painfully navigating chores on crutches, unless he was willing to have a nurse come in.

He probably should, but after six weeks in the rehab center, he was willing to trade pain for privacy.

“Cool. I moved my stuff into the spare room.”

“Huh? You said you wouldn’t live with me.”

Rusty tapped his biceps in a minimalist punch. “Not when I was going to be your poor little boy toy, right? But now you need me. I know you. You’re going to try to do too much around the house, and not have your foot up, and refuse to ask for help.”

Cross pouted, aware he was being ridiculous. “No! I want to heal. I’m not stupid.”

“But you are independent. Marie said I should emotionally blackmail you into hiring a nurse, but I figured we’d both be happier if I moved in.”

“I won’t be good for anything, for weeks,” Cross pointed out. The pain in his foot was growing, a radiating burn in his heel and calf, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” a female voice said from the door. “I need to do some patient care.”

A nurse. Cross looked at Rusty. “You should probably go home and take it easy.”

“Is that really what you want me to do?”

He dodged the question. “I’ll be doped up anyway.” He wasn’t too proud to ask for meds right now.

Rusty smiled, as if that answer pleased him. “I’ll be out in the hall till she’s finished, and then I’ll come on back in and annoy you until glop time.”

Some kind of tension inside Cross unwound at those words. “If you want.”

“Oh, I want.” For a second Cross thought Rusty might kiss him, but he glanced at the nurse and then stood and got out of her way. “Later, dude.”

Dude. As the nurse bent to check him, Cross realized how desperately he didn’t want to be “dude” to Rusty, even in public. I’m coming out. Don’t know how or when, but it’s happening, so Rusty can kiss me when we both want him to.

That resolution carried him through the nurse’s exam, through peeing into a bottle, and on until the press of a button swept a tide of chemical relief over him, and he slept.