Page 33 of Private Exhibit (Gentleman Hackers #4)

DEVON SAT at the desk in Andy's old office, surrounded by files. Gods . It was absolute chaos. Even more so than the morgue had been. It had looked bad enough that morning, but now, from the perspective of sitting down—and in a wheelchair, no less—all the stacks seemed to have grown.

The sight made his heart sink. Each one of those files represented a person with Ashworth-Grahams. A person who was now probably dead. All those lives. All those files full of study and experimentation, with zero results.

It made his own situation feel that much more hopeless.

Devon rolled the chair forward so he could reach one of the files.

That simple action alone made him grimace.

He'd never been confined to a chair before.

Even when he'd been rendered temporarily paralyzed—ignoring the time that had driven him to put out that want ad for live-in help—no attack had lasted long enough to warrant getting a chair.

But when Andy had come back to check on him at lunchtime, Devon still had no use of his legs.

Walking out to the gardens was out of the question.

Andy had rushed off and requisitioned a wheelchair, then pushed Devon outside. He'd picked a beautiful, shady spot for them to sit and eat lunch, but even the stunning surroundings hadn't cheered Devon up one bit.

He felt stuck. Trapped within his own body.

It was the same way he'd felt when he began to realize that he was trans, except this was worse. The former, he'd been able to fix with surgeries and hormone therapy. But the latter? There was absolutely nothing anybody could do.

Devon glanced across the room. Andy was on his feet, darting from one table to another, reading file after file.

The man almost seemed to have forgotten Devon was even there.

His intense focus was insane. One time, Andy even gave a start and rushed over to one stack of files, deftly snatching out the fourth one down without even checking the label.

Somehow, the man just knew exactly which file was where in all that chaotic mess.

The confidence of his movements would have been impressive if it weren't for the frantic, almost panicked undertone of it all.

Devon made himself take a slow, deep breath, then opened the file he'd grabbed.

Unlike the morgue files, the handwriting in this one was meticulous and legible.

Devon started to read, his eyes going wide.

The documentation in the file was insane, everything noted down precisely and in extreme detail.

Andy had recorded dates, times, and all manner of measurements, to say nothing of obsessively tracking even the tiniest symptom.

Devon flipped back to the first page, then typed the patient's name into the desk computer.

He brought up the records matching the dates in the paper files, ready to start scanning the pages to digitize them.

Devon paused. Someone had already entered most of the basic data, but the handwritten files expanded on it considerably.

Devon spread out the pages, scanned them, and linked them up.

In this case, the system flagged no confusing words. Everything imported without issue.

Even so, it took considerably longer than any of the morgue files had done.

There were so many more pages. So much more detail.

It took almost half an hour to do just one file.

When all the scans were finished, Devon carefully collected the pages, making sure they all went back together in the correct order.

On a hunch, he grabbed a pen. With the way Andy was working, Devon had a feeling all of the files were going to move around too much before he was done with them, so he'd easily lose track of which he'd scanned and which he hadn't gotten to yet.

Devon wrote his initials on a corner of the folder, keeping the letters tiny and unobtrusive, then set the file aside.

Andy almost immediately snatched it up and rushed back over to one of the tables.

Devon winced, watching him go, then reached for the next file.

He opened it up and had to stifle a gasp.

Gerard, Anderson Jr.

Devon snuck a glance at Andy, then looked back down at the file. Oh my gods. Andy's son . Devon swallowed hard and started to read.

If the previous file had been full of detail—almost to the point of going overboard—this one took it to a whole new level.

There were records of every single attack, even merely suspected ones.

Every trip to the emergency room. Every minor checkup.

Every minuscule change in diet, bowel movements, sleep patterns, or mood.

Anything and everything that could be even remotely relevant.

Then there was the documentation of the boy's final weeks.

The more Devon read, the more his heart sank.

My gods . The poor boy had suffered horribly.

Paralysis. Systems shutting down. Organs failing.

Blindness. Difficulty breathing. It just kept getting worse and worse until it finally came to an end.

And Andy had to suffer through all that, too. The man had to watch his son slowly die little by little as the days and weeks stretched out.

He didn't want Andy to go through that again.

Devon squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath. He didn't want to die, but a huge part of him wanted it to be over with already. No more anticipation. No more anxiously waiting. Not a long, slow progression of suffering, but just a quick, painless end.

Considering how long this attack was stretching out, though, Devon feared it was going to be the former.

He took a deep, shaky breath, fought back the urge to cry, and kept working.

Junior's file seemed to take forever to scan in. Once he was done, Devon thrust it aside with a shaky hand and had to pause for a moment before he could even think about taking the next one.

The rest of the afternoon drifted away in silence, Andy continually jumping about the room in a frenzied search while Devon carefully went through file after file, scanning and recompiling all the pages so everything would stay exactly where Andy needed it to be.

Devon's stomach audibly growled.

Andy paused and looked up, blinking like he was coming out of a trance. He immediately dropped the file he was holding and rushed over to the desk. “Hey. You hungry, sweet boy?”

Devon grimaced and gave a nod. He'd barely been able to eat at lunch, too depressed to have an appetite, and he was feeling it now. “Yeah,” he admitted.

Andy gave him a smile that looked genuine, wiping away the tension that had defined his face all day. He glanced at the clock and shook his head. “I'm so sorry. We ran late. How about I get you home, yeah? If you want, we can stop and grab a takeaway for you and Oliver.”

Devon paused. “Not you?”

Andy stopped mid-step, visibly hesitating. He quickly scanned the room, his expression tight like he was torn with indecision. Finally, he shook his head. “I should really come back and do some more work.”

“Oh.” Devon's heart sank all over again. Deep down, he knew he needed a break. Needed his normal routine of getting home, taking a shower, having dinner, sitting at his computer, and going to bed so he could have a good night's sleep before coming back to work the next day.

But he was going to miss Andy terribly.

He automatically tried to stand up, but his legs wouldn't budge. Damn it . Devon sank back into the chair and gave Andy a nod.

Andy stepped around behind the chair, bent down to press a kiss to Devon's cheek, then wheeled him out to the elevators.

Devon ducked his head as they went, hating that anyone could see him like that. He felt so utterly helpless. So useless. And it was only going to get worse. Oliver was going to have to help him bathe. Help him get dressed. Help him into bed.

What was the point of him if he couldn't even take care of his own basic needs?

Andy got him home, then pulled Oliver aside to have a quick, whispered conversation before he came back, gave Devon a kiss, and left in a rush.

“What did he say?” Devon couldn't help asking.

Oliver shook his head and gave him a forced smile. “He gave me his number just in case, but we won't need it.” Oliver grabbed the chair and steered it towards the washroom. “Come on. We'll make this quick, I promise. And then we'll get you fed.”

Devon silently went along with whatever Oliver suggested. It wasn't until he was tucked into bed, almost asleep, that he remembered Dannika. Devon made a mental note to talk about it tomorrow, not wanting to keep Oliver waiting any longer.

But the next morning, it all fled his mind again when he started to throw back the covers to get out of bed, only for his legs to still not budge.

Devon flopped back on the pillow and covered his face.

His eyes stung with the urge to cry. Not only could he not move, but his left leg was completely numb again. He couldn't feel a thing.

Oliver helped him through his morning routine, and Andy showed up again to give him a ride to work.

Devon spent another day with Andy in his office, slowly but surely processing files while Andy frantically read and re-read everything around him, his tension steadily growing by the hour.

The only break in the pattern was when Andy would stop and dig out an old blood sample to run some more tests, only to curse with frustration and go back to reading again.

The next day was more of the same.

By the end of the week, it was all Devon could do to focus at work, too caught up in what his body was doing to him.

There had been no relief from the attack.

If anything, it kept getting worse. He lost motor control in his left arm.

Then he couldn't keep food down as his digestive system began to quit.

Then he lost function of his right arm as well.

Devon sat at the desk, bitterly shaking his head.

That desk was more useful than he was, even considering its only function at the moment was to act as a raised surface for all those stacks of files.

Andy wouldn't use the desk computer, and Devon couldn't do so now, his arms resting uselessly at his sides.

Gods . He couldn't even do his job anymore.

Neither that one at the hospital nor the latest hacking job that Grim had posted just last night.

How the hells was he going to pay rent? How was he going to keep a roof over his own head, let alone provide for Oliver?

He had a deal with his friend. How could he hold up his end if he had no way to make money?

Andy drove him home again, eyeing him the whole way.

Devon felt it. He had to look away, trying to ignore that sense of being under a spotlight. It didn't matter. He still knew Andy was watching him.

“Baby?” Andy finally said, breaking the silence. “It's gonna be alright.”

Devon shook his head, hearing the forced confidence in Andy's voice.

“Talk to me, sweet boy,” Andy murmured. After a pause, he added, “Tell Daddy what's wrong.”

Oh hells . Devon had been about to brush it all off as nothing and pretend he was fine, but when Andy spoke in that tone?

There was no resisting.

So he blurted out everything he was feeling.

How useless he was. How much of a burden he'd become.

How he was afraid because he didn't want to let Oliver down.

“I think I should resign,” he finished in a whisper.

“I can't do the job anymore. It's not right for the hospital to pay me to just sit there.”

Andy listened in silence, a thoughtful look on his face as he helped Devon out of the car and back into the wheelchair.

They made their way up to Devon's apartment without speaking, and all Devon could think was that Andy was going to walk away and never look back.

The man didn't need all this. And Devon really didn't want Andy to have to go through it all again.

The apartment door shut behind them, but instead of Andy turning around to rush off again, he called Oliver over, then crouched down and took Devon's hand.

“Here's what's gonna happen,” Andy said. His tone had dropped into the deep, firm growl of a full-blown dom, not leaving room for any argument. “I'm going to call a moving company, and you're moving in with me this weekend.”

Devon blinked. “I…But…You…What about Oliver?”

“He's coming with us.”

Devon stared at him. “Why?”

“Because then you won't have to worry about rent,” Andy said, and held up a hand before Devon could protest. “And I won't accept any argument about that.

You're staying with me, and that's final.

I'll take care of all the arrangements and expenses.

If you have a lease, I'll pay it off. We'll get you boys moved so you'll have one less thing to worry about.

I can still take you to work with me if you want, but if not, then Oliver can take care of you during the day, and I'll take over at night.” He looked from Devon to Oliver and back. “Understood?”

Oliver's eyes were wide as he nodded.

But Devon hesitated. “I'm already enough hassle–”

“Stop,” Andy said. “You are not a hassle. I–” He broke off, staring at Devon for a moment, then shook his head. “You're not a hassle,” he repeated gently. “And you have enough to worry about without the stress of making a living. You just let me handle it, alright?”

Devon squirmed. At least, he tried to. He glanced at Oliver, then asked Andy, “Can we have a second?”

“Sure.” Andy squeezed his hand, then got up and went to the kitchen, giving them some privacy.

Oliver came closer and crouched down, taking Andy's place. “I'm really not one for handouts,” Oliver said, “but I think this is a good idea.”

Devon tried to study Oliver's expression. “You're comfortable with this?”

“Are you kidding? Room and board without having to pay for it with sexual favors? You know I'm all for that.” He waved a hand at Devon. “This is nothing.”

“Oli–”

“Dev,” Oliver interrupted him. “It's gonna be fine. When the time comes, I'll figure something out for myself. But for now? This is too good a deal to pass up.”

Devon sighed. Oliver was right. It ate at him, knowing he could no longer make his own living, but he had to admit, the thought of having no expenses really took a huge weight off his mind. “Alright,” he agreed.

“Think of it this way,” Oliver said with a tiny smirk. “You'll get to finally experience living with a boyfriend.”

Devon almost smiled at that.