Page 31

“WHOA, WHAT the hell happened to your hand?” Addison asks as soon as Rowan walks into the station on Monday morning.

He’d done his best to clean it up, but there are still obvious bruises and cuts on his knuckles, thanks to Steven’s nose cartilage.

“Long story,” Rowan tells her, hoping to end the conversation there as he drops his backpack in his locker.

“Uh-huh. And we’ve got a long shift. Spill, mister.”

Rowan sighs. Thinks about how he can word this to make it seem like he didn’t punch a guy in the face for ignoring a safeword during a BDSM scene. Sighs again so Addison will know how put out he is by telling her even a shred of the truth.

“Had… an altercation.”

“Well, that wasn’t a long story at all. With who?”

He can hear the concern in her voice even through the nosiness.

“Just some guy.”

“You went out and got in an altercation with some guy ?”

As she reiterates it, Rowan winces, knowing he’s digging himself in deeper. Again, Rowan sighs, moving to sit next to her on the open rig. She takes his hand, grabbing some gauze and antiseptic even though Rowan had long since done that on his own. Rowan watches as a curl draped over her forehead bounces with the dabbing motions she’s making across his knuckles.

“It wasn’t Mal, was it?” she asks lightly.

“No. Not… exactly.”

She perks up, meeting his eyes for the first time this morning. “Was it because of him?”

“Yeah. Kinda… I kinda punched a guy for hurting him.”

“ Jesus , Rowan. You’re not gonna get sued, are you?”

“No. He deserved it.”

The small smile playing on her lips looks proud. “Good. The last thing you need is to go to jail over something like that.”

“I don’t think I have to worry about that, thankfully.”

“He fight back?”

“Nah. Was a huge pussy.”

Addison’s laugh is a loud bark of a thing that spreads warmth through Rowan’s chest, replacing the cold dread he’d felt at the beginning of their conversation.

“What did Mal say about it?”

“We haven’t really talked about it… but I think he felt guilty that I did.”

“How come?”

Rowan ponders it for a minute. “He doesn’t really like being helpless, I don’t think. Or feeling like someone needs to come to his rescue.”

“Did he need it in the moment, though?”

She doesn’t ask for details, which Rowan appreciates.

“I thought so.” Another deep sigh. He winces as Addison tapes up his knuckles, the flayed skin catching on the tape. “I didn’t even think , Ads. Just fuckin’ flew off the handle and broke the guy’s nose without a second thought. Thought I might’a been….”

Losing control . He doesn’t say it. She gets it anyway, nodding.

“You’ve been good, Rowan. Haven’t had an episode in a while. Least not one that you’ve had to call out for.”

“Yeah. I’ve been okay.”

There’s a comfortable silence between them as Addison fiddles with Rowan’s hand then pats him on the arm, signaling that she’s finished.

“So, you full-on white-knighted for the guy, and you’re sure you’re just fucking?” she teases.

This time, Rowan doesn’t bother answering her.

IT’S TUESDAY night when Mal calls Rowan. His phone buzzes in his pocket as he’s unlocking his front door from a particularly rough day at work. The shift was grueling and long, with call after call after call coming in, leaving them barely any time to return to the station to take a break in between each one. It felt like an endless cycle of pain and discomfort, mentally ill patients, and pranks gone wrong. He doesn’t even bother looking at the caller ID as he blindly swipes at his phone, expecting Jay or Aubrey or even his boss calling him back in for a double.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

Mal’s voice startles Rowan, freezing him in place in his doorway momentarily.

“Hey,” he says, finally snapping out of his daze and entering his apartment, dropping his backpack on the stool in the kitchen, and tossing his keys on the counter. “What’s up?”

“Wanted to see if you could talk. You got a few minutes?”

He sounds so different on the phone. Quieter, somehow. Softer too. Rowan likes it.

In truth, he’s exhausted. But he’s not going to turn down a chance to talk to Mal. Especially since this is the first time he’s ever called Rowan. And because of what happened with Steven a few days ago.

“Course. Everything okay?”

“Just thinkin’ about the other day.”

Rowan kicks off his shoes and immediately flops down on the couch, his body weight heavy as he sinks into the plush cushions.

Rowan’s silent for a beat. “Yeah?”

Mal’s silent for a beat. “Yeah.”

And Rowan doesn’t really know how to navigate this. Doesn’t know where Mal’s head’s at or what he wants to talk about exactly, but he isn’t offering any information. So he’s at a bit of a loss here.

“You feeling okay?”

He can start there, at least. See if Mal’s doing all right or if he’s about to go into some sort of mental breakdown. If he does, Rowan’s not sure how or if he can even handle that himself. But no matter what, he knows that he owes it to Mal to try.

“Yeah, I’m all right.”

“Did you drop?” Rowan asks gently.

“Nah. I’m more pissed than anything. Been a long time since I had to fully safeword during a scene. I’m used to pulling yellows every once in a while, but….” He’s quiet for a moment, and even through the phone, Rowan can feel that his gaze is somewhere far away. “I dropped that first time, y’know.”

“Huh?”

“After the gangbang.”

“Shit, really?”

The admission throws Rowan for a loop. Especially why Mal is bringing it up now of all times, months later. But he can go with the flow. Whatever Mal wants to talk about, there must be a good reason for it.

“Yeah.”

“Had that happened before?”

“Never like that. It used to a lot when I first got into this shit ’cause I didn’t know any better, and when I did know, didn’t wanna admit I needed anything… soft or whatever. But it hadn’t happened in years till that night. Felt like garbage all week.”

Rowan’s hit with a memory, a flash of clarity. Him meeting Mal at the club for the first time after the gangbang. Rowan asking how his week was. Mal taking a long time to answer with a simple, “Okay” or “Fine” or whatever he’d actually said. It nearly breaks Rowan’s heart that he had waited this long to tell him the truth, but he’s glad he trusts him enough now to tell him.

“What was different about that time? I thought you’d done scenes like that before.”

“I did. That time it was kinda… jarring, I guess, gettin’ used by a bunch’a strangers, then havin’ you be all soft and shit. Messed with my head.”

The admission hits him in the face like an icy splash of water. An unbidden wakeup call that has a chill running down his chest and dripping off his limbs.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Mal. I had no idea. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I know. Not your fault. It wasn’t until the next morning anyway. When I was alone.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t wanna freak you out, I guess. Kinda some heavy shit to drop on someone right away.”

“Maybe, but that’s what we both signed up for.”

“Yeah,” Mal sighs, the phone crackling with grainy static. “I know I shoulda communicated it, even though we just met.”

“So it was only me being too gentle right after that caused it?”

“Not entirely. I guess I realized I liked havin’ you touch me ’n wanted more of it. Even though we agreed to meet up, still couldn’t get it outta my head that I’d never see you again, so it made the drop worse.”

It’s a punch to the gut and a kiss on the lips at the same time.

“When we met up the week after, were you still feeling the same way?”

“Till I saw you again.”

Rowan laughs softly, hoping that Mal doesn’t take it for unkindness. “Dunno how to feel about being both the cause and the cure for you dropping.”

Thankfully, Mal snorts in response. “Got a knack, man.”

There’s a muffled rustling on the other end of the line, like Mal’s changing positions. Rowan imagines him lounging on his own couch, settling in after a long day at work. He wonders if Mal has a home-office setup or if he uses a laptop at the kitchen table. He wonders if Mal has a kitchen table.

“Why bring it up now?” Rowan asks, still absentmindedly wondering about Mal’s home setup.

A long exhale on the other end of the line brings Rowan back to the moment. “’Cause I don’t want it to happen again.”

“What can I do?”

“Just… talk to me. Wanna talk about it. Don’t really know where to start. This shit’s never happened to me before.”

“Me neither, if that makes you feel better,” Rowan offers.

“ Tch . Thanks for the solidarity.”

Rowan hums in amusement and starts picking at the stray pieces of blue yarn on the throw blanket that Aubrey had knitted for him during one of her new hobby sprees.

“Have you been sleeping okay the past couple nights? Getting enough to eat and drink, too?”

Rowan knows how to take care of people, even if he struggles with it himself sometimes.

“Slept like a rock on Saturday and Sunday night. Not so good last night.” He laughs lightly, and it’s a beautiful golden sound that has Rowan pressing the phone against his ear harder, as if it’ll make Mal do it again. “Think you know I never have a problem eating.”

Smiling into the phone, he realizes sadly that Mal’s not here beside him to witness it. He clears his throat. “What happened last night? Like, bad dreams, or tossing and turning, or…?”

“Dreams, I guess. Sorta like… scenarios playing out in my head? I dunno. Couldn’t… couldn’t stop my brain from picturing it going down much worse than it did. Prob’ly think I’m fuckin’ crazy, hallucinating shit.”

Rowan swallows the newly formed lump in his throat. He knows all too well about crazy and about anxiety-induced hallucinations and probable PTSD. But Mal doesn’t know that yet, and now’s not the time to bring it up—not when Rowan’s supposed to be a source of comfort for him.

“You’re not crazy, Mal. You went through something traumatic. How your mind and body react to it doesn’t say anything about you as a person.”

And if Rowan’s reminding himself of that fact at the same time, that’s just a bonus.

“Yeah.”

The silence between them stretches on for a tad longer than comfortable. Rowan’s about to say something, anything, when Mal speaks again.

“How’s your hand today?”

“It’s seen worse,” Rowan says with a laugh.

“Hit the guy pretty hard if the sound of his nose was anything to go by.”

Rowan laughs lightly. “Yeah.”

“Wish I could’a seen it,” Mal laments.

“Are you… okay that I did that?”

“Hell yeah, man. Fuck that guy. Why do you ask?”

“I didn’t want you to feel like… like I had to rescue you or some shit.”

“Kinda did, though. Not like I could’a done much in the position I was in. Or the… the state of mind.”

All Rowan can say to the relief that washes over him is “Okay.”

It’s quiet for a few moments. Rowan listens to Mal breathe softly on the other end of the line. He wonders if Mal’s still on the couch or if he’s moved. Maybe he’s sitting up in bed right now, back against the headboard and legs crossed at the ankles.

He wants to ask him where he is, what he’s doing, what he’s wearing—to paint a better picture for himself as they talk. But he’s too worried that it would sound like he’s trying to start something, and something else comes out anyway.

“Why’d you wanna do a scene with him?” Rowan blurts.

The question maybe catches Mal off guard, because he takes a long few seconds to respond.

“’Cause I needed to see.”

“See what?”

“If you and I actually had somethin’ real or not.”

Rowan’s pulse hammers in his veins.

“And do we?”

It’s hard to keep the edge of hopefulness out of his voice. He wonders if Mal can hear it anyway.

“Uh… yeah.”

His heart soars. Maybe Sheila was right after all.

Rowan wonders if it’s easier for Mal to talk like this. Talk about feelings when they’re not face-to-face. Merely voice-to-voice with miles of space between them.

“He never…,” Mal starts, backtracking almost and taking a deep breath that crackles through the phone. “He never used to be like that. Never ignored a word like that before.”

The moment before is barely acknowledged, but Rowan will take it anyway.

“You said you used to have people watch you a lot. What was different this time?”

“Prob’ly you bein’ there. You’ve got a… vibe, man.”

“A vibe?”

“Like… a presence, I guess.”

“Mal, are you saying I’ve got Big Dick Energy?”

Mal covers his laugh with a scoff. “Fuck off, Red. You know what I mean.”

It’s not pride or ego that makes Rowan agree with it. He and Steven clashed from the second he met the guy.

“So you think he was jealous? Why?”

“New situation, I guess?” Mal asks more than says. “Never really had anyone there that pulled my attention more than him.”

It’s the highest of compliments.

The blue threads continue to pile up as Rowan asks, “But everything else was the same besides that?”

“Yeah. It was the same shit we always did. Talked to me the same way when we were actively scening as he did the other night. Fuck, you talk to me like that. Just… felt different. Wrong, I guess. Can’t explain it, man.”

Rowan thinks that he probably can.

“So where do you wanna go from here?” Rowan asks.

“Whaddya mean?”

“I mean for us. I don’t want to jump straight back into any intense stuff this weekend if either of us is gonna be rattled.”

“Yeah, prob’ly a good idea. Do….” Rowan can picture him shaking his head. That pretty pink flush he gets every once in a while coloring his cheeks and ears and neck.

“What?”

There’s a deep breath before Mal speaks again. “Do you wanna grab a drink or something on Saturday? Same time?”

Rowan’s head spins. He has to lie down fully on the couch to prevent himself from falling back onto it. Like a date ? echoes in his mind, but he forces himself not to blurt this particular thought out loud.

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

Rowan Campbell has successfully played one thing cool in his life so far, and he thinks it earns him a congratulatory pat on the back. He’d do it if he could get his limbs to move.

They talk until Rowan’s phone is hot against his cheek and his battery threatens to give out. When they finally hang up, it’s close to midnight, and Rowan barely manages to pry off his work uniform before crawling into bed.

ROWAN brEATHES as deeply and evenly as he can while he gets ready to go out with Mal.

This time there’s no good excuse for why they’re going out other than to spend time together. No birthday, no getting to know one another’s kinks, nothing. They could have easily skipped a week or two entirely and not seen each other, though the thought of that makes Rowan’s stomach lurch. He hasn’t gone without seeing Mal at least once a week since they started their arrangement several months ago, and the thought of it happening now—even hypothetically—is a little too painful for him to bear.

They meet outside the bar, a decent little hole-in-the-wall in the Back Bay, somewhere that seems much more suited to Mal’s liking than the club they went to for his birthday. The floor’s only slightly sticky with beer, with the occasional peanut shell or two strewn about, dark walls filled with signed photographs of famous patrons, and some rock song playing over the speakers. The bar is fully stocked with every type of liquor, from cheap brands to the top-shelf stuff that Rowan isn’t sure he’d ever be able to justify buying.

“I’ll get a table,” Rowan says to Mal. “Grab me a beer? Whatever doesn’t suck.”

Mal salutes him. “One Bud Light, comin’ up.”

“I’ll kill you if you get me a Bud Light, Mal.”

Mal only laughs and stalks toward the bar.

Rowan finds them a table for two tucked away in a corner, much like their usual spot at Sheila’s diner. The dim overhead lights cast the area in a warm yellow glow. A few minutes later, Mal appears by his side, placing a bottle of beer in front of each of them.

Mal had gotten him a Blue Ribbon, and he has to laugh as Mal takes a sip of his own beer.

“Thought I said something that doesn’t suck?”

“Bitch, I know it’s your favorite,” Mal says, flicking the side of the bottle. His nail makes a tiny tink ! against the glass that has Rowan grinning.

“What’re you drinking?” Rowan asks, not recognizing the silvery label or the dark liquid inside.

“Some kinda local stout,” Mal says, turning the bottle so Rowan can read the label. “They only sell it in-house, but it’s pretty good. You wanna try?”

“Sure.”

Mal slides the bottle over to him, the glass bottom making a skriiitch noise across the wooden tabletop, a ring of condensation streaking along the way.

When the near-black liquid hits his tongue, Rowan’s first inclination is to grimace at the heaviness of it, and he hears Mal laughing gently as he tilts the bottle back farther. Tries not to think too hard about how it had Mal’s lips wrapped around it moments ago as a more pleasant aftertaste of coffee settles in his mouth.

“First sip’s always fuckin’ weird, but it’s got a good aftertaste,” Mal tells him.

Nodding in agreement, Rowan slides the bottle back to Mal and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “’S good, though.”

“Kinda weird not being at the club tonight,” Mal says after a few moments.

Rowan hums. “What’s the longest you’ve been away from it?” he asks, knowing that Mal’s been going there for a long time, practically since the moment he was old enough.

“Few months. After Steven fucked off to Florida, I took some time off.”

“Wow,” Rowan says, slightly awed.

“What?”

“Just, that’s not that much time to take off after, what, almost ten years?”

“Seven. That a problem?” The challenge in Mal’s narrowed eyes is obvious.

Rowan feels nervous sweat pebble up on his forehead, something that’s never happened with Mal. Leave it to his stupid mouth to fuck things up.

“No! Definitely not. Hell, you know most of what I did when I was younger, which is worse than having consensual sex at a BDSM club for years.”

Thankfully, Mal’s eyes soften. “I guess.”

For once, Rowan’s glad that his sordid past gives him an out. He looks around for a distraction, taking another long pull on his beer.

“You play pool?” Rowan asks when the couple previously occupying the table clears it.

“You sure you wanna take me on? I’m pretty good,” Mal replies cockily.

It makes Rowan’s heart pitter-patter in his chest.

He puts on his own sense of bravado.

“Used to hustle pool with Jay when we were teens,” Rowan says, standing and heading to the pool table.

“Oh yeah, tough guy?”

“Mmm. Swindled more biker dudes than I can count outta their cash.”

Mal laughs, a little incredulous, a little fond, and it has Rowan’s heart racing.

While Rowan chalks the cues, Mal expertly racks the balls, one ball in the front, eight ball in the middle, alternating stripes and solids everywhere else. The click, click, click of the balls cracking together as Mal rolls them in the triangle takes Rowan back to swindling said bikers and drunk tourists out of cash when he and Jay would sneak into bars with fake IDs to make some extra money.

As confident as he is in his pool skills, Mal has a tendency to surprise the hell out of him, and he’s not exactly sure he can beat him.

They play a quick match of Rock, Paper, Scissors to determine who gets to break, Mal huffing when Rowan beats his rock with paper. The warmth of his hand as he covers Mal’s fist with his flat palm is searing, and he pulls away quickly, as if his faux paper might actually burn to ash at the touch.

Rowan dips over the table, and with a loud crack ! the balls scatter, two striped balls sinking into two of the corner pockets.

“ Tch ,” Mal scoffs. “Beginner’s luck.”

“You wish, Savaryn.”

His next shot is a mess, nothing lined up neatly enough for him to sink anything.

Rowan grins as Mal leans over to take his own shot, admiring the way his jeans hug his ass.

“I see you starin’ at the goods, Red.”

The orange five ball sinks into the pocket.

“Looks like you have to go again. How unfortunate for me,” Rowan teases as Mal leans obscenely over the pool table, far more than necessary to make the easy shot.

“Can see how bent outta shape you are about it.”

They take turns, sometimes sinking two or three shots in a row, sometimes missing their marks entirely, but constantly throwing teasing jabs back and forth. Idly sipping their beers as they eye each other from across the green felt table.

It’s ridiculous how attracted to him Rowan is.