Crossing the Lines (2 page)

“I made manicotti. It’s under foil in the oven to keep warm.” Distance. She needed distance. “There’s garlic bread, too, and extra marinara for dipping on the stove.” The kitchen and its sparkling clean counters beckoned. “I can just—”

“Alice.” Henry encircled her wrist. “Would you make a plate for Jay? We’ll need to feed him first and get him tucked away in bed before we can sit down to our meal, my dear. If you haven’t eaten yet, of course. I realize it’s quite late.”

She slipped her wrist free, squeezing his fingers before letting go. “You bet. One plate of pasta coming up.”

She cut everything into bite-size chunks, even the bread, because chewing would hurt, judging from the bruising across Jay’s face. One plate, one water, one Alice-ass on the coffee table once she’d dragged it closer to the couch where Henry sat behind their patient and propped him up.

Jay fumbled for the fork as she lifted the plate. “I can do it. M’not a baby.”

“Jay.” Henry used his firm tone outside the bedroom. “You’ll sit quietly and let Alice help you, my boy. No arguments, now.”

She jettisoned the spirit-enlivening childish mealtime ideas. No airplane or funny sounds. With older sisters, Jay’d probably had his fill of being babied. She stuffed him with technical details about her latest work project. Grade-A adult snooze-fest material.

His euphoria dulled into drowsy boredom with drooping eyelids. He’d finished three-quarters of his plate and half his water, but he wouldn’t stay awake long enough to have the rest.

Henry mouthed a silent, “Thank you.”

Exultation. He appreciated her help. Pushiness had been the right call. Shrugging off his thanks, she set the plate down and slid the table aside. Coordinated movement got Jay on his feet.

“Bathroom and then bed, Jay.” Henry supported him on the left, and she undertook the right.

“Your bed,” Jay said.

“My bed,” Henry agreed.

She suppressed a flash of jealousy.

Leaving them at the bathroom door so Henry could assist alone, she turned on the bedroom light and pulled back the sheets. When they returned, Henry steadied Jay and she stripped off his clothes. Even if the blood came out, the ragged slashes made them unwearable.

God, the bruising and the scrapes. Bad, and they’d be worse in the morning. Purpling lines across his chest probably marked where the handlebars had hit him. The bruises along his left side from his ankle to his ribs had scattered patches of raw, red skin. Gauze hid larger scrapes. Road rash.

She tried to picture it, the door opening into his face, eating his forward momentum and knocking him back. Him tilting and putting the bike down. Sliding on the filthy street under the door as it gashed his right leg open.

Jesus. If she’d seen him howling in pain for hours, she’d have gone fucking crazy. Thank God Henry knew how to hold it together.

Henry lowered Jay to the bed, and she pulled the covers up to his underarms, leaving his arms on top. She picked up his hand. Unblemished, his palms and knuckles exposed an oasis of pristine beauty. She traced his fingers.

“Quality biking gloves,” Henry murmured. “That and a good helmet. And all that concerned him was whether a backup messenger had arrived to courier the package.”

Jay’s eyelids fluttered. His breathing slowed and evened out.

Relief manifested as a magnetic charge drawing her toward Henry. He leaned in. The charge strengthened, promising the answer to everything waited in his kiss. But he only pressed his face to hers, rested his nose above her ear and retreated far too soon. “If you’ll sit with him until you’re certain he’s asleep, I’ll get our plates ready, Alice.”

She claimed a place beside Jay’s hip as Henry left. A few minutes later, she turned off the light and slipped out, leaving the door cracked in case he woke and needed them.

Henry had laid out their meal on the breakfast bar, a cozy setting ensuring they’d sit elbow to elbow. If his hunger rivaled her own, the quiet they settled into wasn’t surprising. She cleared her plate. Henry started his second helping.

“Have you called his family?” Jay boasted a big, blurry web of family—parents, a gaggle of siblings, a herd of young nieces and nephews. The way he talked, he bore the “cool” uncle title.

“Not as yet, no.” Henry set his fork down and wiped his mouth on his napkin. “I didn’t wish to worry his parents. We’ll call them tomorrow, perhaps, if he’s coherent enough to reassure them himself. He’ll likely want to impress his nephews with his scars when next he visits.”

His halfhearted smile raised a matching weariness in her. Maybe he didn’t want to think about what Jay’s family would say. Or about the scars Jay would have. Blood and crunching metal. Her stomach turned.

She carried her dishes to the sink and rinsed them before loading the dishwasher.

Henry, his plate empty, stared in her direction. Distance clouded his eyes. Leaning on his elbow, he rubbed his index finger across his lips.

She reached across the breakfast bar for his plate.

“Finished?” She softened her voice, in case he didn’t want to be disturbed.

“Yes, thank you, Alice.” He blinked and stood. “You put together a lovely meal. A favorite?”

“One of the few staples I know how to make.” Fucking up pasta took effort. She rinsed his dishes and loaded them beside her own. Beside Jay’s, too. Henry must’ve collected them while she’d sat in the bedroom. “I’m glad it turned out okay. I haven’t done a lot of cooking lately.”

Years, more like. Not since she’d lived at home and Mom worked late and Dad couldn’t and Olivia needed a hot meal. She and Ollie had been culinary explorers, the half-trained teenage chef and her untrained assistant.

Henry swaddled the leftovers in foil and loaded the refrigerator.

She wiped down the countertop.

He rummaged through a small drawer with the assortment of clutter kitchens collected—pens and notepads, novelty bottle openers, scissors, aspirin. Everything with no other home. Organization apparently did have limits. Even Henry had a junk drawer.

Metal clinked. Henry slid his hand across the counter toward her, palm flat. Raising his hand, he left a key behind.

He cleared his throat. “In the event you have need of it again, Alice. The spare key hardly fulfills its function residing in the drawer.”

The bronze key gleamed, a miniature mountain range to unlock the tumblers between her life and theirs. No ad nauseam discussion about his intentions necessary. Common sense and neighborliness, that’s all. Like the McCaskeys, who’d lived across the street from her parents since forever. They’d had a spare for emergencies.

The key chilled her palm.

“I’ll take good care of it, Henry.” And of him and Jay, too. Tonight, at least. She slipped the key into one of the front patch pockets of her yoga pants.

Henry exhaled in the silence. A long day, and longer still if he meant to watch over Jay all night.

If it were her, she’d want to decompress first. Midnight loomed, but she couldn’t leave him alone. Not unless he asked. “Do you want to sit down?”

His abrupt nod conveyed his preoccupation. “Yes. Of course. Please make yourself comfortable on the couch. I’ll just be a moment.” A hint of a frown crossed his face.

She gentled her voice. “He was sound asleep when I got up. The door’s open. You won’t disturb him by looking in on him.”

“Thank you, Alice.” Closing his eyes, he swayed toward her. A wisp of sterile antiseptic clung to the deeper note of his sweat. Intrusive. Needing her hands to wash it away in a relaxing shower. But he opened his eyes, clasped her shoulder and hurried down the hall.

She curled up on the couch. Throw in dessert, and this might’ve been their Fourth of July dinner. A late night with Henry, Jay’s absence an ever-present thought in her mind.

Classical music often helped Henry relax, but she didn’t turn the stereo on. Tonight he’d only wonder if he’d missed a sound from the bedroom. If Jay needed him.

He’d lost his frown and the tension in his shoulders when he returned, but he sat heavily beside her. His usual grace, in word and deed, had faltered. The oddity unbalanced her.

“Jay still sleeping?” They sat side by side, staring across the room, a small span of inches between them on the wide couch.

“Yes. Yes, he seems fine for the moment. The narcotic effect of the painkillers, undoubtedly.” He brushed at his pants.

She wove her fingers through his. Warmth and life under her hand.

He squeezed their fingers together. “The wait for them while the medical staff assessed his injuries was very long.” His quiet laugh cut. “The injuries weren’t as bad as they’d appeared, which made him less of a priority once he reached the hospital.”

“Minutes feel like hours in a hospital.” Olivia’s hand in hers had been small and cold. Mom’s had trembled like a baby bunny. But Henry’s grip radiated strength even now. “Especially when someone you care about is hurt.”

He lifted his head. “You’ve had some experience with this, Alice?”

Too much. Tonight wasn’t about her.

“My sister took a line drive to the shoulder at softball practice once. She sat out the rest of the season with a busted collarbone.” She wouldn’t detail her father’s accident or his lengthy hospital stay. But sharing would show Henry he wasn’t alone. “I was doing homework on the bleachers when I heard it. Just this god-awful scream. I spent hours with Ollie at the hospital. It was terrifying.”

“How old were you?”

Nope, not happening. He’d dominate the discussion if she let him. Guide the talk toward her experiences and away from the fears he’d hidden from Jay today.

“Sixteen. But it doesn’t matter, does it? It’s terrifying at any age. All that uncertainty. The noise and confusion, and nobody has time to give you answers. You want to make things better but you can’t. You sit and pretend you know everything’s going to be fine, because maybe it will be if you fake it hard enough.”

Silence. Shit. Henry would take an alien invasion in stride. Respond to news of a hurricane-force nor’easter with the comment that the weather might be breezy. Maybe he hadn’t been terrified.

He let out a long, shuddering sigh.

She curled her arm around his shoulders. The scant pressure reeled him in as if she’d accessed some preset reflex in his muscles. She leaned against the back of the couch, and his head came to rest on her chest. The sort of thing she’d do for any friend. Well. For her sister. And now Henry and Jay.

Refusing to examine the thought, she rubbed Henry’s back as the silence settled. If he didn’t want to talk, she’d stay while he worked the problem through in his head. He was a thinker. An analyst, like her.

She wanted to lay her cheek against his head. Pull him farther onto the couch and lie down beside him. Pure presumption.

Minutes ticked by as his muscles relaxed under her hand. A quarter-hour. Seemingly asleep, he might not notice if her fingers strayed to his hair and slipped through the short brown strands. Maybe.

“Jay lost consciousness at the scene. The authorities called me from his phone.” Her shirt half swallowed his soft words. “I admit, I feared the worst when the voice was not his.”

Her chest ached with the urge to strip away his pain.

Stressed and vulnerable, he confided in her out of convenience. Unwise to read more into it. He could’ve lost his lover today.

“He’s home now.” She couldn’t stop her fingers from smoothing his hair, but she fought off the desire to kiss him. “And he’ll be fine.” Calm reassurance, like he’d given her on their last night in bed together. “You know that.”

If the action was appropriate for him as her friend and dominant, reciprocation had to be appropriate, too. She wasn’t crossing any lines or taking advantage of Jay’s injury to manufacture a bond with Henry. “You can lie next to him and watch him sleep all night if you need to, Henry. I don’t think he’d object to that, even if all he had was a paper cut.”

He shifted, his nose rubbing the side of her breast. Heat prowled down her ribs and took up residence between her thighs. She stiffened and stifled a gasp. For God’s sake, she damn well wouldn’t jump the man on his couch while his lover lay hurt in his bed.

Henry lurched upward, forcing her hand to drop from his hair.

“No, no, of course. I’ll do that. Of course.” He cleared his throat, and his voice smoothed into fluid Henry-speak. “You’ve work in the morning, Alice, and I’ve monopolized entirely too much of your time this evening.”