Dan & Tyler 2 - Wintergreen (20 page)

"
I
killed her," Tyler corrected Dan, the frost mostly gone from his voice. He leaned over and slid his hand into Dan's, and Dan curled his fingers around it and hung on. He'd missed touching Tyler; the last day with Tyler sitting in a chair on the other side of the room had made him realize how much physical contact they usually had. Not the hugs and kisses kind -- well, yeah, those, too, but more the way Tyler would put a hand on him casually as they spoke, or ruffle his hair in passing. "You just got in the way. And if you think I'm going to let you go there and see something that'll give you nightmares for months, forget it. And if you think I'm going to listen to you apologize to that bitch for something that I did, you can forget about that, too. She needed killing and she deserved to die. End of story."

"You don't get to decide for me," Dan said sullenly. "You might feel that way; I sure as hell don't."

 

Tyler leaned back, and his hand went with him, leaving Dan to close his fist around empty air. "Yeah, I'm getting that. I'm still not getting why."

An awkward, heavy silence fell, with Dan lost for the words to make Tyler see things from his point of view. Tyler broke it. "There is one thing I wanted to say -- when I hit you, that wasn't something you deserved. I wish there could've been a different way of dealing with the situation. I don't know, maybe there was." Tyler sighed, a slow exhalation. "That, I'm sorry for."

Dan reached up and fingered the bruise on his face. It hurt a little to eat and to talk since that stretched the skin, but it was just a bruise. It would fade. Of everything that Tyler had done that day, it was the easiest to forgive.

"Heat of the moment. I get it. It's cool."

 

"That easy?"

 

"If you ever do it again, it won't be."

 

"It's not on my to-do list," Tyler said. He arched his eyebrows. "You know, I'm feeling guilty enough over it that you could use it as leverage to get what you want."

 

"You're funny," Dan told him, "but, no. That's like cheating. And since when did you own the key to the morgue, anyway?"

 

"Oh, they'd let me in," Tyler said indifferently. "And if I told them to, once you had some clothes on, they'd let you in as well."

"You're that important." It was weird how much he wanted Tyler to be someone special, to make up for all the shit the man had gone through.
Tyler grinned. "Me? They've never heard of me. Cole, though, well, in some ways, they've never heard of him, either, but they know what they think he is and yeah, he's important enough to make a lot of doors open." Tyler studied him pensively. "The question is, do you really want to do this or do you just think that you should? She wasn't the sort of person who'd do anything but laugh at the idea of paying last respects to someone, you know. And I meant it when I said she wouldn't look pretty. If we walk in and they're weighing her liver or something, you'll pass out or throw up, and neither of those appeals."

"I'm not squeamish. I've seen animals slaughtered, and I've gone hunting." Tyler didn't need to know how much he hated both activities.

"It's different in a morgue. I'd seen men wounded in battle, their heads split open by shrapnel like a rotten pumpkin dropped off a bridge, their guts trailing on the ground, and I kept my lunch where it was, but my first autopsy, I took one whiff of the body and bam, hit the deck. Passed out cold."

"Why do I think you're trying to scare me?" Dan asked.

 

"Because I am. I don't want you to do this." Tyler sounded as definite about it as Dan had ever heard him.

 

Dan wavered for a moment and then shook his head."I need to."

 

Tyler stood. "I'm going to get an orderly and a wheelchair for you. Maybe even some clothes. Go back to your room and wait there. I'll organize it."

Dan blinked up at him, surprised by the sudden victory, "Just like that? And I don't need a wheelchair; I got a bullet in my arm, not my leg. Hell, technically, the bullet didn't even go in, just said hello in passing."

The hint of a smile flickered across Tyler's face. "I've known you for long enough to know when it's not worth fighting you. In case it's never been pointed out to you before, you are one stubborn man."

"Thanks," Dan said uncertainly.

"It wasn't a compliment. And I'm stubborn too; you're getting in a wheelchair, and don't push me on that." Tyler jerked his thumb at the candy. "Another word of advice? Don't eat any until after the morgue."

Dan gave the Snickers bar a wistful look, but nodded a promise. He didn't think that he would throw up, but if he did, he'd sooner lose the lime Jell-O and beef stew they'd fed him than a candy bar.

*** Tyler stood beside Dan, who was still in a wheelchair and still in his robe. The morgue staff had been as cooperative as anyone could wish for after Tyler had made a call to Cole, who'd done what Cole did well and leaned on people. Ryan's body, a sheet drawn up to her neck, was on display for Dan to get whatever closure he could from the sight.

Dan was looking pale, but not the ashen pallor of someone about to pass out. He stared at the corpse and licked his lips. "She -- the bullet in her leg -- what did it do?"

The medical examiner, a Doctor Pike, mid-thirties and just a little too conscious of his position in Tyler's opinion, frowned. "The one in her leg? Not much. To put it in layman's terms, there was a glancing blow to the thighbone that cracked it, some blood loss -- had she lived, she would have walked again, if that's what you mean."

"Oh."

 

Tyler smothered a smile. Dan sounded vaguely disappointed.
Give up the guilt, boy
, he thought.
You just shot her; I killed her.

"Death was almost instantaneous," the doctor continued, warming to his subject. He glanced at the contents of the file he held, ruffling through the papers with a self-important air. "The bullets to the chest region ruptured --"

"It wasn't that fast," Dan said flatly, as close to rude as Tyler had ever heard him. He turned his head and glanced up at Tyler. "Okay. I'm done."

Tyler didn't waste time asking if he was sure. With a nod to the doctor, who was looking a little tight-lipped at Dan's abruptness, he wheeled Dan out of the morgue and over to the elevator. Once inside, Tyler crouched down beside Dan and tapped Dan's chin to make him look up.

"Are you okay?"

 

Dan jerked his chin free, not to avoid being touched, Tyler guessed, but to hide the sheen of tears in his eyes. "I'm fine."

 

"No, you're not." Tyler, moved to a rare tenderness, stroked Dan's hair and got a glare for his troubles.

 

"I said, I was fine!"

 

"Oh, yeah," Tyler said, straightening. "You sound it, boy."

One of Dan's good points -- and as far as Tyler was concerned, he had more than most people -was that he calmed down fast after flaring up. That was why his continued resentment over Tyler's actions at the cabin was worrying Tyler; it wasn't like Dan to cling to a grudge, but when he did, it took a lot to persuade him to shake it loose. Tyler had discovered that on Christmas Eve, when he'd suggested that Dan might want to call his father and make peace with the man. Only Anne's timely arrival with a bottle of wine and their presents had saved them from an argument. Dressed up and on her way to a family gathering, she'd brought in a gust of frostcrackling air and enough holiday spirit to make Dan forget his annoyances.

When she'd gone, after tucking a sprig of mistletoe into her hair and claiming a kiss from them both, Dan had turned to Tyler, his expression vulnerable and lost. Tyler had braced himself for a potentially awkward discussion, but Dan had sighed and started to kiss him, and Tyler couldn't remember saying much of anything for the rest of the night that wasn't directly related to what they were doing.

He'd stored snapshots in his head, but the one that had stuck with him had been Dan's skin gleaming in the light of the fire as he sat across Tyler's hips, lube-slick hands wrapped around their cocks, working them slowly, biting his lip in concentration, soft moans escaping him now and then. The flickering pattern of the flames reflected on Dan's chest, the rush of arousal he'd felt, and the scent from the wood smoke stinging Tyler's eyes… it had all come together to make a perfect moment, and Tyler's life hadn't held many of those.

They reached Dan's floor, and Tyler wheeled Dan out of the service elevator and down the maze of corridors to his room.

"I'm going to get discharged tonight or tomorrow," Dan said when he was back in bed. Lines of pain were etched around Dan's mouth and eyes, but Tyler couldn't see any reason why Dan would be kept as a patient, so he nodded. He felt more than capable of looking after Dan when it came to changing the dressing on Dan's arm. Stopping Dan from doing too much as the wound healed would be more of a problem.

"I want to go…" Dan paused, and Tyler watched him swallow hard and then wince. Dan's throat was still recovering from the blow it had received, a mottling of bruises scattered over the pale skin. "I want to go home."

"Well, sure," Tyler said, hiding his dislike of that idea as best he could. Returning to the cabin this soon wouldn't be easy on Dan -- or Tyler -- and it would mean a lot of questions from Anne, but if Dan was set on it… "We can get some of what we need back out of storage until you're fit enough for us to take that vacation. Or we could just check into a hotel. In a week, you'll be --"

"No," Dan said, and as soon as he saw the way Dan was avoiding his eyes, Tyler knew what was coming, but this was one bullet he couldn't dodge. "I don't mean the cabin. I'm not sure that I ever want to go back there. I mean my home. The farm. I want --"

"You want to see your dad," Tyler said, as gently as he knew how, when he was starting to see what was headed his way. "Yeah. I can see how you'd need that."

More closure. Or maybe not; maybe this was a new start. "He might not want to see me," Dan said hesitantly, talking more to himself than to Tyler, "but I don't know… he never threw me out, you know. Yelled at me, went on and on until I -- but he never told me to get out. I just went because I couldn't stand it and I missed Luke so much." Dan gave him a swift look, a barely there meeting of their eyes. "I might stick around a bit if he's cool with that. Just for a while. See how it goes. It's spring; it's a busy time for him, and when my arm heals, I can help him. I can get there by myself if you don't want to make the drive. I'll be okay."

Tyler didn't trust himself to speak right then. If he'd opened his mouth, he'd have said more than he should, words that Dan would remember and be hurt by because Dan hated seeing Tyler break down. For every nightmare Tyler had shared with Dan, turning to him for comfort, there had been an equal number of moments during the day, sun shining brightly, when Tyler had retreated to somewhere private, his teeth chattering, his ears filled with screams, and worked his way through to a semblance of normal without telling Dan what he was enduring.

He smiled instead, and felt his face ache with the falseness of it. "I see," Tyler said, and sat down on the bed, putting an arm around Dan without jarring him, and giving Dan a shoulder to hide his face in. "I'll give you a ride home," he murmured into Dan's hair, and breathed in the scent of it and felt the heat of Dan's body against his as Dan whispered a thank you that Tyler didn't want to hear.

"It's pretty there this time of year," Dan said, as if he'd only just realized it. "All the fruit trees are covered with blossom, like little blobs of strawberry and vanilla ice cream, you know? And everything smells green and wet and new."

"Before they start spreading the manure," Tyler said, and got a reproving nudge in return. "Yeah, okay, it's pretty. I can see how you'd want to see it."

 

"Just for a while," Dan said drowsily. "Until I get better."

Dan hadn't said that he wanted to keep in touch or asked Tyler to go with him. Tyler didn't want to know the answer to a question he had too much pride to ask, but he had a feeling that he already did. Dan had run in a circle, and now the music had stopped and left him somewhere that Tyler didn't belong.

Dan's choice
, he told himself, cradling Dan to him awkwardly, gently.
He'll be safe there. It's a good choice.
Chapter Thirteen
"It looks just the same."

 

Tyler gave Dan a sidelong look. "It hasn't been that long. Not even a year."

 

"No, but -- oh, that's new, that house there. It used to be a field -- and Ted traded in his truck finally -- unless that's Chuck's, might be Chuck's -- he's dating Ted's daughter, Kathy, or he was."

Muttering a comment about soap operas that Dan ignored, Tyler slowed down to give Dan a chance to get his bearings. The town that Dan came from was a twin to Carlyle in some ways, although Braeburn was maybe a little smaller. They'd driven past fields where soil was being turned, ready for crops, with neat, isolated farmhouses perched on the tops of small rises. The trees were beginning to fuzz over with buds, and there was a sense, even in the cool, fresh morning air, that spring had truly arrived. The town itself had passed by in the space of a minute, and that was only because they'd hit a red light and had to pause, engine idling. If Dan had recognized anyone on the street, he hadn't said so, but his gaze had flickered from face to face, his expression half eager, half tense.

Tyler's truck, mud-splashed and several years old, hadn't gotten a second glance, which was how he liked it.

 

"Turn here -- no, stop, just pull over. Right here, just stop." Dan's words tumbled out, panicked, squeaking, and he put his hand on Tyler's arm as if that would make the truck come to a halt.

Tyler eased the truck over and put it into park, looking not at Dan, but the unremarkable farm up ahead on the left. "So that's it, huh?" It looked like all the other farms they'd driven by -- a red barn, brown fields, a scatter of outbuildings around a square house. Too far away to tell, but Tyler would have put money on the house needing maybe a lick of paint but the barn being wellmaintained. There was no one in sight, but Dan was close to hyperventilating, the bruise on his cheek a stark patch of color in a milk-pale face.