Winter Oranges (31 page)

“I spent almost a century focusing on everything I didn’t have, praying day after day after day that I’d die. It was a really dark time for me, but it got better. It took me more years than most people get in their entire lifetime, but eventually I learned to live in the light. And the light led me to you. And I don’t want to look back at those places behind me. Can’t you see that? I just want to move forward, because it’s the only thing I can do. I want to keep counting up my new best days, stacking them all up like firewood to get me through the winter, because without that, I’m lost again. You understand that, don’t you? You see why I hate focusing on anything other than what we have right now.”

“Yes,” Jason whispered, pulling Ben close. “You’re right.” It still wasn’t fair. It infuriated him, knowing what Ben had gone through. But Ben had moved past his anger and his bitterness. He’d long since learned to see only the positive. Indeed, it was his bright, amazing happiness that made him so appealing. It was his ability to find joy in everything that made Jason cherish his company so much. “I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again.”

“It’s okay.” Ben settled against him. “I know it freaks you out, and honestly, I appreciate it. I like knowing that at least one person will know what I’ve been through. But for myself, I’d rather not dwell on it.” He nestled closer. “I’d rather dwell on
this
if you don’t mind.”

“I definitely don’t.” Jason kissed Ben’s dark hair and stroked his back. “I’m happy to give you all kinds of fun things to dwell on.”

Ben tilted his head up, lowering his lashes. His expression was so simple and inviting, Jason’s blood stirred. Ben moved his hands down Jason’s chest to the drawstring of Jason’s pajama pants. “Ever since I saw you on that balcony with Dylan, I’ve wondered what it was like.” His hand slid inside to cup Jason’s groin. “I figured I’d never have the chance to find out, but now . . .” He rose on his toes so they could kiss, and Jason moaned as his cock began to harden, Ben’s warm fingers sliding silkily up his length. “Especially now that I know how good it feels,” he continued breathlessly, “I want to do it for you.”

Jason put his hand against Ben’s cheek, ran his thumb over Ben’s gorgeous mouth. “I’d be lying if I said the same thought hadn’t ever occurred to me.”

“I might not do it right.”

“You’d have a hard time doing it wrong.”

Ben’s lips spread into a smile. He slid Jason’s pants down, over his hips. Once they’d landed on the floor around Jason’s ankles, Ben kissed him again, gently pushed him backward onto the couch. He sank to his knees between Jason’s legs and stopped there, his lips parted, his eyes heavy-lidded with arousal. Jason moaned, eager to feel Ben’s mouth on him, but knowing he wouldn’t last long once they got started.

“I don’t want to wake up yet.”

“Are you saying you want me to stop?” Ben asked, smiling up at him.

Was he? It wasn’t an easy choice. “I want the best of both worlds. I want to still be here when this is over.”

“I want that too.” Ben leaned forward to run the tip of his tongue up Jason’s erection, and Jason gasped, arching his back, gripping the couch to keep from grabbing Ben’s head. “Maybe,” Ben said quietly, “we just need practice.”

“Good idea,” Jason moaned. “Oh God, that’s a really good idea.”

Ding-dong
.

“Did you hear that?” Jason asked, sitting up.

Ben blinked at him in confusion. “I didn’t hear anything.”

But the whole room wavered. Jason’s vision began to go dark, and the reality of what was happening hit him hard. “No, goddamn it,” he swore, grabbing Ben’s arm, trying to keep his focus in the cabin. Trying to ground himself there with Ben. “I don’t want to wake up yet!”

Ding-dong
.

Too late.

He started awake in his bed, the snow globe in his hand, the sound of the doorbell echoing through his house. He was a bit surprised to find he was still wearing the clothes he’d fallen asleep in.

“Shit!” A glance at the clock showed him it was after eight. He’d been in the globe for more than four hours, although it hadn’t felt like that long at all.

He left the globe on his bed and headed downstairs, not caring if he answered the door with a very obvious tent in his pants. He just wanted to tell whoever it was to fuck off and never come back. Then he’d do whatever it took to get back into Ben’s world. This was twice now they’d been interrupted by the doorbell. He was tempted to rip the thing out of the wall so it never happened again.

It seemed like a solid plan.

He was halfway down the stairs when the pain hit, sudden and excruciating, like a sledgehammer slamming into his head. It wrenched through his upper back and spiked up his neck, culminating somewhere behind his sinuses. He fell forward, bent in half by the agony, and stumbled down the last few steps to land in a pile on the floor, holding his head in his hands.

The doorbell rang again, followed by pounding. The sounds registered in his brain, but only barely. He glanced up, saw Sheriff Ross squinting in through the window next to the door, her brow creased with concern.

The pain hit again, worse than before, driving to the front of his brain, exploding over his eyes. Jason screamed, clutching his head in his arms, wondering if he was dying. Wondering if one of the killers from his backlist of horror movies had truly murdered him. Only an axe cleaving through his skull could explain such torment. He retched violently, his head pounding harder with the effort. He wasn’t sure if he’d vomited blood or if the pain was causing him to see red.

His front door crashed open, and everything went black.

The pain didn’t stop though. The pain went on and on.

Jason spent the next few hours in a drug-induced haze while doctors and nurses buzzed around him, poking him with needles and asking him over and over again what kind of illicit substances he’d used. He wasn’t sure what he told them. They’d given him enough painkillers to turn the entire incident into a dreamlike farce, but there was nothing dreamlike about waking up in the hospital the next morning as a blood pressure cuff tightened around his left arm.

“Feeling better?” the nurse next to his bed asked.

Jason put a hand over his eyes. His head still hurt, although nothing like before. It’d resolved into a run-of-the-mill headache. The blood pressure cuff released its grip with a hiss. “What happened?”

“We’re still trying to figure that out. The sheriff found you and called for an ambulance. You were conscious, but incomprehensible. We assumed an overdose—”

“I didn’t take anything.” He realized after he said it that he’d lied. “That’s not true. I took a sleeping pill. But only one.” Was that right? “Maybe two. But not any more than that, I’m sure.”

“I know. Toxicology came back clean.”

Jason sniffed, catching the acrid odor of vomit. “Did somebody throw up?”

“You did.”

“Fantastic.” Jason peeked through his fingers to find the nurse changing the IV bag hanging next to his bed. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Honestly, we don’t know. The doctors are stumped. It might have been some kind of seizure, or you might have suffered a small
aneurysm
.”

“That’s serious, isn’t it?”

“It can be,” she said, holding up her hands in a soothing gesture, “but I’m not saying that’s what happened. They have a lot more tests to run. Now that you’re lucid, maybe you can answer some questions for me.”

“I can try.”

“What were you doing before the attack?”

“Napping.”

“In the middle of the day?”

“I didn’t get a lot of sleep the night before.”

“So you took a sleeping pill?”

“Right.”

“Did you eat anything unusual, or have any pain or disorientation before the nap?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“Did you hit your head on anything?”

“No.”

“Can you think of anything else that may explain this? Other than napping, did you do anything at all out of the ordinary?”

“No,” Jason lied. “I can’t think of anything.” Nothing except four hours spent in a magic snow globe with a one-hundred-seventy-year-old lover who had no pulse, but there was no point in bringing that up. Then they’d insist on running a whole different kind of test.

“Okay,” the nurse said. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake. He’ll be in soon. He’ll probably ask you all the same questions, but he should be able to give you a few answers too.”

The nurse turned out to be wrong. The doctor talked and talked and talked, but he had no explanation. In the end, it all boiled down to one thing: they had no clue what had gone wrong. They drew more blood and ordered a slew of tests, and told him to get some rest.

“All I need is a shower and I’ll be right as rain,” he assured them.

They allowed the shower, but sent him straight back to his bed when he was done. He lay there, thinking about the globe, and his pain. Maybe he should tell them. Maybe he should let them run whatever tests they wanted, even if they were psychological rather than neurological. He winced at the thought, but a psychotic break explained more than he cared to admit.

Still, Jason held his tongue.

Around noon, Sheriff Ross swaggered into his room, wearing a jaunty grin and a brown felt, wide-brimmed sheriff’s hat. “Well, you don’t look dead after all. How’s the head?”

“Better.” The shower had helped, as did the morphine drip they’d hooked up to his IV. “I’m glad you were there though. Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Forget it.” She waved his gratitude off and perched on the edge of his bed. “I’d be a pretty lousy sheriff if I left a man moaning in his own puke.”

Jason winced at the mental image. “I can’t wait to get home and clean that up.”

“We have a service who can do it for you, but it ain’t free. As long as you don’t mind being billed—”

“I don’t.”

“I’ll call them this afternoon. Any idea when you’ll be released?”

“Not today. Beyond that, no. They haven’t told me.”

“Is there anybody I can call for you? Family?”

“No.”

“Friends?”

His first thought was Dylan. But no. He’d worked so hard to convince Dylan to leave. The last thing he wanted to do was call him back now. Besides, it was Wednesday. Dylan was right in the middle of a shoot. “There’s nobody.”

He saw the pity in her eyes, although she at least kept it to herself rather than gushing all over him about it. “I’d like to get your house locked up. I had to leave it open when the ambulance came, because I didn’t want you to be locked out. Most people around here could leave their door open every single day of the year and never be robbed, but you being a celebrity and all . . .” She shook her head. “The whole reason I knocked on your door was to tell you I caught somebody sneaking onto your property.”

“Last night?”

“Yep. I was driving by, doing a routine sweep and spotted a car parked across from your drive. Caught the photographer a few yards past the gate and sent him on his way, but figured I’d fill you in.”

“Good timing.” But then the entirety of what she was telling him sunk in. “You’re saying there are reporters crawling around my property, and my house is sitting there unlocked?”

“Unlocked, but not unattended. I’ve had a deputy sitting on it all this time, but honestly, it’s a pretty inefficient use of my manpower. Which is why I need to know where your keys are so I can bring them here to you.”

“Okay,” he said, relieved. “They’re probably on a hook by the door. Or on that little table in the entryway. Or the coffee table.” He rubbed his temples and groaned. “Or maybe on the dining room table, now that I think about it. Or in my coat pocket.”

“I’ll find them, as long as you don’t mind me looking.”

“Knock yourself out.”

“Is there anything else you need while I’m there? A change of clothes? Toothbrush? Something to read?”

“They gave me a toothbrush, but some sweats would be great if you can find them.” Who knew what had happened to the pants he’d been wearing, and the loose hospital gown left his back half far more exposed than he liked. “And my cell phone. It’s probably plugged into the charger on that table by the door. Or maybe in the kitchen. Or on my bedside table. Or—”