Page 22 of Torch Songs

Guthrie swallowed, and suddenly the night hit him full force. His hand hurt likefire,and his jaw and neck and shoulders felt like he’d been in a car wreck. This once, he wasn’t pulling himself together on his own—a thing he’d had to do even with the last two boyfriends he’d tried to have—and maybe he should take advantage of it while it lasted.

“Sure,” he said, swallowing. “Thank you.”

Tad sighed and set the eggs and cheese on the counter, along with a tomato and some ham. “C’mere,” he murmured, and to Guthrie’s surprise, he pulled Guthrie close—close enough for their chests to touch—and rubbed his nose gently along the unswollen side of Guthrie’s jaw.

“You don’t need to be so prickly around me,” Tad murmured, doing nothing more than breathing him in. “I swear, I’m not going to go in for the kill. I’m not going to steal your lunch money or beat you up more or make fun of you for having a shitty night. We don’t know each other well yet, but I promise I just want to fix you something to eat and make sure you get some sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” Guthrie mumbled, and for a moment he leaned his head against Tad’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now go change. Food’ll be hot when you’re done.”

Guthrie grabbed a plastic bag on his way out to keep his stitches dry and took advantage of Tad’s presence—of his care—to take a shower. He’d been smelling his own pain sweat all night and was about done with that.

He grabbed some flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt when he emerged from the bathroom. He felt cleaner, but the full weight of his exhaustion had hit him in the shower, and after dressing, it was all he could do to stagger down the short hall to the living room and sprawl on the couch.

He glanced up as Tad brought him a bowl, bottom wrapped securely in a clean dishtowel.

“Ketchup or no ketchup?” he asked.

“Definitely ketchup,” Guthrie told him, and Tad pulled the squeeze bottle out of his back pocket and squeezed until Guthrie told him to stop.

He disappeared into the kitchen again and came out with his own bowl and two bottles of… water?

“I thought it was going to be beer,” Guthrie mumbled through a mouthful of eggs. Delicious eggs. Hot, scrambled with the tomatoes, cheese, and ham, he’d never had anything so wonderful as these damned eggs.

“You need to take a painkiller,” Tad murmured. “No beer.”

“Mm fine.” Guthrie was on his next mouthful of eggs, suddenly wondering what he’d eaten that day besides soup.

The answer was a resoundingnothing, and when he set his empty bowl down on the coffee table, he was almost tearful he felt so much better.

“Painkiller’s there,” Tad gestured with his fork as he polished off his own eggs. “I found it in the cupboard. New prescription, so I’m assuming you haven’t had anything more than Advil since you left for the gig.”

“You’re assuming right.” Now that he didn’t have to play, Guthrie had no problem knocking back the Vicodin. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Tad told him, setting his own bowl down. He grabbed the remote control from the coffee table, leaned back, and patted his chest. “Now come here and lay your head on me while I watch some television.”

Guthrie stared at him for a moment and then did what he asked. “This is it?” he mumbled, the comforting, glorious strength under his cheek feeling like a reward for things he hadn’t known he’d done.

“Snuggling on the couch? Absolutely. Buddy, I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but you’re cooked and done.”

“So cooked and done,” Guthrie mumbled. “But this is nice. I’m sorry, though. I had… hopes. You know. We texted for two weeks. Does that count as a date?”

“Looking to get laid?” Tad asked dryly. He found an old sitcom, something innocuous that Guthrie enjoyed too, and let the television sit there, sound on low.

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “What are the rules here?”

“Mm….” Tad kissed the crown of his head. “The rules are that if you want us to move to that level, you tell me and see where I am.”

“Oh God. So grown up. You’re making a lot of assumptions there, buddy.”

“I am,” Tad admitted. “But that’s not the one that has you worried.”

“You gonna tell me what has me worried?” Guthrie asked, wondering how transparent he really was.

“You’re worried that you’re going to trust me and I’m going to let you down,” Tad murmured. “No, don’t say anything. Don’t deny it. You may not know this, but Iama trained detective.”

Guthrie snorted slightly. “So I’ve heard.”

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