Run to Ground(49)

“Whatcha doing, creeper?” Hugh rasped without opening his eyes. The amused quiver at the corner of Hugh’s mouth pissed off Theo even more. “You going to smother me with a pillow or kiss me like I’m Sleeping Beauty?”

Silently, Theo turned to leave, but Hugh caught his arm before he could step away from the bed. When Theo reluctantly turned back around, he saw Hugh’s suggestion of a smile had turned into a full-fledged grin.

“C’mon, man.” Hugh’s voice still sounded rough, but it was definitely amused. “I’m in the hospital after almost dying. There was lots of blood and everything. This is the one time you have to be really nice to me.”

At the mention of blood, Theo went cold. He was immediately back there, trying to hold back the flood that trickled through his fingers, draining Hugh’s life away. Theo stared at the IV stand next to the bed, focused on the half-filled bag of clear liquid. All his fear and helplessness tangled together in his stomach, but Theo squeezed his hands into fists and stomped the emotions into bits, until all he felt was the usual rage.

“Theo?” Hugh’s tone wasn’t joking anymore.

“Fuck off,” Theo muttered, attempting to turn away again, but Hugh’s fingers tightened. It would’ve been easy to free himself of Hugh’s grip, but there seemed something so wrong about taking advantage of the other man’s weakness when he was in the hospital. When he had nearly died.

Theo’s throat tightened, restricting his breathing.

Hugh gave his arm a little shake. “Why are you pissed? I figured you’d be happy—okay, so maybe not happy, since the whole dancing-on-a-mountain-top thing really isn’t your style, but at least mildly content—that I’d survived. It was thanks to you I made it. If I’d lost much more blood…” Hugh finished with a wordless squeeze right below Theo’s elbow.

That grip felt like it was at his throat. Despite its good intentions, despite its gentleness, that hand was strangling him. Theo barely managed to force out a lie. “I’m not pissed.”

Hugh actually laughed. It was the shadow of his former laugh, but it was still a laugh. Theo stared harder at the IV stand, rubbing his hand against his skull, back and forth across the short strands of hair that were just long enough not to be bristly. “Liar. You’re in a constant state of pissed off. What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Theo repeated. The sheer ridiculousness of the question forced him to finally fix his glare on Hugh. “What’s wrong?”

“Yeah.” That touch of humor was back, and Theo wanted to punch it out of him. “Besides this mess, of course.” He gestured to his blanket-covered form.

Theo opened his mouth, the angry words rushing into his throat, but then he clamped his lips together without letting them fly. His rage wasn’t logical. If he tried to explain it, to yell at Hugh for laughing when he’d almost died—the way Don had died—the words wouldn’t make any sense. Swallowing the tirade that wanted to spill from him, Theo just muttered, “That mess is enough.”

His smile fading, Hugh studied him for a moment. “Yeah, it is. Sorry.”

Hugh’s serious response stole his anger, just blew it out from underneath Theo, creating a void. Other emotions started to creep in—fear and grief and sheer gratitude that Hugh hadn’t died. They were overwhelming, stripping Theo raw and leaving him vulnerable.

Unable to hold Hugh’s gaze for a new reason that had nothing to do with anger, Theo returned to studying the IV. Once again, he had no words. All he could do was give a choppy jerk of his head to acknowledge Hugh’s apology—an apology that made no sense. After all, he hadn’t done this to himself. Not like Don.

“So what’s going on? They find the asshole yet?”

Pathetically grateful for the change of subject, Theo said, “No. By the time ERU made entry, he was gone.”

“Shit.” Hugh shifted his weight with a stifled wince that Theo pretended not to see. “They get anything? Prints? A witness? A signed confession? A piece of chewed gum? A gun?”

A corner of Theo’s mouth twitched. Leave it to Hugh to be lying in a hospital bed after being shot and still dreaming of unicorns and rainbows. “One casing the shooter missed when cleaning up. Forty-caliber.”

His face brightening, Hugh opened his mouth, but Theo knocked him off his hopeful horse before he could ask the question. “No prints.”

His disappointed expression quickly slipped away, replaced by thoughtfulness. “Forty-cal? I would’ve sworn he was using a rifle.”