Found at the Library (4 page)

Digging through the piles of clothes on the floor, he looked for something clean that would make him look reputable enough to get a straight answer from the doctors. His torn, ink-splattered jeans and T-shirt yesterday hadn’t done him any favors, and he needed them to take him seriously.

He ran his hand over his face. Exhaustion pulled at him. How many hours had it been since he’d gotten any sleep? It had been at least two days since he’d found his brother, Ryder, possibly even three. He’d lost track somewhere along the way. But that’s what happened when a person found the only family they had left unconscious and dying from a drug overdose.

Finally, he located a dark pair of jeans that didn’t have stains or rips. That would have to do. Since he spent his life inside a studio that was about as dressy as he got. He figured the suit he bought for last night’s showing would be too much. Besides he’d bought that for something happy. To wear it now seemed like a travesty, and he didn’t want to do anything else to piss Lady Karma off today.

He dropped the towel and stuck one foot in the leg of the jeans when he heard movement behind him. He swung around, got tangled in the jeans, and crashed to the floor naked. He looked up into the eyes of the guy who’d been haunting his dreams for almost two months.

***

That tight ass, with high, muscular cheeks, was the first thing Mac saw when he entered the room in search of the artist. Then the whole, very fine, body turned and shifted. Mac’s nerves caught fire as he recognized that curly mop of hair. The look of complete surprise on the man’s face would have been humorous if it hadn’t precluded his hard tumble to the floor. This was the guy from the book sale. Tommy.

And he was naked.

So naked.

Mac knew he shouldn’t, but he looked. This man had a body that looked so much better than Mac had ever suspected...long lean muscles that were slightly defined, a nice dusting of chest hair, and nipples the color of his favorite candy caramels. Mac just thought insomnia had plagued him before. From now on, every time he closed his eyes, this vision would fill his mental picture. And wow, what a vision it was.

Despite being tall, Tommy’s long legs and limbs complemented his broad shoulders and hard chest that narrowed to his tapered waist. And there it was... holy cow, his cock was impressive, even in its completely relaxed state.

Mac tilted his head. Well, maybe not quite so relaxed as Tommy’s dick began to harden under Mac’s gaze.

“Hey, perv,” the man yelled as he tried to cover himself with his hands. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Get the hell out of my loft. This is private property.”

Despite his hands shielding the member, Tommy’s cock hardened more. The sight gave Mac ideas...ideas he hadn’t had in years. When was the last time he’d had the urge to bottom?

But as he glanced up at the red-face of the beautiful man, Mac realized the guy was right. Damn, he was being a pervert. Mac turned his back to allow Tommy to untangle his long, muscular legs from his jeans in private.

“Sorry,” Mac said. “I wasn’t expecting you to be naked, and then I got overwhelmed by the sight of all that luscious skin of yours. You’re right, that was pervy of me and I apologize for it, but I’m assuming you’re Thomas Garrett.”

Clothing rustled behind him.

“Yeah, and who are you so I can give the right information when I call the police?”

Mac winced. Yeah, this wasn’t the way he wanted to start off this relationship...again. What was it about this guy that made him lose all his basic social graces? “I apologize. I’d hoped to be a patron of your art. And in my defense, the door below was unlocked.”

“An oversight on my part,” Tommy grumbled.

“Listen, this is difficult to do when I can’t see you. Can I turn around yet?”

“Yeah, I’m decent, but I’m leaving, so whatever your business is, it will have to wait.”

Mac turned, and unfortunately, this time Tommy was fully clothed, not that those clothes detracted from his beauty at all. What detracted were the shadows of exhaustion on the planes of the man’s beautiful face and the dark circles under his eyes. He hadn’t noticed that in his initial perusal.

The artist shoved a phone and wallet into his pocket, shrugged on his jacket, and completely ignored Mac. Mac had to talk to him, and it would take longer than a rushed two minutes.

“I really want to talk to you,” Mac said. “I can make it worth your while.”

Tommy ran a hand over his face, and his palpable exhaustion pulled at Mac.

For some reason, he wanted to fix whatever hurt this man, make it better. He didn’t even know the artist, and selflessness was not part of Mac’s normal modus operandi. The entire situation puzzled him.

“I could use the money, so I’d like to hear what you have to say.” Tommy laughed harshly like he’d heard some sort of macabre joke in that statement. “But I don’t have time. My store is closed. My studio is closed. My brain is closed. I don’t have the energy for this.” He waved a hand at Mac. “Or for you this morning. I have to get back to the hospital.”

Someone was hurt or sick, and suddenly the pieces started to fall into place. Why T. Garrett had missed such an important event last night. Why the loft apartment looked like a disaster even though his studio showed signs of a fastidious person who was normally very organized and tidy. Mac doubted Tommy was only meticulous and neat in his art studio, so something had gone very wrong in his life in the last few days.

Downstairs had also looked as if Tommy had just come in and breezed through, doing only the absolutely necessary for a few days now. Christmas décor decorated the store below, but the store had the stale air of disuse. Most shops counted on December sales to make it through the rest of the year. Even with the prestigious gallery showing at Stig’s, this struggling artist couldn’t be that different.

That solidified the idea he couldn’t let this man go without helping. He didn’t know him, but meeting him two months ago had changed something integral in Mac’s life. He needed to honor that. “How long has it been since you ate?” he asked Tommy. “I’m guessing by looking at you, you’re living off coffee at this point.”

“Hot tea, actually.”

That brought Mac to a halt. “Really? I would have taken you for a java man.”

Tommy shrugged. “My mom...” He looked a bit lost for a moment.

“Okay, it doesn’t matter. You’re in a hurry. Do you need anything else here?”

Tommy looked around his loft, looking confused and overwhelmed. “Um, my charger and my iPod?”

“I saw both down in your studio.” Mac had gotten a glimpse of the studio space when he’d come in. The front section of the open downstairs space operated as a small store filled with book-themed gift items surrounded by simpler pieces of T. Garrett’s art. The storefront opened up to the studio, separated by a waist-high wrought iron railing to keep customers out of the artist’s workspace. It featured a two-story wall filled with books, complete with a rolling ladder. It was any bibliophile’s wet dream.

The studio showcased a huge worktable piled high with books and partially completed works of art. That wall of books and the art Tommy created with them had overwhelmed Mac when he’d first walked in. Several of the pieces were works in progress. But if they lived up to their promising start, they’d blow the showpieces at the gallery away.

“I’ll grab them from the studio while you get something to eat from your kitchen,” Mac told him.

Tommy hesitated for a moment, the obvious urge to argue crossing his face.

Mac distracted him. “What hospital?”

“Why?” Tommy asked distrustfully.

“Because you’re too tired to drive safely, and you can’t help whoever is there if you end up in the room next to them. You also need to eat, and you can do that while I drive you.”

“Why? Why would you do that? You don’t even know me, and what you do know hasn’t exactly involved pleasant exchanges.”

Mac wanted to tell the truth about how drawn he was to him, how he’d haunted him since the library book sale, but didn’t think the guy would believe him, and he didn’t want to argue with him anymore. Although the truth of exactly why would probably take Mac a few hours to figure out himself. Tommy needed help, and Mac needed to be the one to give it. So he lied. “I came here this morning because I want something from you, and when this emergency is over, I’ll still want to talk to you about it.”

Tommy nodded as if that made complete sense to him, and that made Mac sad for him. Did no one help him without getting something in return?

He gently pushed Tommy toward the kitchen. “Get food, and I’ll grab the other stuff.”

Seven minutes later, Mac drove down the highway at the wheel of Tommy’s vintage truck. He glanced over at Tommy, who’d fallen asleep almost immediately when the truck started moving. Relaxed in repose, Tommy looked even more exhausted. The hollows under his eyes had darkened until it looked like he had two, bruised, black eyes. Whoever was in the hospital meant a lot to him if he was driving himself this hard.

Tommy had grabbed a Pop-Tart as they left the house, but had only taken a couple of bites of it before it had dropped into his lap as he nodded off. Mac grimaced at the processed sugar treat. Tommy needed more nutrition than that to get through the day, and traffic was already horrendous, so he pulled off the highway and into the drive-through of the closest golden arches. This still wasn’t healthy, but at least there’d be something more to fuel Tommy for the day.

Mac ordered four breakfast sandwiches, one huge coffee, and a couple of hot teas, and then got back on the highway to the hospital. Tommy never stirred.

As he drove, Mac glanced around the interior of the vintage truck, trying to find insight into
her
owner. The vehicle was immaculate, which reinforced Mac’s thought that Tommy’s life had spun out of control, and he needed help to get it back on an even keel. That’s the only thing that explained the messy apartment.

The truck had been refurbished in keeping with the 1940’s era when she’d been created. The inside featured art deco, shiny, chrome details. The leather seats were color blocked in Kelly green and tan. The interior smelled like Tommy, which meant he drove it regularly, although that scintillating scent was starting to be overridden by the aromas of the takeout breakfast. How did Mac already know Tommy’s scent? Something to muse about later.

A key on a chain hung off the mirror. As it spun in the morning light, Mac could see something had been embossed into the top of it. At the next break in traffic, he reached up and twisted it so he could see.

Do Epic Shit.

Mac smiled. That fit with the man he barely knew but would like to get to know better. He needed a plan for how to make this all work. Tommy was exhausted now, which explained why he’d given in so easily this morning. Mac knew that reprieve would only be temporary, so he had to take advantage while he could.

Looking at the key gave him an idea. He glanced over at Tommy, still oblivious to the world and glanced down at the key fob attached to the ignition. He gently worked the keys and removed the one he would need for later. He’d just gotten it clear of the key ring when they arrived at the big parking garage outside the hospital. Mac pulled into it, parked the car, turned it off, and gently shook Tommy awake.

When Tommy’s eyes fluttered open, they met Mac’s gaze and were all soft and dewy with sleep. He would have sworn they were grey before, but now they looked deep, moss green.

Tommy gave him a half smile that took Mac’s breath away. What would it take to get to wake up to that sweet face every morning?

But just as quickly, Tommy became aware of his surroundings and sat up with a jolt. “I’m sorry. I must have fallen asleep. What time is it?”

“Almost eight,” Mac said.

“Fuck, I have to go. The doctor makes his rounds at eight. I need to be there for that.”

“Okay,” Mac said and handed him the food.

Tommy frowned at the paper bag.

“You need something more to get you through the day than a half-eaten Pop-Tart, so I drove through a fast food joint and bought you some food. Take it with you, and eat it when you can. It’ll help you feel better.”

Tommy’s eyes widened. “You didn’t have to—”

“I know, but I wanted to. Who’s in the hospital, Tommy?”

“My brother, Ryder.” Tommy ran a hand through those soft curls and looked away as he clenched his jaw. He tried to hide it, but pure pain reflected in his eyes. Mac wanted to help, wanted to comfort, wanted to touch those curls himself, but now wasn’t the time.

“I hope he’s better soon. I’ll be in touch.” He handed the keys to Tommy, and they got out of the car.

Tommy pocketed them, none the wiser to Mac’s theft.

***

Tommy glanced down at the clock on his cell phone as he sprinted up the stairs to the third floor ICU. He didn’t have time to wait for the slow and overcrowded elevators this morning.

As he approached his brother’s hospital room, the doctor he wanted to speak to stepped out. Relief washed over him. He hadn’t missed him. “Dr. Phillips, please tell me you have some good news for me this morning.”

Dr. Phillips looked up at Tommy, and his expression quickly fell into derision. Something about this guy made Tommy feel like he was personally responsible for cutting into the doctor’s golf tee times. Tommy wouldn’t give a flying fuck except he needed this doctor to keep Ryder alive. He had to suck it up when it came to the doc’s bad attitude.

“What did the tests this morning show?” Tommy asked.

“That your brother appears to be one of the lucky ones despite his stupid actions. According to the EEG, his brain is showing more activity, and it looks like he’s coming out of the coma.”

“Oh, thank God. So, that means he’ll recover, right?”

The doctor gave a deep, long-suffering sigh, and Tommy clenched his jaw. He’d really like to lay this guy low, but he wouldn’t. He would stay polite if it killed him.

“His long-term prognosis is hard to determine at this point, but after his previous brain damage, it would be prudent for you to be prepared that he may not ever fully recover from this.”