TAKING OVER TROFIM (Dominion of Brothers series Book 4) (40 page)

Pyotr could not imagine any other lover he could possibly have that would be able to sit with him so many hours and not go out of his mind. Despite their age difference he could never find a better man to share his life with.

“You want me to bring something up?”

“Tea will suit me.” Pyotr watched the young man as he left then picked up his book and began reading aloud again. Reading to his brother like he used to when they were kids, like he did when Kimmi’s health began to fail:

“I remember going to the British Museum one day to read up the treatment for some slight ailment of which I had a touch - hay fever, I fancy it was. I got down the book, and read all I came to read; and then, in an unthinking moment, I idly turned the leaves, and began to indolently study diseases, generally. I forget which was the first distemper I plunged into - some fearful, devastating scourge, I know - and, before I had glanced half down the list of "premonitory symptoms," it was borne in upon me that I had fairly got it.

I sat for awhile, frozen with horror; and then, in the listlessness of despair, I again turned over the pages. I came to typhoid fever - read the symptoms - discovered that I had typhoid fever, must have had it for months without knowing it - wondered what else I had got; turned up St. Vitus's Dance - found, as I expected, that I had that too, - began to get interested in my case, and determined to sift it to the bottom, and so started alphabetically - read up ague, and learnt that I was sickening for it, and that the acute stage would commence in about another fortnight. Bright's disease, I was relieved to find, I had only in a modified form, and, so far as that was concerned, I might live for years. Cholera I had, with severe complications; and diphtheria I seemed to have been born with. I plodded conscientiously through the twenty-six letters, and the only malady I could conclude I had not got was housemaid's knee.

I felt rather hurt about this at first; it seemed somehow to be a sort of slight. Why hadn't I got housemaid's knee? Why this invidious reservation? After a while, however, less grasping feelings prevailed. I reflected that I had every other known malady in the pharmacology, and I grew less selfish, and determined to do without housemaid's knee. Gout, in its most malignant stage, it would appear, had seized me without my being aware of it; and zymosis I had evidently been suffering with from boyhood. There were no more diseases after zymosis, so I concluded there was nothing else the matter with me.”

“You have Zymosis?” A dry cracked voice asked from the bed.

Pyotr twisted in his seat, finding his little brother’s eyes peeking open past swollen lids. “Good thing you didn’t wake while I was reading Frankenstein yesterday.”

~  *  ~

Trofim blinked against the haze that bogged down his mind but he was sure he managed to create a twisted expression on his face, though it hurt to do so. Pyotr must have meant that as some form of humor, but he wasn’t exactly picking up on the pun.  He was missing the punch line somehow. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital.”

Trofim’s gaze darted about the room seeing for the first time the tubes that ran down his arms and wires to his chest. He shot his eyes towards the ceiling where a streaming image full of pain ghosted back into his memories.

Pyotr put the book down, moved to sit up on the edge of the bed and took Trofim’s hand in his, “Do you remember what happened to you, Trofim?”

Trofim’s gaze came back to meet with his, something was haunting him, but the words didn’t come so easily. His lips twitched as he tried to decipher the images in his head. “I went practicing on my own. I needed to burn off some energy. I was worried about Shay.” His fingers came up to his lips testing the tenderness he felt in them, “Shay had gone up state to face his dad after coming out to the girl they were trying to make him marry. I was afraid I’d never see him again.”

“Did you row? Do you remember going out on the river?”

Trofim’s eyes wandered a moment then came back to him and he nodded. “Yes. I must have been out there for a couple of hours. I remember my muscles were burning really bad from over doing it.”

~  *  ~

“Then what? You got back to the boathouse and what happened next?” Pyotr bottled his own feelings, keeping them behind the mask he had developed over the years in his profession, but it was harder when it came to his own.
The police photos of Trofim forced over the bench and tied where men had beaten and molested him, then spray painted his body with the word ‘queer’. Those photos would haunt Pyotr for a long time, and it would bother him none if Trofim never remembered.

Trofim’s face distorted painfully and he ripped his hand from Pyotr’s grip bringing them both to his eyes, hiding behind his fists and the tears came with an anguished cry, “I was coming up the stairs. Someone was up there waiting. Someone grabbed me from behind, they put something over my head. I couldn’t see who but I felt it.” Trofim dropped his hands, his eyes wide staring into his brother’s with the horror he’d gone through. “How bad?” His eyes now looking over his body, his arms, the number of cuts and bruises he saw. He felt the bandage on his chest but Pyotr grabbed his hands before he could look.

“You’re alive.” Pyotr sighed, grateful for that part, “Thanks to Shay.”

Trofim’s direction shifted, glancing around the room looking for the missing man. “What did his father do to him? Please, tell me he’s okay.”

“He’s fine.” And Pyotr left it at that.

“Where is he?”

Pyotr idled back a little, “He’s stepped out. He had to go take care of something.”

“In other words, he went back to playing it straight for his father to protect me.”

“No, don’t do that. Shay hasn’t left your side until just this morning.”

“Why did he?”

Pyotr took a deep breath, He had his suspicions as to the why but that was for Shay to say not him. “I’m not certain but he had called to meet with the detective in charge of your case.”

~  *  ~

Trofim tried to shift but found his body too limp or rather too numb to move properly. “I feel numb. Am I okay?”

“You’ll be fine.” Pyotr stood and helped his little brother find a comfortable position in the bed. “It’s the morphine.”

“I’m tired.”

“I’ll read to you. That always helps you sleep.”

“That was when I was little.”

“You still are to me.” Pyotr gave him a warm grin. Then settled back down in the chair next to him, picked up his book and began to read to him.

Trofim listened for a bit. He wasn’t exactly able to follow along, his head was too groggy to absorb the story, but the words at least kept other thoughts from drifting to the forefront. And then it occurred to him his brother was reading in English. “Since when do you read anything but Serbian?”

His brother let out a soft chuckle, “Since Cliff got upset because he couldn’t understand.”

“Cliff’s here?”

“I haven’t left your side. He hasn’t left mine.”

Tears spilled from Trofim’s eyes, “Can you call Shay for me.”

“I’m already here, my love.” A warm voice came from the door.

Trofim’s eyes shot across to his lover, pain and relief ripped through him, and his chest heaved from the onslaught of emotions he was feeling.

Shay rushed over, eased down on the edge of the bed and leaned in smothering him with kisses. “Thank god.” His hands moved over him lightly wanting to touch but knew Trofim’s bruised skin couldn’t take it, “I was afraid I was going to lose you forever.” He kissed him more. Tears came and smudged against Trofim’s fresh tears as he pressed his face against his. They hardly noticed when Pyotr got up and left them alone.

“Why weren’t you here? I woke up and I was afraid you’d left me.”

“Never. You’re mine, damn you. I keep telling you this.” Shay lifted Trofim’s hand and settled it against his cheek, while he touched their foreheads to share the same breath. “But I had to make sure no one could ever do this to you again.”

Trofim shook his head. No one could make those kinds of promises. He made the futile attempt to push Shay back to look in his face.

Shay felt the push and leaned back some, but wouldn’t let too much space come between them. He couldn’t, not just yet.

Trofim shook his head, “I don’t understand. How can you prevent—” his voice trailed off and horror flashed across his face as his focus zeroed in on the bruises on Shay’s face, “You know who did this, don’t you? Your father? He did this?” Trofim’s chest began heaving with pain and panic.

Shay pulled him up, wrapping around him and held him as tight as he dared, rocking and crooning him to calm down. His lover’s heart could not take this excitement, but there had been no way to prevent it either. “Shhh. Please don’t be frightened right now. You’re safe.”

“No. We’ll never be safe. He’ll do it again.” Trofim argued into Shay’s shoulder.

“No, he won’t. I made sure of it. He’ll never be able to touch you ever again.” He kissed the top of his lover’s head. “Never again.”

Trofim’s head fell back looking at him through glazed eyes, “How?”

“I had him arrested.”

Trofim shook his head, “No he’ll get out of it just like before.”

Shay squeezed Trofim to him. The truth and the pain he felt was hard to swallow. He didn’t want to dump this all on Trofim not moments after he’d just woken up for the first time. “Shhh, sleep now.”

“Not until you tell me how we’re supposed to be safe.” Trofim was already drifting. Shay knew if he waited it out Trofim would be out cold again, but what kind of sleep would he have? Nightmares that chased him into the dark confines of his mind? Shay’d been around the hospital patients long enough to know the medical consequences of a stressed patient. Trofim needed sleep but he needed to sleep in peace.

“He was there. H-he—” he swallowed hard. “He hit you and left a bruise that matched his ring on your cheek.” Shay pressed his lips against Trofim’s temple, refusing to let go when he squirmed in his arms. “When the detectives picked him up today they found a pair of shoes in his closet that matched the bruise on your chest, and they had your blood on them. It was him. They arrested him for several counts of conspiracy and attempted murder.”

They were both silent for some time. Shay rocked him, caressed his back and head to ease Trofim back to sleep. Then he lowered him down to the bed and sat watching over him. Listening to his heart as it beat out that it was still alive. Shay loved that sound, maybe even more than the sound of Trofim’s moans of pleasure right now. It was such a security for him he didn’t even move when he heard someone walk in.

“So, how’s our patient, Doctor?” Pavle asked as he stepped up to the bed and was instantly looking over the cardiogram read outs. He pointed to the upset and gave Shay a questioning glance.

Shay sat up but didn’t try hiding the sullenness in his voice, feeling the shame already. “I told him I had my father arrested.”

“That must have been hard on you. Watching him be arrested?”

“No.” Shay’s answer came without a second’s hesitation, “Only hard part was knowing that someone I was related to, tried to kill the only man I’ve ever loved and thought he would get away with it.” Shay’s brow furrowed into deep creases but then let it out with a long sigh that dispelled the shadows of his past. “Now the only thing I have to worry about is making my husband-to-be happy.”

“Sounds like a great future.” Pavle smiled and nodded at him before walking out.

~  *  ~  *  ~  *  ~  *  ~  *  ~

EPILOGUE

~  *  ~  *  ~  *  ~  *  ~  *  ~

Trofim stood in their hotel room staring at his reflection on the large mirror over the dresser. At the long scar down the center of his chest. He ran his fingers down the line that, even after three weeks had passed, was still pink.

He shook his head doubting he’d ever be able to model again. He’d never been one to be so vain, but at the moment he hated the scar. Hated all the more why it was there. He felt ashamed. And furthering the burden, Shay had refused him intercourse since he’d been home and despite the excuse that Shay didn’t want to cause any strain to his heart, Trofim knew it was something else. He feared Shay didn’t find him sexy anymore.

Just then Shay walked in, his arm slipping around Trofim’s waist and Shay left a trail of kisses across his shoulders as he intended to slip by. But a double take of Trofim’s expression in their reflection caught Shay and he stopped, “Trofim?”

Trofim’s chest heaved.
Shit, shit, shit, he was going to cry again
.
They were both getting counseling from his brother. Pyotr told him it was normal for him to experience bouts of emotions and after time they would subside and pass. That didn’t mean he liked having them or was willing to accept them.
He glanced away from Shay’s eyes, finding it hard to meet them, not even through the mirror. “I’m never going to be able to model again.”

“That’s not true. There’s always ways to cover up—” Shay stopped, perhaps realizing that probably wasn’t the answer his lover was wanting to hear. “You’re still as sexy and beautiful as ever, Trofim. That scar doesn’t take away from that.” His voice softened and he wrapped around him. One hand fluttered over Trofim’s trim abdomen, the other hovered gently over his chest, touching the scar where Shay had touched Trofim’s heart for real.

Trofim brushed his hand away and covered the mark that haunted him. “Then why don’t you make love to me anymore?”

~  *  ~

“What do you call what we did last night?” Shay kissed his lover’s neck hoping to soothe him down.
He knew where this was going. He’d been avoiding telling him, they all had.

“I call it a cheap hand job!” Trofim brushed Shay’s hand away again when he tried to resume a caressing touch. “I want to know why you won’t fuck me?”