Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Branson had every intention of following his omegin’s advice and not going to sleep angry, but not long after stretching out on a bed to read, the sounds of frequent coughing and sneezing began drifting through the mostly-shut door between their adjoining rooms. Even over the sound of the television and the marathon of movies Jeuel was enjoying, Branson looked up whenever he heard it, worried Corinth was getting sick.
Except around the same time that Branson’s stomach started growling for more than small bags of chips and sandwich cookies, Corinth popped his head into the room.
“Tarius is feeling pretty crappy, and he asked for some cold medicine,” Corinth said.
“I couldn’t find a delivery service in the phone book, so I called the front desk.
There’s a pharmacy two blocks from here I can walk to. Do you two need anything?”
Branson stared dumbly at Corinth, his brain still trying to catch up. “Tarius is sick?”
“Yeah, said he hasn’t felt right since we got off the train. I can bring back a pizza or sandwiches, or something, too. I’ve been hungry for a while.”
“Um, yeah, pizza’s fine.” He glanced at Jeuel who nodded, Jeuel’s own concern for Tarius etched across his youthful face. “Shouldn’t I get him medicine? I’m his husband.”
“I know, but it’s safer for me to go. I can’t tell if he’s running a fever, so it’s probably better for you two to stay in here.”
“Right.” Branson worked to keep a petulant frown off his face. “Does Tarius need anything?”
“Just some medicine and softer tissues than—his words—the torture paper provided by the hotel.”
“I hear that,” Jeuel said. “The toilet paper here chafes my ass.” His perfectly deadpan delivery of the comment made Branson smile. If he was making jokes, maybe Jeuel was okay, after all.
More okay than Tarius, obviously. Branson pulled his credit card out of his wallet and handed it to Corinth. “For the pizza and anything Tarius needs from the pharmacy. Tissues with lotion, medicine, lozenges, a thermometer, whatever.”
Corinth offered him a sympathetic smile. “It sounds like a summer cold, probably from the climate difference. He just needs to rest.”
Branson scowled at Corinth’s departing back. Tarius was only sick because he’d agreed to come here and hold Branson’s hand through this ordeal, and that had only happened because he’d agreed to marry Branson, so Jeuel and Trei could move to Sansbury. He wasn’t supposed to be sick.
Once the door to the other hotel room clicked shut, Branson walked to the adjoining door and knocked gently on the frame. “Tar?”
Tarius coughed, a dry, wheezing noise. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault. Who knew I was allergic to terracotta and palm trees?”
Branson snickered then peeked into the room. Tarius was on the far bed, curled under the covers, his back to Branson. He couldn’t look his husband in the eyes, but he still laid his own eyes on the man, and his heart panged with love and concern. “I meant, I’m sorry about our fight.”
Tarius groaned. “Not tonight, babe, please?”
Babe. The rare use of a pet name made Branson back off immediately. “Okay. It can wait. Do you need anything?”
“Just pharmacy stuff.”
“Want me to turn on the TV?”
“Goddess, no, I need to sleep for a while. Please?”
“Sure, yeah. I’ll let you sleep.”
Branson pulled the door almost completely shut, leaving half his heart on the other side.
Sure, there wasn’t anything Branson could do to fix this cold/virus/whatever for Tarius, but he wanted to slide onto the bed, hold him, tell him it would be okay.
He also couldn’t risk getting sick, too, not with Corinth already exposed.
The four of them sick and miserable on the long train ride home?
Torture.
He’d lost a bit of the plot of Jeuel’s movie, so he let his mind wander until Corinth returned.
He left the pizza box in their room, then went next door with an overflowing plastic bag.
Jeuel went straight for the food. Branson hung out near the adjoining door, listening to low voices and the rustle of plastic and rip of cardboard, wishing he was the one taking care of Tarius.
Neither of them had been sick since they’d begun dating, never mind since they’d been married.
Branson would make it up to Tarius when they got home.
As soon as he was feeling better, of course.
Between the pizza and all his crying at the hospital, Branson yawned a lot before he was being shaken awake by Jeuel. He’d fallen asleep on the other bed, head only half on the pillow, which left a crick in his neck. “W’zup?”
“Hey, Constable Quillen called a little while ago,” Jeuel whispered, even though they were the only two in the room. “He told Constable Corinth that the next express back to Sansbury has a couple of last-minute passenger cancellations, so they can fit us in, but the train departs in two hours.”
“What time is it?” The balcony curtains were pulled shut, and from this angle, he couldn’t see the alarm clock on the center bedside table.
“A little after five.”
“The train has one stop,” Corinth said from the doorway.
“A freight drop in Zoark Province about halfway there, but no passenger exchange.” Branson must have been making an epically confused face, because Corinth took three steps closer.
“I asked Quillen for a professional favor. If we could get out of here and home sooner, I’d owe him. He came through.”
Branson wanted to go home more than almost anything, except maybe a long hug from Tarius. “Does Tarius feel well enough to travel? I know he was looking forward to a good night’s sleep in a real bed.”
“He’s ready to go and currently steaming his stuffy head under a hot shower, but you might need to wrangle him a bit.” The tips of Corinth’s cheekbones reddened. “Since he wasn’t sure if it was allergies or a virus, I bought him two kinds of medicine, but I didn’t think he’d take both at once.”
“Uh oh.”
Tarius wasn’t a huge fan of pills, in general, and he had a list of medications he was allergic to.
Not, like, anaphylaxis allergic, but more along the line of “I’m not drunk, you’re drunk” reactions to things, and Layne had delighted in telling Branson a bunch of those stories.
At least Branson wouldn’t have to wrangle Tarius in broad daylight.
They hadn’t unpacked much, so it didn’t take too long to repack, once both Branson and Corinth took showers.
Made more sense in the spacious bathrooms here than the watery coffins on the train.
Jeuel claimed the unopened mini-bottles of shampoo and lotion from both bathrooms, while Branson made coffee out of the room’s little pot and fixings.
Tarius had red eyes, a slightly swollen nose, and he was breathing through his mouth when Branson finally saw him again.
He looked miserable but alert, and he did not protest when Branson looped his arm around Tarius’s waist. “Cannot wait to get home,” Tarius said, his words muffled by his congestion.
“Try an allergy pill. I slept for hours.”
Branson chuckled. “I just might, once we’re safely away from the station and heading toward Sansbury. But we’ll make sure you get the most comfortable bunk.”
“Hard isn’t comfortable, it’s just a bunk.”
That made almost no sense, but Tarius was a little high from whatever medicine concoction he’d swallowed, and Branson couldn’t stop a sharp pang of guilt from razing his insides.
Maybe it wasn’t technically his fault Tarius was sick, or was having an allergy attack, or whatever.
But it was his fault that they’d fought that morning.
Fought because Branson hadn’t just let Tarius’s off-hand comment about an alpha not being punished slide. He’d pushed.
No, that wasn’t fair to himself. The timing had been all wrong, but the conversation had needed to happen. And Branson needed them to complete it, to finally be honest with himself and his husband about that hypothetical syringe.
Branson didn’t expect to see Constable Quillen idling in the parking lot near their rental.
Corinth spoke to him briefly, while Jeuel and Branson stowed their bags in the trunk.
Then Corinth got in the driver’s seat, and they were navigating evening traffic to the outskirts of Sonora and its massive train station.
A large produce manufacturing plant was located here, so they were a major exporter to other provinces.
The train probably had a good-sized produce cargo meant for Zoark and Sansbury.
Lights for the train station glowed in the distance long before they began seeing signs for various platforms and departure terminals, as well as visitor and long-term parking.
Very different from the signs when they’d arrived (how had it been only twelve hours ago?), which advertised hotels, restaurants, and points of interest. Branson never did get to sample the “local flavors.” Oh well.
After dropping the rental car off and picking up tickets, their quartet met Quillen on their assigned platform. The train was there, but a digital sign said passenger boarding didn’t begin for another thirty minutes.
At least two dozen other men were milling around, some with simple duffel bags, others with carts full of luggage, and no one paid them any direct attention.
Branson couldn’t shake the creepy sensation of being stared at, but he’d been slightly paranoid since he first stepped foot on Sonoran soil, and he probably wouldn’t shake that unease until he crossed Sansbury’s outermost border.
“Despite the circumstances,” Quillen said, “it’s been a pleasure meeting you folks. Jeuel, I sincerely hope you have a happy life in Sansbury.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jeuel replied, so softly Branson barely heard him over the general din of the waiting crowd and the workers still loading boxes onto cars at the very rear of the train.