4. GRAVITY
4
GRAVITY
Blair leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the hulking group in front of them. Spencer was showing the guns to their client—or rather, clients , all four of the huge motherfuckers—while Felix stood at the window, smoking a cigarette. Blair liked being at the back of the room during a deal. He could see more, and having a wall at his back meant no one could surprise him.
“Looks good to me,” said one of the large men, and jerked his chin at the man on his right, who hefted a worn duffel bag onto the table.
Spencer counted the stacks of bills inside and nodded. “Always a pleasure, gentlemen.”
Blair waited for Felix and Spencer to walk out of the small room before filing out behind them, back into the narrow hallway and through the empty nightclub that wasn’t yet open for the day. His phone rang as they got outside. Blair didn’t recognize the number, but Spencer glanced over at the screen and said, “Area code is Long Island City. Might be the hospital, you should take it.”
They’d all ridden together in Felix’s Mustang, so Spencer and Felix leaned on the hood to smoke while Blair walked away to answer his phone. “Hello?”
“Hello again, Blair.”
Blair sucked in a breath that didn’t feel like it reached his lungs. “Wren.”
“Tristan tested positive for typhoid fever. Dr. Evans wants him admitted for his recovery to be monitored while he is on antibiotics.”
The words raised goosebumps on his arms even as he stood under the scorching August sun, its heat radiating from the asphalt under his feet. The roar of engines and car horns on the road became a dull hum. He had read up on typhoid fever after getting Tristan home from the hospital and, knowing just how bad it could get and how fast, he gladly take a round in the other leg if it meant Tristan would be okay.
“What are his chances?”
“It’s not chance any longer, we know now. He tested positive.”
“I mean his chances of living.”
“Weren’t you listening last night? Early detection is key. Bring him to us so we can keep him hydrated and make sure the antibiotics are doing their job, and he’ll be fine.”
“Our stepdad picked him up this morning since I was going to be out. I’ll have him bring Tristan.”
“That would be advisable.”
Blair dared to draw his first relieved breath since the phone rang. “I’ll give him this number if he has any questions. Will this one take him straight to pediatrics?”
“It will take him straight to me, don’t give him this number. He can look the hospital up online like everyone else.”
“Your people skills are shit.”
There was a raspy sound that he guessed was the closest thing Wren ever came to a laugh. “So you’ve told me.”
Blair was starting to sweat where his hoodie was tied around his waist, trapping the heat against his lower back. “People skills or not, it turns out your hunch was right. How does that feel?”
“Common.”
Blair huffed a laugh of his own. “You’re a fucking piece of work.”
“I’m a fucking piece of work you want to take to dinner. My call ends at midnight, call me if you’re still awake.”
Blair wasn’t even surprised to hear the phone beep, telling him Wren hung up. Hearing Wren curse stirred a strange warmth in him that was unrelated to the humid air.
Shit . Wherever that feeling came from, it needed to fuck right off.
He rang his stepdad and relayed what Wren had told him, somewhat on autopilot as he was still unnerved by his reaction to the other man. The thought didn’t just surprise him because it was about Wren, it was the nature of the thought in general. Blair was bisexual, but he was just as content in taking care of himself. Not having a sex life didn’t bother him. It always seemed like more trouble that it was worth and raised too big a risk that he would get attached, and he wasn’t looking for that to happen. Wren, though, just… pressed his buttons. In both good and bad ways.
Felix was already in the car when Blair got back, but Spencer was waiting for him, still leaning on the hood. “Your brother gonna be okay, Kennedy?”
“Yeah, he probably had a close call but he’ll be alright.”
Spencer nodded and flashed him a smile. “Good, because I still need your help in the kitchen tonight.”
Blair usually offered to stay and help close up the bar, but when Spencer cut him loose just after eleven that night, he was quick to say his goodbyes. He had plans, however bad of an idea those plans may be. The sidewalk was a welcome change from the crowded bar until the openness began to press down on him. The warm breeze took him back to the warehouse, to the silver flash of Spencer’s gun being aimed at him and the cement turning red. The feeling pissed him off. He shouldn’t be feeling vulnerable on his own turf, in Incindious’ territory.
It felt like hours before he could see the looming shape of his apartment building, due in equal parts to his aching leg and constantly looking around like someone from Phantom was going to jump out of the shadows to finish what they started. Some of his anxiety lifted once he was inside. It was still present, flaring up every time he passed a window or heard footsteps, but it wasn’t at the forefront of his mind. He unlocked the apartment and disengaged the security panel. It was eerily quiet without Tristan there, Blair noticed, surprised by how quickly he had gotten used to his little brother’s presence. It was better for there to be space between them, with the shitstorm of violence coming for Incindious, but he did miss the kid.
Blair grabbed a change of clothes from the pile of clean but unfolded laundry in the armchair and went to take a shower, a fast one since the balancing act required to shower was tiring. He dried his lower body first and redressed his leg.
He had grabbed the first two things that looked somewhat like they matched, which turned out to be army green cargo pants and a charcoal tank top that used to have a band logo. It was too old to tell which one anymore. He made a few passes over his hair with a towel. Fuck it, good enough.
Aided by his crutches, he went out to the living room to grab his checkered Vans. They had been nice shoes about three years ago when he was still skateboarding, before he wore them to death. He hung on to them more out of nostalgia than anything. His couch creaked in protest as he sat to pull them on.
Blair wiped away the moisture that had gathered on his phone while he showered and tapped the screen; 12:06 AM.
He stared at his call history. It seemed eager to call so soon after midnight, but he didn’t know where Wren lived and he probably wouldn’t want to go back out after he got home. He pressed the phone icon next to the unsaved number with a Long Island City area code that called him earlier and put it to his ear.
It rang three times before he heard, “Hello, Blair.”
Blair shivered but he didn’t know why. “Hey. Hospital cut you loose yet?”
“I just got to my car.”
“Hao Chi here in Flushing is good, if you like Chinese food.”
“I’ll put it in my navigator.”
The phone beeped in Blair’s ear and he sighed. He guessed he shouldn’t have expected much different. Wren didn’t sound happy about the prospect of dinner, but he could have been ecstatic for all Blair knew since the range of Wren’s voice seemed to exist in the space between bored and smug. He pushed himself onto his crutches; he was only a couple blocks from the restaurant but having experienced Wren’s lead foot, Blair doubted it would take him long to get there. As an afterthought, he added Wren to his contacts on the walk.
Blair threw a hand up to the hostess when he got there and went straight to his favorite table. Hao Chi had been there since before Spencer opened the bar, and the establishment had an understanding with Incindious: the restaurant looked the other way if anything suspicious was going on at the bar, and Incindious took care of anyone who came to Hao Chi causing trouble.
Blair stiffened when he heard the engine. Headlights glanced off the front windows as the Audi parked smoothly between two other vehicles on the street. Fixed on the empty space in front of him, he reminded himself this was a one time thing. It didn’t matter if it didn’t go well. It was just something he felt like he needed to do.
“At least wait until I’m sitting there to start staring.”
Wren slid into the other chair and Blair was saved from replying when the waitress came to take their drink orders. He was glad, because if Wren had wanted to tease him more, Blair couldn’t have denied that he really was staring like an idiot. He hadn’t considered that Wren would have a change of clothes at the hospital. He hadn’t paid much attention to his pants but what caught his eye was the black shirt, a couple sizes too big and hanging off one shoulder, holding his gaze captive with an expanse of fair skin.
The waitress left them with their menus and he made himself look back up at Wren’s face, framed as it was with black hair that tried to lay down but still curled away from his head in a few places. His ponytail holder slid down his wrist as he picked the menu up. Blair grimaced, realizing there wasn’t a part of Wren he didn’t enjoy looking at.
“How do you like your rotation with pediatrics?” Blair asked, knowing it was small talk but figuring it was as good a place as any to start making conversation.
“I’m only doing it out of obligation, I’ve already chosen my field and applied to do my residency under Reymond.” Noticing Blair’s questioning look, he added, “Dr. Garrett, the attending trauma surgeon.”
“Your boss seems a lot more laid back than mine,” Blair joked.
Wren closed his menu. “Your boss is Felix Bane.” It wasn’t a question.
“How did you know that?”
“Between gossiping staff and patients coming in after a street fight, I’ve heard enough to know who leads Incindious. I saw the tattoo when I came to the apartment. Unless I’m wrong about that being your gang’s seal on your chest, that is.” Wren dropped his menu on the table. “But we both know how often I’m wrong.”
Blair flushed at the memory of Wren staring at his chest that night—he’d like to take Wren’s words as a comfort that he’d only been looking at Blair’s tattoo, but Wren had looked a few times too many for that to be the only reason.
The waitress returned to take their orders. She didn’t ask for Blair’s since he always got the same thing, giving him a moment to study Wren while he ordered. There was no sign of either disdain or interest when Wren talked about the gang. He seemed indifferent, but he always seemed that way and surely that wasn’t the case all the time. Blair didn’t realize his hand had gone unconsciously to his chest until his fingers curled around the edge of his tank top, brushing against his tattoo.
“I guess this is weird for you, then. Doctors are all about ‘first do no harm,’ right?”
Wren raised his bare shoulder in a shrug. “I’m only doing this to shut my father up. He paid for all of it so I could have a ‘lucrative career worthy of a Masters.’” He echoed the last words with the flatness of someone who had heard them many times.
There were people that spiraled into debt trying to get through college but Blair held his tongue since this was the closest he’d gotten to a real conversation yet. It wasn’t much of a thank you dinner if he called Wren an entitled brat. Which reminded him, “So Masters is your last name. Do you get to go by Doctor yet?”
He clicked his tongue. “I don’t care one way or the other about the formalities. It’s just Wren.”
“Wren,” Blair repeated, and Wren’s lips curled into a smirk.
“I like the way you say my name.”
The words, said as slow and soft as a promise, sent a chill down his spine.
Blair looked down at his drink but he could feel Wren’s eyes on him and fumbled for a change of subject. “My stepdad brought Tristan in, right?”
“Yes, he’s on antibiotics and a fluid drip. He asked for paper and markers and hasn’t bothered me since.”
Blair laughed. That sounded about right; Tristan had always loved to draw.
The waitress brought their food and gave Blair a moment to collect himself. Maybe it was the lemongrass candles burning atop the partitions between tables, or the roll-up bamboo blinds drawn over every other window, but Hao Chi felt too warm and cozy to be an all-hours Chinese joint in the heart of Flushing. He could also attribute it to the yellow light coming from the lanterns above them that was just dim enough to soften everything it touched, or if Blair was being honest, it could just be the way he reacted to Wren that was making the space feel so much more intimate than it should.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Blair asked, pinching a piece of chicken between his chopsticks.
“No.” Wren’s voice became oddly quiet. “It was just me.”
Yeah, you give off only child vibes, Blair thought, but the faraway look in Wren’s eyes made him think the comment was best kept to himself. “What do you do when you’re not at the hospital? Or school?”
“That… pretty much covers it.”
“That’s fuckin’ depressing, Wren. You gotta live a little sometimes.”
“I don’t have time.”
Blair grinned. “You made time for me.”
Wren clicked his tongue and returned his attention to his lo mein, but Blair still felt like he won.
By the time they finished eating, Wren looked to be on the verge of falling asleep at the table, so Blair caught the waitress’ attention the next time he saw her and passed her his card.
“I should let you get home and rest. Thanks for coming out, though. And thanks for everything.” He took his card back when the waitress returned and stuck it in his wallet.
Blair reached for his crutches and Wren stood up. Even though Blair was expecting it, his heart still beat a little faster when Wren entered his space to hold his crutches steady. Blair laughed nervously. “Guess there’s a little bit of doctor in you, after all.”
Once he got situated on the crutches, it was a long moment before Wren let go. Their proximity forced Blair to tilt his head back to look up. Wren’s eyes were roaming his face in a way that made him feel dissected. “Did you drive?” Wren asked.
“I’m not quite up to that yet,” Blair said, his gaze falling to the exposed edge of Wren’s collarbone, somehow finding even that innocuous part of his body attractive.
“I didn’t think so. I’ll take you home.”
Blair had every intention to say no because his apartment was only a couple blocks away, but he still found himself following Wren out to his car. The space inside felt too small. Last time he was in the Audi, he’d been with Tristan and his mind had been preoccupied with his brother’s safety. Now they were alone, in a car that smelled of leather and coffee, and the pleasant clean scent that always seemed to linger on Wren.
“That’s the bar where Incindious always hangs around, then,” Wren noted, looking at the bar across the street.
Why would he want to know? It was more of a deduction than a question, though, and it wasn’t uncommon knowledge around Flushing. He nodded. “Yeah, our second owns it. Inherited it from his folks. I help out in the kitchen sometimes.”
Wren didn’t say anything more as they went through the two traffic lights on the way to his place. It would have been an easy opening to take if he wanted to know more about the gang. He doesn’t care, Blair reminded himself, cursing his paranoia that everyone was out to get them now.
He looked over when the car came to a stop. Wren was damnably unreadable. His eyes flicked over to Blair but there was no emotion in them that Blair could discern, making him feel less like he was being looked at and more like he was being observed. He didn’t know why he was still in the car. He had thanked Wren like he wanted to, he could move on with a clean conscience. It had to be one in the morning or later, they both had sleep to get and lives to go on with but still, his hand didn’t reach for the door.
Having a connection to someone with medical knowledge could come in handy for the gang, Blair decided. That was why he was hesitant for them to go their separate ways. Or at least, that’s what he tried to tell himself. He glanced at Wren again but the street lamps reflecting off his glasses obscured his eyes. “So. This was kind of not bad.”
A sigh. “Blair.”
“Hey, I’m not saying make a regular thing of it, just like a semi-regular, maybe occasional—”
“Blair.”
“Let me finish before you say—”
Those reflected lights were suddenly closer and Wren’s fingers were on his lips, shushing him. Wren leaned forward, letting his fingers slip away until only the pad of his thumb rested on Blair’s bottom lip. Blair’s breath hitched, but he found himself pressing into the touch. He could feel the faint tickle of Wren’s exhalations on his face and he could swear they were getting warmer, closer.
Blair reached out with unsteady hands only to grasp at air. He didn’t remember closing his eyes, but he had to open them again when his brain caught up to his thundering heart. Wren had returned to his seat with only his thumb still commanding Blair’s silence where it pressed against his lips.
“Blair,” Wren said again. “Shut up.”
Blair didn’t, couldn’t take a full breath until Wren’s hand fell away. He jumped at a muffled popping sound that cut through the silence and his cheeks burned when he noticed the hood of the car hanging open. Right, his crutches.
Exhaling shakily, he fumbled for the door handle. He had to get out of there before he was dragged under by the dark, turbulent waves breaking over his resolve, threatening to pull it out of his reach.
His leg throbbed in protest when he stepped out of the car. He paused on the sidewalk with his hand on the door, and leaned down to peer back inside. He made a few false starts at a goodbye that were silenced when Wren clicked his tongue and faced forward, looking away from him.
“I’ll call you,” Wren said.
There was a note of finality in Wren’s voice that Blair didn’t feel like he could win an argument with. The slam of the door closing rang in his ears in time with his heartbeat. He limped to the hood of the car to get his crutches and knocked it shut before stepping back onto the sidewalk. He couldn’t see into the car on account of the tinted windows but he watched it go anyway, until it was no more than a fading pair of tail lights. Asshole .
Blair stood there with his disassembled crutches tucked under his arm and a much bigger problem than the mounting ache in his thigh. A problem in the form of a tall, pretty man with a terrible personality. Blair’s words didn’t return to him until after the car was gone and he was left staring at the intersection it had long been absent from.
“ Well, shit.”