Chapter Twenty-Nine
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
LIAM BARELY SPOKE after they loaded him into the ambulance, and Tate hated it. It was the quietest he’d ever seen his boyfriend. The silence had Tate worrying hard.
He’d tried to coax a flicker of a smile or laugh, but every attempt had failed. And now, the cops were there asking invasive questions and making Liam describe every terrifying moment he’d endured in great detail.
Tate sat beside the hospital bed, holding Liam’s wrist above the bandages. He stroked his thumb back and forth across the delicate bones.
“Can you describe the injuries you sustained?” Officer D’Amico asked. He was the older of the two cops who’d showed up about fifteen minutes ago and could have come straight from filming a Western gunslinger movie. The man was probably in his late forties and had a graying bushy mustache and a large cowboy hat to complement his tan uniform. A chunky silver belt buckle completed the Wild West sheriff vibe. So far, he’d been professional, though his displeased gaze strayed to Tate’s hand on Liam’s arm more than Tate liked.
“Um, smoke inhalation, obviously,” Liam rasped as he gestured to the oxygen tube in his nose. His voice still sounded rough and ragged.
They’d switched out the mask after he’d been assigned a room. They also gave him a little gadget to help keep his lungs open. Liam was supposed to inhale ten times every hour on the hour, trying to make a little blue ball rise to a specific level inside the toy. Every time he did it, Liam ended up coughing so hard, and with so much force it left him weak and shaking until the next time to play the sadistic little game. The doctor promised it was normal, even good, as it helped him cough up the toxins, but every second of watching Liam suffer enraged Tate.
“I have a large burn on my right palm and some burns on all my fingertips,” he said, showing his bandaged left hand. “Other than that, I have some minor scrapes, bruises, and small burns pretty much all over my arms and legs. A lot of hot pieces of ash singed my exposed skin.”
D’Amico’s partner, the much younger Officer Carmichael, scribbled a furious novel of notes on her notepad. She couldn’t have been more than a few years out of the police academy, though Tate wouldn’t be surprised if he found out she was a rookie. Aside from the rank insignia, her uniform matched D’Amico’s. She was shorter than his five-foot-tenish by only a few inches and had her strawberry blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun without a single flyaway.
She peered up from her note-taking when her partner cleared his throat. “Oh, um...” She flipped back a few pages in the notebook. “We spoke with…” She scanned her notes, searching for the name. “Randy at the scene. He stated he was the one to pull you from the fire, Mr. Brady.”
“Yes.” Liam nodded. His face, now clean of soot and ash, paled. “And please call me Liam. I was being stupid. I thought I could maybe save some things from being destroyed, so I tried to crawl through the fire to the studio’s front desk.”
“Jesus, Luxe,” Tate muttered. What the hell had he been thinking? They’d been so close to a different ending for this nightmare, and for what? A few dancers’ contracts? Once Liam healed, Tate planned to keep him in bed for an entire week, showing him what he’d have missed out on if he’d died in that fire.
Liam leaned over and kissed him right in front of the officers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I—”
“I get it. It just messes with my head to think of you in there.” Screw the officers watching. He gave Liam a brief kiss before D’Amico cleared his throat again.
Tate shot him a lethal glare. Liam nearly died. That fucker could wait a minute for his damn questions to be answered.
“Sorry.” Liam faced them again with pink cheeks. “Uh, it was so dark, I lost my way. I heard someone shouting for me, but by then, I was dizzy and coughing so much I couldn’t really crawl around anymore.”
Tate’s teeth would be ground to nubs if this continued much longer.
“Randy crashed into me. That’s how he found me. Pure dumb luck. He dragged me to safety.”
Carmichael nodded as she jotted down everything Liam said.
“Randy told us he believes a Donald Hayes, who goes by Ducky, is the responsible party. Does that name mean anything to you?”
Tate snorted.
“Mr. Sutton, is there something you’d like to contribute?” D’Amico asked. He arched a gray eyebrow.
“Yeah, there is.” Tate leaned forward. “Randy doesn’t believe Ducky is responsible… he fucking knows it. Ducky is a homophobic asshole who beat the spit outta Liam ten years ago and smeared shit all over his studio windows this morning or yesterday morning. Fuck, I don’t even know what day it is.” He took a breath. “Ducky was pissed his little stunt didn’t run us outta town, so he upped his game.”
“To arson and attempted murder?” Skepticism bled through D’Amico’s question. “Seems like a big leap.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Tate muttered, shaking his head. Damn cops weren’t going to do a thing to help.
“I’m just saying there is a big difference between petty vandalism and aggravated arson.”
“Petty vandalism,” Tate mumbled with a roll of his eyes. “Call it what you want. It doesn’t change the facts.”
“Could it have been an accident?” D’Amico asked. “You smoke, don’t you?” he asked Tate.
Tate stiffened. What the hell was this cop’s problem? “What? You think I had a smoke and tossed it in a trash bin full of papers?”
D’Amico shrugged. “You’d be surprised how often people are careless like that.”
“Unfucking believable.” He flopped back in the seat and crossed his arms over his chest.
Frowning, Liam asked, “Are you saying you don’t believe the fire was set intentionally? Is there evidence of it being an accident?”
When D’Amico didn’t answer right away, his partner nudged him. “John,” she whispered. He still didn’t respond, so she stepped forward. “We did, in fact, find evidence of arson, Mr. Brady. It seems someone threw a Molotov cocktail through your front window.”
Tate leaped to his feet, fists clenched. “So what the hell is with all the crap about cigarettes and trash cans?”
Carmichael turned to her partner. “John, why don’t you check back in with Randy since we have a few more questions for him? He’s in the waiting room.”
That was news to Tate. He’d assumed Randy would take off as soon as possible.
“I’ll finish up in here.”
D’Amico’s dislike of that suggestion was written all over his scowling face, but he nodded and said, “I’ll do that,” before he left without another word.
“Sorry,” Carmichael said. “He’s… old-fashioned.”
Liam snorted. “If that’s code for homophobic, I’ll agree with you.”
She sighed. “Yeah, I’m working on him, but he’s a bit of a dinosaur, so it’s taking a while. My girlfriend thinks I should nail him in the balls with a good swift kick, but I’m saving that as a last resort.” Her smile finally had Tate’s shoulders unwinding.
“You’re gay?” Tate asked.
Liam elbowed him. “You can’t just ask that.”
Chuckling, Carmichael waved away the concern. “It’s fine. I’m pansexual, actually, but I’ve been with my girlfriend for two years. Trust me when I say I know how challenging it can be living around here. I promise you I will personally oversee every aspect of this investigation and make sure it is handled by the book. I know Ducky and have no doubt he’s the type of scumbag who’d do something like this.”
Just as Tate began to relax, Liam started coughing. The frequency of the full-body cough attacks had decreased in the past few hours, but the loud, hacking sound still made Tate wince with sympathy. Each episode left Liam exhausted and his chest and throat aching.
“Here, Luxe,” he said as he grabbed a small basin and held it under his boyfriend’s chin so Liam could spit the crud out as it came up. He rubbed soothing circles on Liam’s back as the coughing continued.
When he finally settled, Tate removed the basin and grabbed a cup of icy water, bringing the straw to Liam’s lips.
“Thanks,” his man whispered after guzzling half the cup in two swallows. Then he faced the lingering officer. “Sorry,” he rasped.
She lifted a hand. “Not necessary. I’ll go so you two can get some rest, you especially, Mr. Brady… Liam,” she added when Liam arched an eyebrow. “We’ll be in touch as soon as we have some information for you.” She held up a business card before setting it on the rolling table beside the bed. “This is my card in case you think of anything else we should know. Take care.”
“Thank you,” Liam said.
Tate didn’t echo the sentiment. Carmichael might have their back, but he wasn’t convinced she could sway the department to give their case the serious attention it deserved.
As soon as she left, Liam turned his head and studied Tate. “You’re tense,” he said, frowning.
“I’m…” He was too many things to list. “Angry.”
“Me too.” Liam scooted to the far side of the small bed. “Lay with me.”
For the first time since Randy’s frantic phone call hours ago, Tate laughed. “We’re two grown-ass men, Luxe. I ain’t gonna fit in there with you.”
Smiling, Liam waggled his eyebrows. “That’s the whole point. I want to be close to you.”
Tate didn’t meet his grin with one of his own. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”
The pout he could never resist pooched out Liam’s lips. “You won’t. Please, baby.”
Chuckling, he shook his head. “Manipulative little shit.” He climbed into the bed with Liam. As expected, they squished in like sardines in a packed can. The bed rail dug into his back, and the head was up at an angle that would have his spine complaining for days, but the second Liam snuggled close and rested his head on Tate’s chest, all protests evaporated.
“See? Isn’t this better?”
“A million times better.” He’d never complain about being this close to Liam.
It was the first time they’d been alone in hours, and it was exactly what Tate needed.
Until he heard a sniff.
“Luxe?” he asked, frowning down at Liam.
“Ignore me,” Liam said with a watery chuckle. “Just feeling sorry for myself.”
“Pretty sure that’s allowed right now.” He dropped a kiss on Liam’s head. A smokey scent clung to the strands, a potent reminder of what almost happened. He’d help Liam wash it out as soon as they got home. The nurses had cleaned him as best they could, but he’d need a very long shower.
“Wanna talk about it?”
Liam didn’t answer for a few moments. He stayed quiet except for the faint wheeze each time he inhaled. The doctor promised that it was temporary and since Liam was young, healthy, and fit, he’d recover without any long-term lung problems.
“It’s just… I failed.”
Tate tipped Liam’s chin up. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Those honey-colored eyes were full of sadness. “I came here, to Swan, to prove something to myself and this town. I came to prove small towns could change. That places where it wasn’t safe for a gay kid to be proud, or a male dancer to perform on stage at the fair, or two men to love each other in the open didn’t have to be stuck in the past. My dance studio was supposed to be a haven for kids like me and couples like us. Instead of that happening, I erected a huge target for people like Ducky to take shots at. I failed.”
Never in his life had someone come to him for advice. He wasn’t the one to impart sage wisdom to anyone because he’d never even left the state of Oklahoma. But he knew what it was like to hate himself, and he refused to let Liam travel that path.
“If I know you, Luxe, and I like to think I do by now, I know damn well that you aren’t going to shut your doors forever. You’ll rebuild your studio and have it back up and running as soon as humanly possible.”
“Well, sure, but—”
“Nu-huh,” he said, smooshing Liam’s lips between his fingers. His boyfriend scowled, and Tate chuckled. “My turn to talk. You only fail if you let Ducky run you out of town. Rebuilding will show every kid like you and every kid like me whose hiding who they are, that pieces of shit like Ducky do not get to win. No matter what gets thrown at you, you are strong enough to succeed. Sure, you might have some cracks and bruises, and you might be held together with duct tape and chewing gum, but you’re there and not going anywhere.”
“We,” Liam whispered, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. “We’re not going anywhere.”
“Yeah. We. Ducky’s ass is going back to jail. It’ll be a long time before they let him out now. You’ll be here dancing and showing everyone that the fight is worth it, and I’ll be holding your hand every step of the way.”
“Thank you,” Liam said. He snuggled close and sighed as Tate wrapped his arms around him. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Luxe,” he said. He’d never forget how Liam felt in his arms at that moment—warm, soft, alive.
After another moment, Liam mumbled, “Talk to your brother. I think he’s ready.” Two seconds later, he was breathing evenly, though still wheezing. The hum of the oxygen tank was a comfortable reminder that Liam was getting what he needed for the moment.
Tate shut his eyes. He might have fallen asleep, or maybe not, but sometime later, he popped his eyes open, feeling a steady gaze on them. His first instinct was to roll on top of Liam and shield him from the threat, but he stopped himself when he saw Randy sitting in the chair beside the bed with a remorseful expression.
“I’m not here to cause trouble,” Randy said when he noticed Tate had woken up. “I just…” He shrugged and stared at his feet.
A quick glance reassured Tate they hadn’t woken Liam. He didn’t offer to get up. Randy could get used to seeing them together and touching, or he could fuck right off.
“Thank you,” Tate said.
Randy’s head popped up, and his eyes widened.
“You put yourself in serious danger to save him.” Tate’s throat thickened. “Thank you.”
Randy shrugged.
No one would claim they were even mediocre communicators, but some things had to be said if they stood a chance at repairing the mess of their relationship.
“He’s important to you,” Randy said with another shrug. “Couldn’t let the guy die.”
“I love him, Randy.”
His brother met his gaze with a nod. “Sucked not talking to you these past few weeks. I wanna… I wanna fix that. Shouldn’ta punched you.”
The punch was the least of it in Tate’s eyes. He’d rather take a hundred punches than hear the hateful crap his brother had spewed.
“Shouldn’ta said all that crap either.”
Tate grunted. Look at that. Maybe Randy really was sorry.
“I got all these things I thought I knew.” Randy tapped the side of his head. “Shit I heard all my life. Shit I believed. But you’re my baby brother. I look at you and try to fit you into a box, and it ain’t working. Don’t know if that makes sense.” He picked at a tear in the tan vinyl on the seat between his spread legs.
They’d been so screwed up by their parents and where they grew up. “It does. Hell, I had a lot of those same ideas. It’s why I stayed in the closet for so long.”
“Yeah.”
“Reason you can’t fit me in any of those boxes is because those ideas are all bullshit.”
Randy lifted his gaze. “Might take me some time to get used to this.” He waved a hand in Liam and Tate’s direction. “But I wanna try. So, maybe you could help me? Whit said she’d help too, but maybe you could tell me if I say shit that’s wrong or offensive so I can fix it. I’d like to see who my real brother is.”
Tate glanced out the window before focusing on his brother again. No pigs had flown by. There didn’t seem to be an icy chill coming from the underworld either. But something must be off with the universe if Randy was saying all this.
“Not sure you want to see all of your real brother.”
Randy wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, I ain’t ready to see you two sword fight or any shit like that, but maybe we could have a few beers when he’s feeling better.”
“Sword fight? What the fuck is it you think we get up to?”
Randy shrugged, but he was grinning. “Don’t wanna know.” He stood. “I’ll let you get back to sleep. Want me to bring you two breakfast later?”
“That’d be great, Rand. Thanks.”
Randy held out his hand. “No problem.”
Instead of slapping his palm the way they normally did, Tate gripped his brother’s hand and squeezed. “Thank you, Randy.”
His brother squeezed his hand back and then left.
Tate went back to holding Liam.
Liam was safe. They’d rebuild his studio, and he’d be the best damn dance teacher in the Midwest. Ducky’s ass would land back in jail, and Randy just might turn himself into a decent human being.
For the first time in his life, Tate had a bright future to look forward to.