Code Blue (Atrous, #2)

by N.R. Walker

Part of me wanted to tell Neil to fuck right off, but the part of me that knew he was right wanted to keep my job.

No matter how much I wanted to say something, no matter how much I wanted to touch him the way he touched me, put his arm around me, jumped on my back, made me give him piggyback rides when he was too tired to walk. All the little touches, the laughs, so casual, like it didn’t mean anything to him. Even if it did mean something to me . . .

But Jeremy?” He scrubbed his hand over his face, then looked up at me. Those blue eyes clouded with fear. “Yeah?” “You’re with me.”

“You look after them. You look after us,” Jeremy said. “Who looks after you?” No one.

“You’re going to learn.” He let his head fall back and whined. I half expected him to stomp his foot. Instead, he walked around the island and hugged my back, the side of his head against the nape of my neck. “But Steeeve.” This is how he was with Maddox and the other guys. Not with me.

“I’d rather be lonely than taken for a fool.” God, that hurt to hear.

“I know I’m privileged. I know that. I don’t have to worry about money. I don’t have to struggle with that.” “Your problems are unique, yes,” I said. “But not any less valid.”

Jeremy went to his fridge and opened it, revealing that it was full. “Behold.” “Holy shit,” Maddox said. “Are those . . . vegetables?” Jeremy shoved him. “Fuck off.”

He’s . . .” I could barely form words. My mouth was dry. “He’s, like you said, very straight. And I’d very much like to keep my job, so if you could not say anything to anyone, that’d be great.”

“Uh . . . what?” “Some self-defense, but also just so I can beat the shit out of the guys when they need it.” “I will not teach you anything so you can beat up your bandmates.”

“You didn’t sign up for this.” “Kinda did, though. Fans and media hype.” He shrugged. “The good, the bad, and the ugly.” Maddox clapped Jeremy on the shoulder. “Don’t talk about Luke and Blake like that.”

“What is for dinner anyway?” Jeremy asked. “What about steak and salad?” “You said burgers and fries wrong.”

I wanted to say something, anything, but knew if I did, he’d pull his hand away and this moment, whatever this was, would be over. Then I realized I was using his vulnerability for my own stupid fantasy, and I pulled my hand back, tapping his hand as I did.

“It was hotter than I expected. I didn’t know I might have a thing for being manhandled by another guy.” He looked at me then. “So it might be best if there’s no wall throwing.” I stared at him. Was he joking? I don’t think he’s joking. “Noted,” I said. “Wall throwing to a minimum.”

“You have half a second, maybe.” “Oh, okay, yeah no. I can’t do that.” “You need to learn.” “No, that’s what I have you for. I have my very own Steve for that exact reason.” I snorted. “Okay, let’s assume the person coming for you is not armed.” “I would prefer that. I guess. If I got to choose.”

I turned back to Jeremy. “Okay, how about you come at me? Try a kick.” “Are you crazy?” “You won’t hurt me.” So Jeremy kicked me. Right in the fucking knee. “Ow! What the hell?” “You said I couldn’t hurt you!” We could hear Riko laughing from in the house.

“How quiet can you be?” Jeremy grinned. “Oh, like literally not at all. That’s why I said ‘annoy you’ and not ‘sit quietly with you.’”

“You know when you miss something you never had? When you feel like you’ve lost something you can’t explain?” Jeremy’s eyes met mine. “That’s what that music feels like.”

“Hold still,” I murmured and I tried to pull it out. “Ow!” he pulled his foot back, pouting. “Steve. Ouchies.” Christ. I grumbled at him. “I don’t have nails.” “We need tweezers.” “Do you have a first aid kit?” “I have no idea.” “Scissors?” His eyes widened. “For what?” “To pull it out?” “We’re not in a war zone, Steve. We don’t need to improvise.

He handed the tweezers to me. “You’re not going to do it?” I asked. He shook his head. “Nope. Can’t reach it.” He freaking could so.

“And you can cook. And clean up a kitchen, and you’re about to learn how to vacuum.” His mouth fell open. “My foot is really sore.” He faked a limp. “Ouch.” I lightly shoved his shoulder. “You’re so full of shit.”

I probably should have woken him up and told him to go to bed. I didn’t do that either. I wanted to savor this moment forever. That was creepy of me, I realized, because he was asleep. But god, I’d loved this man for years and he fell asleep with his head in my lap. I wasn’t cutting that short for anyone.

“Did I wake you?” “No. I woke up on the couch and the back door was open. Figured you were out here. Maybe scoping out a bad guy or something.” Jesus. “How about next time you think there could be a bad guy out here that you don’t come looking?”

God, when he looked at me like that, when there was no bullshit between us and we were just us, my heart ached for him. It physically ached. I ached to touch him, to tell him . . .

“Use his body, his head. Grab hold of him and drive your fucking knee into his face until something breaks.” Jeremy stopped his knee and his eyes went wide. “Jesus Christ, Steve.” I shrugged. “What do you think I’m teaching you here?”

Jeremy gripped my waist and leaned into me, very deliberately, while looking at Zielinski. Jesus Christ. That was a blatant territorial move. He was jealous. Jeremy Dalton just marked me in front of another guy. What. The. Actual. Fuck?

The thing was, we weren’t here to drink and laugh with the band. It’d be all too easy to sit around with them, crack a few beers, and listen to the funny stories. But we weren’t part of that inner circle. We were employed by the company to look after them. And that was a very timely reminder for me. Had I really thought Jeremy would ever be interested in me? I was not in their inner circle. I was now questioning whether Jeremy and I were ever even friends.

Jeremy appeared with his acoustic guitar. I got to my feet. “Jeremy,” I tried. He ignored me again, walking past me as if I didn’t even exist. It hurt more than if he’d struck me.

And, for some reason, he wants to take it out on you.” My gaze shot to his. “Last person in our whole company whom I’d pick to misdirect some anger at,” Maddox said with a smirk.

I didn’t need to be a mind reader to see he was trying to figure out just how far this attraction went. Physically, that was. It was one thing for a maybe-bi guy to hold hands with a man, to kiss him. But when dicks got involved, it could go downhill pretty quick.

Was this just physical exploration for him? Or did it mean something more? I wasn’t game enough to ask in case it burst whatever surreal bubble I was currently in.

Jeremy turned his head and slow blinked. “What the fuck was that?” “A blowjob?” “No, what kind of wizardry was that?”

“Jeez, Jer, you could at least put a shirt on. Are you lying on your bed in your underwear? Christ, poor Steve. What would he say if he walked in on you right now?” Oh hell . . . Jeremy laughed and aimed the camera at me. “Dunno. Ask him.” Maddox dropped his phone.

I didn’t know what was going on between Jeremy and me, but I was absolutely certain I was way more invested than him.

You don’t want anything from me.” “Just honesty. That’s it. Even if it’s not what I want to hear.”

“God. I haven’t even thought about anyone finding out. I mean, Maddox knows. But he’s different. The media? The fucking paparazzi.” “They never have to know.” “My mother.” And what could I say to that? Nothing. Not a freaking thing. I turned back to the ceiling, a sinking feeling in my stomach. What did you just say, Steve? Ten seconds ago? No regrets? Yeah, well . . . regret lodged itself right under my ribs, like a barb.

“How do you stay so fit? Even after months of traveling on tour. I mean, you’re kinda jacked. For an old guy of thirty-five.” “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

Every wall I’d put up was in ruins. Every safeguard was down. For the first time in my life, I’d allowed myself to fall in love. I’d known for years that Jeremy had an emotional hold on me. But I’d kept a lid on it, a professional and personal boundary. But not anymore. I was in love with Jeremy Dalton.

“Wicked Game” by Chris Isaac. He sang the lyrics, still looking at me. He sang them to me.

Maddox stared at it, held it closer to his face. “Can I text? How do I text?” Roscoe pointed to the keyboard. “You need to press the seven button three times to get an R, then the six button three times to get an O. Then seven again four times to get an S . . .” The five of them stared at him, horrified. “The fuck I will,” Maddox said.

“What did you do yesterday? Delayed reactions are not uncommon. Training, choreo, anything vigorous?” Oh no. Jeremy glanced at me before he smiled at Hardwick. “Uh. I had a lot of physical gratification yesterday . . .” I wanted to die. Maddox snorted. Hardwick sighed. “How much?” “Four times.” “Four times?” Maddox cried. He stared at me, his mouth open. “I said small steps.”

He stopped and looked directly at me. “And just so you both know, when the doc says no exercise, he also means no sex. Four times? Fucking hell.”

I tried not to die and I pretended Hardwick wasn’t putting pieces together. “I’ll walk you out,” I said. He didn’t say anything until he got to his car. “What Maddox said is correct. No sex,” he started. “Yep. Got it. Thanks. All good.” I waved him off. “Jesus.”

“Jer,” I whispered. “You okay?” He shook his head and more tears fell. “I told Maddox I want out. Of the band. I’m done.”

You were supposed to take it easy today. I gave you a list of three things to avoid, remember?” “No stress, sex, or booze,” Jeremy said. “Hm, and? How did that go?” “Well, I didn’t drink alcohol,” Jeremy said, trying to smile. Maddox snorted and shoved me. “Not the bed rest you were supposed to put him on.” I shot him a glare and ignored the glances that Wes, Luke, and Blake exchanged.

Jeremy needed Maddox. “It’s fine.” Jeremy pouted. “You just gonna give in like that? No fight at all?” I kissed Jeremy’s forehead. “You need him.” Then I joked, “And anyway, Roscoe asked if he could have a few nights off from Maddox, so I’d be doing him a favor.” Maddox’s mouth fell open. “He did not. That is un-fucking-true.”

“We normally only allow the parents of younger patients to sleep in the rooms,” she added. “He can be my son,” Maddox said, then turned to Jeremy. “You can call me daddy.”

I went up to my apartment, flipped the lights on, and almost had a coronary at Jeremy’s cardboard cutout standing in my living room.

While we waited for the result, Jeremy propped his head up on his arm. “Denise?” he asked sweetly, a little whiney. “Yes,” she replied, probably with more patience than Jeremy rightly deserved. “Can I go home today?”

He’s my . . . we haven’t really agreed on a term for it yet. The word boyfriend was used once. Lover is just gross. Special friend makes it sound like he licks the windows.”