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’dfallen 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 itwashis 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 largeproduce 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.
“And if you ever find yourselves in—” His mobile rang, cutting off his gracious comment about future visits that would probably never happen. “It’s division. Please, excuse me.” Quillen turned and strode toward the main building, phone already to his ear.
“A constable’s work never ends,” Corinth quipped.
“Especially your work,” Branson replied. “You probably expected a few more days of boring babysitting duty and eating hospital food, before going back to the daily grind.”
“I actually don’t mind the daily grind. I became a constable so I could help people. Make a difference. You don’t have to do something insanely heroic to make another person’s day better.”
Tarius let rip an impressive sneeze, then plucked a tissue out of the box tucked under his left arm. His pockets were full of lozenges, and Jeuel had the bag with their spare drinks. Branson looked around for an empty bench he could install Tarius on until it was time to board, but the few on this platform were taken, damn it.
