?Chapter Twenty-Two
Denis
He stared at his phone, willing it to ring. Or buzz. Or anything but the dead silence for the past several hours.
As if called by his stubborn gaze, the device buzzed. Just once. But when Denis picked up the phone and read it, the message carried much more than just information.
*Done. Coming home to you.*
“Coming home to me. I’m his home.” Weight he hadn’t realized he was carrying lifted from his shoulders.
Earlier tonight he’d been out for a post-work nightcap with Carole, and the moment the call with Cherry had disconnected he’d regretted not making that conversation a priority. “Won’t make that mistake again. I’ll be taking all his calls. Gonna make sure he knows it, too.”
Quickly he thumbed a response, wincing when it stuck on Delivering for several seconds. Finally, the little flag changed, to not just Sent, but Read.
*I’ll be waiting.*
He stared at the phone for a few minutes, willing it to buzz again, or ring, or anything else. Finally he shoved it in the pocket of his slacks.
“Okay,” he addressed the empty room. “What will he need when he gets home. A shower, he likes to shower after a long ride. He’ll probably be hungry.” He nodded. “That’s the plan. Start a pan of something, and set the shower up. Good plan.” He clapped once. “Break. Go team.”
In the kitchen, he did what his father had always done when stuck for a meal. Into one pot went spices, potatoes, tomatoes, cut up sausage, and canned chicken broth. “That’s started, it can simmer until he gets home.” He prepared a bowl of rice and ran cool water over it. Swishing his fingers through the water, he stirred it gently, watching as the water changed color. Straining the washed rice, he put it in a pot with a lid and set it aside. “That can wait. I’ll be back.” Denis shook his head. “Who are you talking to, fool?”
The bathroom attached to the main bedroom was big, with a walk-in shower featuring multiple waterheads. Cherry had mentioned more than once how nice it was. Hot water on demand, massage heads, towel warmer. Oh yeah, Denis had gone all out when he’d done a remodel several years ago. Now, every time he shared the shower with Cherry, he’d thanked his past self.
He turned on the towel warmer and draped a couple of towels over the bars. Inside the shower, he put a new bottle of bodywash, the spicy scent he had noticed Cherry liked. Denis went back into the bedroom and grabbed a robe, hanging it on a peg next to the shower.
Returning to the kitchen, Denis stirred the makeshift jambalaya and tasted it. “More salt,” he mused, grabbing the shaker and giving it a good rattle. Stirring again, he tasted again. “Just about right.”
He left it to simmer and went to the living room, turning on the TV. He watched the news with some anxiety, as if whatever job Cherry had been working on today would wind up on the evening news.
Denis woke several hours later when the door rattled open. He pushed up from the couch and met Cherry as he came through the entryway, the door shutting behind him.
Denis held Cherry close, the biker’s leather vest creaking under his grip, the faint scent of smoke and sweat clinging to him like a shadow. Cherry’s arms tightened around Denis’s waist, but there was a hitch in his breath, a subtle wince that made Denis pull back just enough to scan his face. Under the hallway light, Cherry looked worn, his storm-gray eyes shadowed with exhaustion, a split knuckle on one hand, and a dark stain blooming through the side of his shirt beneath the vest.
“You’re hurt,” Denis murmured, his voice thick with concern. He cupped Cherry’s jaw, thumb brushing over the stubble, feeling the tension there. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
Cherry nodded, his usual gruff smirk softened by fatigue. “Just a scratch, Suit Guy. Nothin’ I can’t handle.”
But he let Denis lead him, first to the kitchen to turn off the stove, and then with one arm slung over Denis’s shoulder they made their way to the bedroom. The air was warm, the faint hum of the towel warmer a comforting backdrop. Denis eased Cherry down onto the edge of the bed, taking his vest with reverence, folding it and placing it on top of the nearby dresser. He then knelt in front of Cherry to tug off his boots first, the heavy thuds echoing in the quiet room. Cherry watched him, eyes hooded, something vulnerable flickering in their depths.
“Shirt off,” Denis said softly, his hands gentle as he helped peel the blood-stiffened fabric away. He sucked in a breath at the sight; there was a jagged wound along Cherry’s side, packed with gauze but seeping slightly, the skin around it bruised purple and raw. “Jesus, Cherry. This isn’t a scratch.”
Cherry’s hand came up, covering Denis’s where it hovered over the injury. “Knife glanced off my ribs. Salty patched me up good. It’ll heal.” His voice was low, rough, but there was a tremor in it, not from pain, but from the weight of the night. “Missed you, Denis. Thought about you the whole damn time.”
