“We can fit you in tomorrow, I think—eleven okay?”
“Sure. It won’t take long to get in with the boat, and I can walk from the dock—”
“Wait.” His doctor held up a hand. “Nope.”
Morgan frowned. “What?”
“You’re not piloting yourself in, not as things stand right now. It wouldn’t be safe.”
“Well, you don’t do house calls,” Morgan snarked, “so—”
“Get Ty to handle the boat.”
Wait a second.“You know Ty?”
His doctor laughed. “Everybody in town knows Ty. Why else wouldn’t we be worried sick about some city boy roughing it on the island? We know he’s not going to let you get yourself killed, at least.”
It had been a close call, though. “I’m not sure that’s going to work,” Morgan extemporized. “Ty is—he likes—he prefers to be alone.”
“Uh-huh.” His doctor’s eyes narrowed a bit. “You know, it looks like you’re wearing one of his sweaters.”
Oh shit.So he was. Morgan hadn’t even realized he’d run off with it. The wool was as soft as flannel, had none of the itch he associated with the fabric, and it was nice and stretchy and the easiest non-button-down he had to wear, which he needed lately since all of his were in desperate need of a wash.
Yet another thing to do when he got to town.
“He’ll help,” his doctor decreed. “You ask, and he’ll help. See you tomorrow at eleven, Mr. Miller.”
Fine. Fuck,fine.So Morgan had to talk to Ty, fine. He would do that. He would get up early enough to meet him tomorrow and ask him to get him to town and back. Once, maybe twice. That would be enough to make Ty stop feeling so guilty that he kept feeding him, and soon enough, Morgan would be able to pilot the boat on his own. It was a plan.
He puttered around all evening, restless and on edge, unable to sit down for more than a minute before he had to be upright again. If only Parrish Island came with some hiking trails … Morgan was starting to go out of his mind from pent-up energy, which translated to even more tension. He didn’t get to bed until midnight and didn’t fall asleep until two, and when his alarm woke him up at seven in the morning, there was a pain shooting from his shoulder up the right side of his neck that had him gritting his teeth in agony.
He rubbed as best he could with his free hand, then groaned as he sat up in bed. It hurt so much he felt nauseous, and if Morgan hadn’t had to drag himself downstairs to wait for Ty, he would have rolled over and forgotten about trying to get up at all.
I hate this.Tears sprang up in his eyes, too hot, unwanted and unwelcome.Fuck, I hate it here.
He was alone and in pain, and the only person who could help him was someone he’d managed to ruin things with just as they were getting good, and his neck hurt so much that he was getting a migraine. He missed his bed, the big California king bed withthe best mattress money could buy. He missed food, fresh greens and steaks and even the tacos he used to buy from the food truck down the street from their office building. He missed shooting the shit with his friends late at night, texting each other pictures and stupid memes and hearing about their days.
He missed Bentley. Not Bentley the liar who’d sold their company out from under him, but the man who’d rubbed Morgan’s shoulders when he was tense and made him the perfect cup of coffee. The man who let Morgan kiss him awake even when he had morning breath and who always smiled when Morgan gave him a gift even if it was just a flower. He missed the man he’d trusted … and he missed Ty, the man he’d been so close to trusting.
Morgan bit his lower lip hard enough to bleed as he stifled the sounds that tried to emerge from his throat. No. He wasn’t going to sit here and cry about it. He was going to get up and get dressed and get shit done today, and then he’d see about putting his life back together.
Getting ready was an exercise in masochism; even brushing your teeth is painful when your neck refuses to bend and pulling on clothes was harder than ever. He went with his last clean button-up because he hadn’t been able to do laundry in days, then stuck his wallet in his pocket and his feet in his boots and went to sit on the front stoop. Morgan leaned back against the door and closed his eyes against the glare of the sunshine on the water. It was a pretty morning. Too bad he didn’t feel up to appreciating it.
He must have dozed off because the next thing he knew, a cool hand was on his good shoulder, carefully squeezing. “Morgan?”
“Ty? Ah,fuck.” Morgan hissed as the pain from his little nap made itself clear. His migraine was creating spots across his vision, and the burn in his neck had spread across his entire upper back. “Fuck, ow, ow …”
“Morgan!”
He managed to open his eyes and found himself looking straight into Ty’s dark, fathomless gaze. His face was intent in a way that Morgan knew meant concern. “I need to get to town,” he managed through gritted teeth.
“I can take you,” Ty said immediately. “What do you need to bring?”
“Nothing but my wallet.” And maybe his phone, but that was all the way upstairs … nah.
“All right.” Strong hands made their way under his arm, and then Ty lifted Morgan to his feet with an ease that was almost uncanny. Morgan opened his eyes just a sliver as they made their way down to the boat—Ty’s boat, not Phil’s even though Ty knew where the keys were. Ty’s boat was bigger and would handle the waves between here and shore better, and Morgan took a minute to be thankful for the thought before they headed out.
It was a good thought, but it didn’t really work. Every little bump sent a new jolt of agony up the nerves in his neck and shoulder, and by the time they got to town, Morgan’s vision was swimming from the migraine. Spots floated in his eyes, blocking his vision, and his legs felt shaky.
