Tyler opened his mouth to protest, but at Darius’s harsh glare, he wisely kept this mouth shut as Darius pulled out his phone and made the call.
“Marcus, where are you?”
The phone was too far away for him to hear Marcus on the other end.
“It’s Tyler. Come to the club now.” Darius shoved his phone into his pocket and with Tyler leaning heavily on his shoulder walked with him back down the alleyway and into the side entrance of the club. Once inside, Darius guided him to Marcus’s office and helped him find a comfortable position on the sofa.
“Do you want a glass of water?” Darius hovered, his dark gaze searching Tyler’s. “How do you feel?”
Tyler winced through his smile. “Like I got jumped in an alley.” He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling; his body ached, and he wondered how long he’d be out of commission and unable to dance now that he was injured. If Marcus fired him now, he had enough saved away for only three months’ rent. After that he’d have to make the choice of unemployment and food stamps, which he loathed, or moving from the city, which tore at his heart. Succumbing to the sudden weakness that swept through his aching body, Tyler closed his eyes.
He dozed off, only to be suddenly awakened when the door to the office banged open and a wild-eyed Marcus rushed in. Nervous anticipation curled at the base of Tyler’s spine, but he remained silent, too hurt and exhausted to speak.
“What the fuck happened? Where’s Tyler?”
Darius gestured toward the sofa. Marcus, catching a glimpse of him, rushed to his side but stopped short of touching him. Instead, to Tyler’s shock, Marcus knelt before him and placed a hand lightly on his knee.
“Ty?”
His nickname on Marcus’s lips broke Tyler’s composure. A bossy, arrogant Marcus he could deal with. But a concerned and caring Marcus didn’t place on his radar. Inexplicable tears filled his eyes, and he blinked furiously, willing himself to regain some measure of composure.
“I’m all right.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me. You look like shit. Talk to me.” His voice didn’t rise above its usual quiet tone, but Tyler knew Marcus well enough now to sense the anger bubbling below the surface.
“I got jumped. It happens all the time in the city. Unfortunately, tonight was my turn. I think I may have cracked some ribs, ’cause it hurts to breathe.” He pressed his hand to his side and winced. The skin felt tender and hot beneath his shirt.
“Then why are you here and not in the hospital? You need an X-ray.” Marcus pulled out his phone. “I’ll call an ambulance right now. And you should call the cops and make a report.”
“No.” He shifted on the sofa and a white-hot bolt of pain sliced through him. “Shit, that hurts.”
“You’re in no position to tell me no.”
“I can because I have no insurance to pay for the hospital bills.”
Marcus’s jaw tightened, and Tyler could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. “I’ll pay for it. This is your health, and you got hurt coming to work at my club.”
“No. I can’t accept that.”
“You’re being a fucking asshole.” Marcus stood and fumed as he paced the room, his phone in his hand. He stopped short and stared hard at Tyler for a second before touching his screen, obviously dialing someone.
“I said I’m not—”
“Shut up for a second. Hello, Micah? It’s Marcus. Yeah, listen. A friend of mine has been hurt really bad and needs X-rays but has no insurance. Who do you know that can help?”
Tyler gaped at him. “You can’t do that.”
“Yeah, I can hold.” Marcus quirked his brow and covered the phone with his hand. “I can do whatever I want, and that includes having my friends help you.” They waited for several minutes before he turned his attention back to his phone call. “Yeah? She’ll do it for him tonight? Great, thanks. Tell her we’ll be there in fifteen minutes tops.” Marcus ended the call and his cocky-bastard grin resurfaced. “You’re in luck. My doctor friend Micah called an orthopedist, and she’s agreed to see you at the hospital.”
Despite his throbbing side, Tyler continued to argue with Marcus. “I told you no. I can’t pay, especially now that I’m going to be out of a job.”
“Who says you’re out of a job?”
As if he was explaining a difficult lesson to a child, Tyler held his patience in check. “It’s obvious I can’t dance anymore, and I’ll be out of commission for who knows how long. You’re going to have to replace me.”
“Is that what you think? That I’m going to toss you out because you’re hurt and can’t dance?”
To Tyler’s surprise, Marcus joined him on the sofa, close enough that he could sense his body heat and smell his subtle cologne, but not touching.
