“Headache?” I asked, keeping my voice low and soothing. Since his injury, our dynamic had somehow… shifted. We went from being two best friends rooming together, constantly spewing shit at each other, taunting and teasing, to whatever this was between us. I’d become his comforter, someone who soothed him and took care of him when his headaches were too bad or he was having a particularly bad day with his vision or studying.
“Yeah,” he rasped. “Think it’s a migraine. I’m having trouble keeping anything down.”
I frowned and reached up to run my fingers through his hair. It used to be super curly, to the point he constantly had to put product in his hair to keep it tamed, but not long after his injury, he’d gone to get a straight perm so he no longer had to bother with it anymore. He’d recently gotten it redone, so it was super straight now.
“Let’s try some broth and crackers,” I suggested. “You need to eat, Jax. Can’t be laying here on an empty stomach. It’ll just make you feel worse.”
He groaned. “Don’t wanna,” he mumbled.
I chuckled. “Too bad.” I scraped my blunt nails along his scalp, then stood, already missing the way he’d sort of pressed against my hand like he needed more. “Try getting a shower, and then put some Vix on your temples. I’ll go get some broth warmed up.”
I was spooning broth mix into the boiling water on the stove when I heard the shower start in the hallway. By the time he finished showering, the broth was cooling in the living room, I had crackers set beside the cup of broth, and the TV was on South Park with the volume turned low. Jaxon made his way out of the bathroom—shirtless with only a pair of low-slung gray sweats riding on his hips, abs and broad chest on full display.
I forced my gaze away and focused back on South Park, trying my damnest to ignore the warmth surging through my lower region.
I was straight. Always had been. And no other guys interested me. But my best friend? Jaxon? I was strangely attracted to him and had been since his injury, like seeing him in a coma had made something inside me shift, which seemed really fucked up. But maybe it was because I’d been terrified of losing him. Maybe that was what’d unlocked all these feelings inside of me.
Despite my newfound feelings, I’d never tell Jaxon how I felt about him. He needed me to be there for him. To be his best friend and take care of him. Because while his parents had absolutely zero issue taking care of him financially, they weren’t all that great at taking care of him where it really mattered, which was why he needed me.
I couldn’t fuck this up.
“Sit down and try to drink that,” I ordered, jerking my chin in the direction of his broth.
He flopped onto the couch beside me and grabbed the cup of broth with an annoyed sigh. I didn’t say a word, just let him have his tiny tantrum because I knew it made him feel just a little better. He managed to drink the broth and hold it down, even stomaching a few crackers. And then, surprising the fuck out of me, he grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch, wrapped it around himself, and rested his head on my shoulder. I swallowed thickly, the scent of him—spice and eucalyptus—infiltrating my nostrils, along with the strong scent of Vix.
“You okay?” I quietly asked.
He nodded. “This may be weird, but your cologne helps my headache.”
Be still, my fucking heart.
I wrapped an arm around his shoulders and shifted so we were both a little more comfortable. “Okay,” I said simply. “Stay here as long as you need then.” Even if it damn near fucking kills me.
Chapter 3
Jaxon
Samuel arched a dark brow at me as he crossed his arms over his chest. He was in his work clothes—a dark t-shirt with a pair of coveralls on over his jeans, the top part tied around his waist. He’d filled out a lot since high school. Gone was the skinny boy who’d missed too many meals. Now, he was healthier and stronger, his body more defined. Hunter, Samuel’s boyfriend, made sure Blaze and I knew how much he fucking loved this version of his man. It was a hell of a lot more than I ever wanted to know about their relationship, honestly.
“What’s up?” he asked, reaching up to adjust the ball cap on his head, which had the Mazda logo on it.
“Need an oil change.” I tossed him my keys, which he easily caught. “How long is the wait?”
He glanced behind him at the three bays, all of which were full. “Probably about thirty to forty-five minutes before I can get your truck in here.” He looked back at me. “You want a full service or just the oil change?”
“Full service.” Wasn’t like I didn’t have the funds. My parents, while mostly absent from my life, leaving me with nannies until I got old enough to take care of myself, provided for me well financially. They had more money than they’d ever know what to do with, and so long as I didn’t wind up in jail or the morgue, they didn’t really care what I got up to. They just deposited insane amounts of money into my account every month.
Honestly, I could probably be a bum, never attend another college class, and never get a job, and they wouldn’t care. I wasn’t even sure if they’d notice, to be real.
Samuel nodded. “There’s coffee inside,” he told me. Then, he headed into the garage bay, tucking my keys into his pocket. He was the only person I let do any work on my truck. When I came to the shop he managed, everyone knew not to even get near my truck, or Samuel would bite their heads off. In fact, when I’d bought my truck, it’d been so down in the dumps, I had to have it towed here. Samuel not only fixed everything and made it run like new, but he also did the paint job, got all the dents and dings out, and reupholstered my interior.
Crazy to think at one point, I bullied him. And there was no excuse for me acting like a homophobic asshole toward him. I should’ve never followed what Hunter did, especially when, apparently, Hunter only did it because he was closeted and afraid of coming out himself. There was no excuse for how we’d treated Samuel. We did all that shit to look cool, and now look at me. Maybe my injury was karma coming to fuck me in the ass—raw and without lube, at that.
Hell, if anyone were to ask me, I thought every man was at least a little bit gay. I certainly was. How I felt for my best friend was proof of that. But honestly, how could I not start falling for Blaze when he literally was the sole reason I hadn’t unalived myself yet? Depression was a bitch I struggled with daily, and some days, she was much louder than my will to stay alive. But then, I just pictured how stricken and stressed Blaze looked when I finally opened my eyes in the hospital, and I decided to keep living for him.
I dropped into a chair inside the waiting room and pulled my phone out, surprised to see a text from Blaze.
Blaze:
