Heart on the Run (24 page)

As he lay on the floor, feeling a warm thick liquid work its way under his head, he heard another battle cry. Sprocket pried his eyes open, but only the right one—the one farthest from the ground—seemed to want to work. That was okay, all his aches and pains were slowly fading away, so he’d take just one functioning eye…especially when that eye showed him that Thom was running from the back of the store toward them, a huge five foot tall, solid wood candy cane in his hand.

That should do the trick
, he thought as he slipped into the darkness.

Chapter Eighteen

Big, fat, fluffy size-matters snowflakes dumped down from a leaden sky, soaking the knit cap Chaz wore and wetting his cheeks. A sharp wind followed up, slapping him square in the chest as he rounded the corner from the parking lot onto Maple Street.

His fist clenched around the gas station coffee mug, crushing the inadequate Styrofoam and releasing the bitter coffee in a steaming gush. A few yards away, Prudence’s beckoned, a warm, tempting beacon of glowing amber lights and enticing aromas.

Chaz hesitated. He really, really wanted…no needed…a good cup of coffee and a mouthful of something sweet and doughy and spicy. But Sprocket’s car was in the parking lot, and he was a huge fan of Prudence’s coffee.

Could Chaz take the chance of running into Sprocket in the tiny coffee shop?

And if he did, would Sprocket be angry? Bitter? Or worse…friendly and pleasant?

One foot slipped on the icy pavement, and Chaz nearly did the splits trying to regain his balance. By the time he’d windmilled and skated his way back upright, the back of his collar was wet and his forbearance was gone. If Sprocket was in there, so be it. Chaz needed coffee.

And if he got a little dose of bitter along with it, then it was no more than he deserved. Avoiding Sprocket hadn’t gotten him any relief from the pain of their breakup. Not seeing the man he loved sure didn’t keep him from envisioning his naked form, or his naked, grinning like a buffoon roommate, either.

That which doesn’t kill us…

He pushed open the door of the coffee shop and immediately heaved a huge sigh of relief. He could see at a glance that Sprocket wasn’t in there. Prudence was at the counter, her grandson, a striking Asian boy who looked to be in his mid-twenties, was filling the pastry case, and three patrons sat at the small wrought iron tables. There was a story behind the grandson, but no one had the guts to ask, and Prudence never volunteered the information, either. She just introduced him with pride, every time.

“
Good morning, Chaz,” she called out, but this morning some of the cheer was missing from her voice and there was certainly no sparkle in her eyes.

Maybe Black Friday had worn her down. It had certainly been a hell of a day at
Alimentaire
. They’d sold out of the lunch specials, emptied the freezers of the reserves, and killed it with dinner reservations as well. Chaz had been scheduled to leave early, but ended up staying late instead. Dermot had refused to let him stay for the cleanup though, insisting he go home and come back at seven am to do the morning shift while Dermot slept in. “Morning, Pru.” Chaz scanned the pastry case, looking for his favorite. Ning had just set down a thickly frosted coil of cinnamon, raisin temptation nestled in a white accordion paper. “I’ll have a grande pum—uh…caramel latte and a raisin roll, please.”

Prudence blinked, and Chaz could have sworn a tear trickled down her cheek, but he was too busy trying not to remember the hundred or more pumpkin lattes he’d drunk or ordered here with Sprocket in the last month.

One whole, fabulous month of food, friendship, and sex.

Imploded by one incident.

And he just couldn’t get over it, past it, or around it.

The more he thought about it, the more he knew it wasn’t the virginity thing.

Everyone lost their virginity to someone, right? And he sure as hell knew that Sprocket hadn’t been a virgin when they met.

“
Chaz?” Prudence held out a cup to him, and Ning nudged a white bag at him over the counter. “We are so sorry about what happened.”

“
Uhm…thanks.” At first confused by her sympathy, he decided that she must have heard about his fight with Diego over the garlic soup the day before. “No worries. It’s all good.” Wow. Less than twenty-four hours and the gossip was already flying? “It’s all been settled.” He nodded, pushed a ten-dollar bill across with his coffee-soaked glove and backed away from the counter. That Diego was a real piece of work. Imagine, thinking he could garner sympathy by bad-mouthing Chaz…

His ire up and chasing away the glum thoughts, Chaz held the door open for two teenage girls before darting out himself. He stalked down the street, muttering to himself. “Going to have a few words with Diego about this. What a fucking nerve…”

His feet slowed as they always did when the brick and paint and cheery window display of Craft Time emerged on his left. There was something…

A huge wooden panel replaced the clear glass in the front door. Yellow hazard tape draped around two pylons blocked the storefront. The black, red, and white closed sign hung on the wood. “What…”

Chaz stared, trying to take it in. Vandalism? Robbery? What the hell had happened? Sprocket? Suddenly Prudence’s concern made sense…if you didn’t know that he and Sprocket weren’t together…even if you did know that… Xander had been off when Chaz left the restaurant at eight. Craft Time’s manager had stuck his head in the door of the kitchen and announced to Dermot, his lover, that he’d be upstairs soaking in the tub and to bring him dinner. Chaz had met Shawna at their respective front doors yesterday morning, so she had opened. Which meant that…Sprocket had closed. And whatever had happened here had gone down between eight, when Chaz left and closing. Whatever had happened here had happened to Sprocket. “Sprocket?”

Knowing there was a good chance of finding Xander in Dermot’s apartment, Chaz forced himself forward, away from what suddenly looked a lot less like an accident and more like a crime scene.

***

The light hurt Sprocket’s eyes, strange considering he was pretty sure they were still closed. But damn it, the bright lights penetrated through the lids and hurt his eyes. Couldn’t someone turn them down or off? He had enough things on him that hurt; he didn’t need any more. Hell…he was in hell.

That made him pause. All kidding aside, where the fuck was he? He racked his brain, trying to recall the last thing he remembered doing.

Turkey and stuffing…dinner with Mason… No, that wasn’t right. He worked the day after Thanksgiving, Black Friday. There were lots of people…shelves in complete disarray…hustling customers at the registers…

The registers…

He put the money away in the register…

Had to lock the door…

A knife…

Blood…

Pain…

He sat up, screaming, or at least he tried. What he managed was a weak groan and prying one eye open. His right eye. Why wasn’t his left eye working? He reached up to touch it but pain shot through the crook of his elbow.

“
Ahh,” he mumbled. In his head, that was a lot louder.

A hand rested low on his forearm, the thumb rubbing circles into his skin. “Shh, you’re okay now,” Mason whispered in his ear.

“
I wasn’t before?” Sprocket asked, rolling his eye in the direction of Mason’s voice. From the odd look his best friend gave him, maybe that question didn’t come out as he’d meant it to either. They might have a serious communication issue happening here.

“
You were attacked at the store.”

That came from the other side of him. Great, that eye didn’t work, good thing he recognized Shawna’s voice.

Attacked? That was right. The pain came from the attack. The tweaker…he busted in when Sprocket tried to lock the door. Oh god, Thom was there too.

Fighting past the stiffness in his neck, he maneuvered his head to the left to look at a very puffy-eyed and pale Shawna. Surprisingly the movement didn’t hurt near as much as he’d expected it to. “Is Thom okay?”

Her eyebrows fused together just like Mason’s had. Really, these questions sounded clear in his head.

“
Let’s give him some water. Maybe his throat’s dry,” Mason volunteered.

Water would be good; his throat hurt. This time when he swiveled his head to look at Mason, the stiffness was even less, the pain still present but not debilitating.

Mason fumbled with one of those little pink plastic pitchers that every hospital room seemed to have, the bottom half of it surrounded by Styrofoam to keep the contents cool. He filled a cup half full of water and unwrapped a flexible straw. He held the cup at Sprocket’s chin, steadying the straw between his two fingers so Sprocket didn’t have to do any work but suck.

Evidently his sucking skills were too great for his body. Two long pulls of the refreshing liquid threw him into a coughing fit. Every inch of his body throbbed in agony as he waited for the coughing to subside. A tear escaped the corner of his eye, trickling down his cheek and falling into the curve of his ear.

“
Shh, Sprocket. Slow…sip it slowly,” Mason murmured, his voice sounded strained as he stroked his fingers through Sprocket’s hair.

It scared Sprocket. He wanted to know what was wrong with him. Obviously he was in a hospital. He remembered the junkie attacking him, he recalled them tumbling over and pain in his head. He thought he might’ve seen Thom…but he couldn’t vow to that. He couldn’t even go over every move he and his attacker had made with a hundred percent surety. He’d make a lousy witness.

Shawna and Mason patiently waited while it took him a couple minutes to drink what probably amounted to no more than a few ounces of water. He finally let his head rest back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. He wanted to close his eye and relax, but he wasn’t sure how long he’d been resting already and the idea that maybe his eye wouldn’t open again scared the shit out of him. He needed to know what was wrong with him, how serious it was. It felt pretty fucking serious considering it was his body that hurt…but the logical part of him knew pain could be deceiving.

He got a splinter in his foot last year and insisted he’d never walk again—it was a big ass splinter. For someone who loved getting tattoos, he evidently was a huge baby.

A gentle hand massaged his shoulder and Sprocket startled, he must’ve dozed off.

“
More water?” Shawna asked.

Mason had the water in front of him before he even answered, so he decided to drink a little more.

“
You ready to talk? We don’t have to; it can all wait,” Mason assured him as he placed the cup back on the swivel tray and pushed it aside.

“
What’s wrong with me?”

“
That’s a long list, but we’ll stick with your physical health right now.” Mason chuckled, though there wasn’t much mirth in it.

Sprocket gave him the evil eye, but his best friend just shrugged it off as he touched Sprocket’s right cheek.

“
You had me so scared, Sprocks. I thought I’d lost you.”

“
It happened so fast, I don’t…I don’t know how it happened so fast… Shawna was only gone for a couple minutes when I went to lock the door. This shouldn’t have happened…not in our town…”

Too much talking caused his throat to seize up again, and instantly, Mason was there with the water. Sprocket thought with the amount he’d drunk already, the cup should be empty, but it was still a quarter full.

“
Don’t blame the town, blame the asshole. You know he’s right down the hall from you. I swear I want to take a pillow a—”

“
Shawna,” Mason warned, nodding away from them.

Sprocket slowly lifted his head and noticed the door to the room stood open. “He’s in the hospital too?”

“
Oh yeah, he hit the register counter with you, then Thom beat the shit out of him with a…” Shawna hiccupped and threw her hand over her mouth.