Desperate Enemies 3 by Adam Carpenter (latest ebook reader .txt) 📕

doctor was tossing away used gauze when Rich posed his suggestive question. “Seriously. . . I mean, I got shot, doc, my lung collapsed.”

“And you've recovered, nicely and quickly, a credit to your otherwise overall health,” Dr. Montgomery said, scratching notes into his chart. He was fifty-something, handsome, in great shape, but with that ring on his finger and his very apparent hetero vibe, Rich had not made any move on his healer, content during his hospital stay with the ministrations of the cute male nurse. Still, it was one thing to lie back in bed and have your cock sucked till it exploded, it was another to engage in active sexual intercourse, especially an aggressive top who liked to hold off orgasm as long as possible. “Look, Rich, a wound like the one you suffered would give any man pause about even walking up a flight of stairs, let alone. . . engaging in sexual activity, so if you're concerned about your stamina or your breathing, then maybe you're not ready.”

“Not like I've had an opportunity,” Rich said, more to himself than to his doctor.

“Your partner may be afraid, too. . . you know, of injuring you,” the doctor said matter of factly, “so just give it some time, don't push things. You've only been home a week. You're not going anywhere, and I presume neither is he, so it's all good, isn't it? You both had a big scare. But tomorrow is another day, and after that another. . . you get the picture.” He paused, the intent behind his words clear. “It's more than your friend Aaron can say. Learn from him.”

Excusing himself in favor of another patient, the doctor left Rich to get dressed. Rich found that he was staring at himself in the mirror that hung on the back of the door. A clean bill of health? He sighed, wondering why then he felt like he'd had the wind knocked out of him. Was it the reference to Aaron, or was it the lingering doubts that had plagued him since that time in the hospital when Marc had angrily walked out on him. Sure, he hadn't fully left him, he was still home on Eldon Court, not that Marc had been all that welcoming since his return. Cool was a kind word, distant was more accurate, meals silent except for the scraping of silverware over china. Maybe the doctor was right, they had all been through a tough time and then needed to recover. Sometimes the physical wounds were the first to heal.

Hefting himself off the doctor's table, Rich slipped off that flimsy gown. In short order he'd donned his boxers and blue jeans, tossing on his button-down shirt but leaving it unbuttoned for a moment. Moving closer toward the mirror, he examined the bandages on his upper chest, considered what his wound would look like when fully healed. How much of a scar would it leave? His chest was naturally hairy, now still mostly bare, shaved as a result of the surgery. Dark sprigs of hair had begun to grow back between his pecs and at his collar bone, where the hair was densest; would his scar prevent him fully growing back his dark mat? Would Marc come to him at night still? Would his fingers still easily and giddily glide over his chest, or would he find the scar repellent? Rich North had always felt immortal, that nothing could topple him, and yes he'd fought off a gunshot wound and lived to tell about it, so wouldn't that reinforce his notion? For the first time since he'd been told he would be fine, he felt anything but.

Quickly he buttoned up, then made his way out of the doctor's office and into the bright sunshine of the day. Checking his watch, he saw that it was just after one o'clock and almost on cue his stomach growled. The Wonderland Medical Center was located at the far end of Down Wonder, the so-called downtown area of his hometown. He left his car in the parking lot and started down the sidewalk, making his way to the Mad Hatter, the local pub, which had a placard placed on its front patio advertising brunch. Endless mimosas or Bloody Marys.

“Perfect. Just what I need,” he said earnestly, and soon found himself sitting outside with the first of his juicy, bubbly beverages at his side. The waitress had taken his order for eggs, French toast and link sausages, and then he sighed with contentment. Tossing on sunglasses, they helped cut the glare of the hard mid-day sun, gave him a better view of the laid-back activity on Main Street. Yes, this was perfect. . . well almost, all he was missing was Marc at his side, that would have been perfect.

Taking out his cell phone, he dialed Marc on impulse, got voicemail.

“Hey, it's me, just out of the doctor's visit. . . he was good enough to see me on a Sunday, since he plays golf on Mondays, and, well, all is good. I'm enjoying brunch at the Mad Hatter, if you want. . . well, I'm sure you're busy, nevermind, forget I called,” he said, ending the call suddenly. Why was it so difficult for him to ask his lover to join him for a meal? Where was his confidence? He'd always been able to talk to Marc about anything. . . almost anything. The issue of Parker St. John still divided them, what Rich had done the night of the gallery opening. He downed the remnants of his mimosa and the waitress immediately replaced it with a fresh one. Keep that up, she'd get a good tip.

That's when he noticed that he wasn't going to be alone on the outdoor patio, two new people were making their way from the sidewalk to the restaurant and damned if he didn't have to resist the urge to get up and confront them. Danvers Converse, and at his side. .