One

ONE

I hated hospitals, and having spent the last eight days in one, I was dying to go home. Not that there was anyone to go home to, but still. The smells, the sounds—I was ready to get the hell out of purgatory. And the wound, under the bandage, below my right shoulder, was itchy now instead of painful.

My parents, my brother, had all visited and then returned to their respective homes at my insistence. I loved that they'd all hopped on planes, but the holidays were looming and things like an excitedly anticipated cruise for my parents, and his wife being in her third trimester for my brother, meant none of them could stay. I didn't need them to. It had been scary when I'd been shot, but I was well on the mend. This was corroborated by an endless stream of friends who had come by as well. I had so many visitors, the nurses had given me multiple warnings. They understood I was popular, but the sheer volume of people stopping by was out of hand. It was very kind, and I appreciated the company, but for an introvert, it had become a bit daunting. At the moment, I was more tired of being cheerful than I was from recovering from getting shot.

"Hey."

Looking up, I was stunned.

"What?" he groused at me, irritated that fast.

I was speechless. The man who had just walked into my room was my ex, but what made it amazing was that he wasn't my last one. He was not Greg Nevill, who had decided that living with a man who ran a homeless shelter was too much work, and he was not Sean Harris, who I had spent three years with before that. The man I was looking at was Dixon Bain, the very first man I had ever loved, back a million years ago when I was young and stupid and twenty-two. It had begun at eighteen, when we were both freshmen in college at the University of Chicago, and ended four years later, when he returned to New York.

"Holy shit," I managed to get out.

He walked over to the bed, took off the black cashmere-and-wool overcoat, and draped it over the end. He was wearing a navy-blue suit underneath, the epitome of polished and professional. I was thinking he should have been on the cover of GQ .

"May I sit and talk to you?"

"Of course," I told him, too out of it to do anything but stare. I watched him grab the chair that my boss was in an hour before and move it next to the bed. He sat down facing me. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Dark olive-green eyes focused on me.

"Jesus, Dix, what's it been?"

"Ten years."

I knew for certain it was at least eight, but I would take his word for it. "And you're doing what? Just… visiting?"

He cleared his throat. "You know Gwen Dawkins of Peterson Dunbar, don't you?"

It took me a minute, because really, it had been forever since I'd laid eyes on the man, and I was having just the most surreal moment ever.

"Ev?"

And he was shortening my name like it was normal and expected and still us.

"Um, yeah, she––she's the community outreach coordinator at PD."

He nodded, leaning forward. "Well, I don't know if you know or not, but Peterson Dunbar is an affiliate of Bain Limited."

I shook my head. "No, I had no idea."

His eyes were hard to describe, because when you said olive green, people immediately had a vision in their heads of what that looked like. But Dixon's eyes… his eyes were this clear green mixed with brown, the color of dark khaki but with a sort of simmering intensity in them everyone always noticed. They were unique, just like he was. When I had been spellbound by the man those many years ago, just looking up and finding myself caught in his gaze had made my cock hard. I was very glad that I was swaddled under layers of blankets so he couldn't see the reaction I was having to him. Some things never changed.

"So." He cleared his throat. "When Gwen sent an email to her boss saying that she felt a donation in your name to the shelter you ran would be a good idea, sort of a gift for the holidays, I had to sign off on it, as my director of charitable contributions is out on maternity leave."

I nodded.

"I emailed her back, asking why we were making a donation in your name, and she explained that she felt it would be a nice gesture, as the shelter would be missing their director for at least a month while you recuperated from getting shot."

I had the weirdest feeling that I was dreaming. "So you came all the way from New York just to check up on me?"

"Of course I did."

I saw how tense he looked, but that made no sense. "Why?"

"Why what?"

I squinted at him.

"Why would I come check on you?"

"Yes, Dixon," I said, drawing out his name. "Why would you?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Oh dear God. We would be caught in this circle forever. "Just answer the question, would you, please? It's annoying as hell."

"I came because you got shot, idiot."

I scowled that time. "What's wrong with you?"

"Oh, I don't know," he said sarcastically. "What could it be?"

"I have no idea."

"I needed to see you."

"You could have just called."

"No, I couldn't have. I needed to see you for myself."

But truly, that made no sense. And while I was trying to wrap my brain around that, I couldn't stop staring. The man was really just so pretty.

Taller than me, broader, more muscular, he was a swimmer just like I was. We had swum on the same team in college; it was how we met.

He was not the kind of man you noticed right away; he grew on you instead. It took hours of listening to his low husky voice, days of noticing the way his lip turned up in the corner when he smiled, and months of having the hooded gaze leveled on you for the slow heat to build to recognition that yes, you were smitten. When I was eighteen, it had taken me an entire semester to realize that it wasn't air I needed—it was Dixon Bain.

He was sexy and hot, and had always been breathtaking.

Ten years looked good on him. He had laugh lines now, his copper-colored hair was cropped short, and the eyebrows, dark and expressive, were no longer hidden under heavy bangs. I used to push his hair out of his face to trace down the long nose, the full lips, so I could see him, kiss him.

There had been more-beautiful-than-him men in my bed over the years, but never one as sensual or one I loved quite so hard.

"Evan."

"Sorry, tell me why you didn't just call?"

"Because I wasn't sure if you'd talk to me or not."

"Why wouldn't I?"

He shrugged broad shoulders.

"You don't need a reason to call me. You can just call."

"I thought I did."

I smiled at him. "'Cause you're an idiot."

"This is not news," he grumbled, reaching for my hand, and I let him take it.

"You look good."

"I wish I could return the compliment," he replied, taking a deep breath in as he leaned on the bed. "You look like shit."

I cracked a grin. "Nice."

He squeezed my hand gently. "So I don't see anyone around."

"Meaning?"

"Is there a guy in the picture?"

"Not right now."

"Why not?"

"You know me—" I grinned lazily. "—I'm difficult."

"You just want to save the world, is all."

"Yeah, well, that's really annoying to most people."

"When did the last guy bail?"

"He didn't bail. The relationship was called on account of time. He wanted more of mine, and I couldn't give that to him."

"You always did suck at time management."

There was no arguing that point. "So you just pop back into town after ten years to catch up?"

"Again, you got hurt. I wanted to see you."

"Why?"

He let my hand go and raked his fingers through his thick hair. "Because all the things I thought were right were wrong."

"I have no idea what that means."

"No, I know." He sighed deeply. "But one thing is for sure."

"What?"

He leaned back in the chair, his hands locked behind his neck as he studied me. "You would not be in the hospital right now if you were with me."

"Oh no?"

He shook his head. "No. This is the result of no one keeping track of you."

"Uh-huh."

He cocked an eyebrow. "You disagree?"

"Please, Dix, the guy that did this is a fuckin' psychopath. There was no way anyone could've protected me from this."

He nodded. "Forgive me if I disagree and call bullshit."

I let out a quick breath.

"I would have kept a better watch over you after he threatened you the first time with the fuckin' gun," he said pointedly.

"How'd you know about the gun?" I asked, because the man who had shot me, Andrew—Drew—Sims, had in fact made more than one trip to the shelter to threaten me. He did not like the fact that I spent a lot of time talking to the kids, boys and girls ages fourteen to seventeen, who he'd strung out on drugs.

First, he befriended them, then he got them hooked on drugs, and finally, when he was sure he had them good and addicted, he had them turn tricks for him. He was the biggest piece of lowlife scum I knew, and I never missed an opportunity to screw with him. And because I was seen as doing the community a service, the police in downtown Chicago checked on me, and when I said I was worried, they would go mess with him for no other reason than my word. The fact that he was a pimp wasn't the problem; the fact that he preyed on children was. Apparently, he finally had enough. It sucked for him that I lived through his attempt on my life, because now, with everything else he had done, being a repeat offender and all, it was life behind bars for Mr. Sims.

"Ev?"

I looked up at Dixon.

"You had a restraining order against Andrew Sims. He wasn't allowed within a hundred feet of you or the shelter at any time. That's a matter of public record."

I shook my head. "I'm too tired to argue with you."

"I bet," he said with a grunt, leaning forward, both hands taking my one. "Hard to debate the truth."

"Knock it off," I murmured, closing my eyes but not pulling my hand free.

He was quiet, and I felt his fingers sliding between mine.

"Let go."

"Make me."

"Why don't you go home?"

"Sure. Why don't you come with me?"

My eyes drifted open. "What are you talking about?"

"Evan, you are in desperate need of me."

I scoffed. "Oh? How do you figure that?"

"Look around."

I didn't say anything.

He put a hand on the side of my neck, and his thumb slid over my jaw, under my chin and down, stroking my skin. His hand on my neck was warm, and I was getting sleepy.

"You always were a sucker for me petting you."

I grunted because my energy was gone. My eyes would not stay open.

"I have something to say, all right?"

"G'head," I agreed, and my voice was deep and raspy.

"Okay," he said huskily, his thumb sliding up and down my throat. "Now, I don't want you to get up on your high horse and be offended. I just want you to listen."

"I make no promises."

"I just need you to hear me out."

"Fine." I sounded a bit petulant, but I was tired.

"I think we can both agree on the fact that any guy who isn't me isn't going to last with you."

"Oh?" I smiled, opening my eyes to look up at him. "Is that right?"

"Yeah, that's right," he groused at me. "And stop being a wiseass."

I groaned. "Fine. Why is that?"

"Because no one but me is strong enough to take your bullshit on a day-to-day basis."

"My what?"

"You heard me." He stood up then, walked several feet away from my bed before turning around to look at me. "You are so much work."

And it clicked then how he had no idea who I was anymore. "I used to be work, I'll give you that. The way we fought and made up and the stuff that got broken when we went at it… whole lotta drama back then," I agreed. "But I'm not that guy anymore, Dix. I've learned stuff from everybody I've been with. When I was with you, I had no clue who I was. I'm different now, hand to God."

"I'm sure you're different in some ways, but not in the way that matters."

"Like?"

"Like you need someone to remind you to eat and take your vitamins and go to bed. You used to forget to sleep for days at a time until I came home and held you down and fucked you so hard and so long that your body gave up and you passed out."

Jesus.

I remembered when he used to walk in the door after working back-to-back shifts at the restaurant for a few days and I was still awake. If he wasn't home to lie down with, I forgot to go to bed, and then I was so wired I could barely even breathe. I would listen for him, for his return, with my whole body. I was tense, overwrought, and vengeful, picking a fight with him the minute he stepped through the door. He would shake his head like I was ridiculous before he'd throw me down, manhandle me like I wanted—needed—and bend me over the bed and take me hard. I would crack and crumble and collapse under him. His arms tight around me, holding me close… I had never slept better, so safe, so loved.

Crap.

"You put everyone else before yourself, you always have. And it's a great quality and scary as hell at the same time."

I smiled and let out a sigh. "I'm a big boy now, Dix. Nobody has to take care of me anymore."

"Oh yeah? Who's at home to take care of you now?"

"Are you listening to me?" I asked irritably. "There's no one. That's the point. I'm good with it being just me."

He was silent a moment. "Are your folks coming in from Dallas?"

"They were here five days ago. They're actually on a cruise for the holidays now."

He nodded. "That was nice of you to make sure they got their vacation."

"They didn't need to change their plans on my account, I'm good."

"And your brother, Craig, and his wife?"

"Craig was here at the same time as my parents, but Marissa is in her last trimester at the moment, so they're not traveling this year. They wanted me to come to Atlanta, especially since my folks are on said cruise, but… I have a lot to do at the shelter."

"You mean you had a lot to do at the shelter. Who's taking over for you?"

"I… the assistant director. He's got everything under control. He came by today and gave me an update. My boss came by too. I think he was concerned that I'd be worried, so he dropped by to make me feel better."

"So let me understand: they will get along just fine without you."

"For a short amount of time, yes."

"I see." His voice dropped low as he looked at me. "So technically, you could be off from now until what––after New Year's?"

"Well, yeah, but––"

"Okay."

"Okay what?"

"Okay, then you should come and stay with me for a little while. Just a few weeks or so and see how it goes."

"See how what goes?"

"Don't play dumb."

I just stared at him.

"What?"

"Are you drunk?"

He scowled at me.

"Dixon, have you lost your mind? Do you even remember why we broke up?"

"Yeah, I remember. I was twenty-three, you were twenty-two, I had to go back to New York to take my place in the family business, and you wanted to be a fuckin' social worker here in Chicago. That's why we broke up."

"No, no," I corrected him, "don't even try to blame the end on me. We broke up because you couldn't tell your rich conservative family that you loved a man."

He squinted at me.

"It's true," I spat angrily, annoyed that even after so long it still hurt. "You told me what your dad said when you heard him talking to your grandfather that time."

He was silent.

"And in a way it was easier for you to use your dad's words instead of having to come up with your own."

"I used to be a coward."

"And you're not anymore?"

"No."

"Well, good for you."

"You don't believe me," he stated flatly.

"What does it matter?"

"Listen, Evan, I need to talk to you."

"Nothing that comes out of your mouth will fix something that happened ten years ago, Dix. Just forget it."

"I tried. It didn't take."

I had no idea what that meant, but I was too tired to hear about his epiphany or to debate with him, so tired, and I needed water and I needed to rest. "Okay."

"That's it?"

"Can I have some water?"

"No, you can't have any fuckin' water. I wanna know what the hell you're––"

"Nurse!" I yelled instead of pushing the call button just to make a point.

"Shut up," he growled, and I smiled as he moved around the bed. I didn't even realize I had closed my eyes until the straw pressing against my bottom lip made me open my mouth. I drank as much as I could and then let my body sink back down into the bed.

"Ev."

"Go back to New York, Dix," I mumbled, my eyes fluttering, trying to open but unable to. "It's okay. I know you couldn't keep me. I know your father hated me."

"That's not true."

But I was way too tired to keep talking to him. When I felt his lips on my forehead, I sighed deeply. I couldn't help it.

"I missed you, you stubborn prick."

I smiled before I fell asleep.