Chapter Twenty-Three

"I'm too tired to shower," I grumble, burying my face into Mark's lap. We're on the couch, and Chris looks at the pair of us from the end in disapproval. Even with Mark carrying me for part of the trail, I'm absolutely wiped and also ravenous. It's a strange mix.

"Shower and swap out the inner lining for a clean one," Chris instructs, paying no attention to my complaints. "I'll have food ready when you're done."

I don't answer. Mark rubs my shoulder, and I'm certain that if Chris stops talking for two minutes, I'll be able to fall asleep.

"I will carry you into the shower and wash you myself if I have to," Chris warns.

I open my eyes to glare at him. "I'm tired," I repeat.

There is sympathy in Chris's expression, but not enough to earn me a victory. "Terry said that you'll—"

"I know what he said," I interrupt. I stare at him another few seconds before sighing in defeat. "Fine." I sit up and wobble as I get to my feet.

Mark grabs me, and Chris reaches for me. I have my balance by the time Chris catches my elbow.

"I'm good," I tell them both, shooing away their hands.

I bring everything I need into the bathroom and, aware that Chris and Mark are alone in the other room, I shower quickly. I feel better, afterwards; the hot water relaxes my stiff muscles. I dry off and manoeuvre my way into a pair of loose tracksuit bottoms, leaving my residual limb uncovered. I use one crutch and carry a clean liner and sleeve alongside my prosthetic into the living room with me.

Mark is in the kitchen with Chris, talking to him as he fries something in a pan.

Mark glances at me as I come out, and approaches immediately. He takes my prosthetic and sets it next to the couch, and I drop down to sit.

"Want me to put it on?" Mark asks, silently taking my crutch and propping it up on the end of the coach.

"I have to ice my leg first. According to my recovery specialist…"

"Better do that, then," Mark says. "Do you have any ice packs?"

"In the freezer."

Mark retrieves it and then kneels in front of me. "Want me to blindfold you?"

I twitch knowing Chris is in earshot. I shake my head, and Mark tilts his head, his gaze darting to Chris. "Maybe we should do this in the room?" he suggests.

"I'm working on not blinding myself whenever I have to deal with it," I say.

Mark nods his understanding. "Okay. Let me know if it's too much, and I'll cover you up."

He rolls up my trouser leg and wraps the cooling blanket around my residual limb. He sets his warm hands against my thigh and kneads the muscles. I sink back, sighing. "Feels good," I murmur.

"Don't fall asleep," Chris warns from the kitchen. "Food will be ready in five minutes."

I gaze at Mark through half-lidded eyes. His weight rests on his knees, and he focuses on my leg as he massages me. "Do you want to take a shower?" I ask. "Not that you need to. You didn't break a sweat."

"I'm good," Mark says.

"Were you bored?" I ask next. "I know it was way too easy for you."

"I wasn't bored," Mark confirms. "Especially once you were on my back and I had your arms wrapped around me." He finds a tight muscle in my thigh and works his fingers into it. "We should check out other clubs together. I only did sports ones and didn't try out any of the other ones."

"Same here."

His weight shifts to the side, and he moves his massage to my other leg.

My eyes drift shut. A second later, Mark strokes my cheek. "Food's done," he says. He puts a pillow onto my lap and Chris hands me a bowl of stir fry. Someone put the TV on and a drama plays out on the screen as I eat. The entire bowl of food is devoured in seconds. I place the bowl onto the coffee table and scoot so I can lie out, and rest my head on Mark's lap.

He sets his bowl down next to mine and arranges the throw blanket from the back of the couch over me. "Comfortable?" he checks.

I hum.

I doze off, half-aware as I listen to Mark and Chris talking. Mark strokes my hair with one hand and has the other resting on my shoulder.

"Kyle mentioned that his brothers would tease him whenever he liked anyone," Mark says.

"He told you about it?" Chris asks, a grim note in his voice.

Mark pauses. "I asked. I thought it was shyness at first, but he has such a hard time just talking to me in front of other people sometimes, and he can get so aggressive about rejecting me, I knew there had to be more going on."

Chris sighs. "I hope you don't give him a hard time about it. It's not something he can help."

"I don't."

"It wasn't teasing," Chris says. "I came home from a long trip to find out he'd missed most of the school semester because he was too scared to attend with them. He wouldn't even leave his room until they were out of the house. My brother, the one that had graduated school already, would talk to him through the bedroom door. Taunt him. I'm not even sure half of what he said. Kyle doesn't ever talk about it." There's a pause. "He was only twelve. The brothers he was in school with were both sixteen, and the one that stayed at the house with him was twenty-one."

Tension creeps into Mark's thighs. "What about your parents?"

"Useless," Chris says, his disapproval and distaste clear. "It took weeks to get him comfortable enough to leave his room again, and months before I could convince him to return to school. I ended up enrolling him in a private school six hours away that had a dormitory. I rented a house nearby. He lived with me and stayed in the dormitory when I needed to go away for work. I've never let any of them near him again; not even for our parents' funeral."

There's a long pause of silence. I keep my eyes shut, my breathing level, and don't let my mind wake up enough to grow uncomfortable or tense up.

"He said he was getting the bus home at the start of summer when he got into his accident. You were on your climb. Surely he wasn't going to see any of his other siblings?"

"He was talking about the town where he went to the private school. I keep the house rented out year-round, so he has a place away from here to go if he likes. Last summer, he went home for a few weeks to spend time with his old school friend, so he was probably going to do that this summer, too," Chris explains. He snorts. "I'm more surprised by you than his injury. Ten years of him not so much as hinting about liking someone, and suddenly he's got a boyfriend? And one with your temperament?"

"Apologies for my temperament," Mark says. And I can hear the grin in his voice. He's not sorry at all.

Chris grunts.

As the conversation lulls, I drift back to sleep.

I'm woken by Mark gently shaking my shoulder. I roll over and blink up at him, bleary-eyed. "Is your leg dead?" I mumble.

"Dinner's ready," he says.

"We just ate."

"Hours ago, pretty boy," Mark says, amused.

I must have crashed hard. Did I dream the conversation between Mark and Chris? No, though I'd barely been awake. What else did they talk about? It's not like I have deep, dark secrets, but there have certainly been a number of embarrassing moments that Chris could let slip.

"I heard you gossiping about me," I say.

Mark's smile fades, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "Chris told me about what happened when you were small. Now I understand why he acts more like your dad than a brother."

"He does, doesn't he?" I muse.

"And I understand why you adore him."

"Adore is a strong word."

"And accurate," Mark points out.

I don't dispute it.

An aromatic scent fills the air; my stomach rumbles in response. "Is that salmon?"

"Yes."

I sit up and swing my legs over the end of the couch. I half-stand and yelp, weight falling to the side.

"Whoa." Mark catches me. "You okay?"

I sit down, my heart racing after being jolted to alertness. "Forgot about my leg," I say.

"Forgot?" Mark repeats, amused, as he retrieves my prosthetic.

"It happens at least once a week. I'll wake up, half asleep, and only remember after trying to walk. I actually feel like my leg is there and I'm moving it when it happens," I explain. Mark attaches my prosthetic as I talk.

"I read about that," Mark says. He stands up and offers me his hands. I take them and walk with him to the kitchen island. Chris stands at the stove frying fish fillets with three plates heaped with vegetables and rice set up near him. "Do you ever get phantom pains?"

"Yeah. A few times a day."

Mark startles. "A few times a day ?"

"It's not bad," I explain. "Usually a few seconds of shooting pain and then it's over. That's normal," I add when I see his worried expression.

Chris serves the dinner, and Mark's expression brightens as he takes a bite. I grin. "Good, right?"

"Amazing," Mark agrees wholeheartedly.

As we eat, my gaze drifts to Chris. "Do you know what your plans are?"

"For?" Chris asks.

"Work."

"I'm having other experienced climbers take over my planned hikes for the upcoming year, and I'll take over the workshops and training camps they were scheduled for. At most, I'll need to be away for a week or two for training camps," Chris tells me. "There's one next week. I'll have to fly out for five days."

I don't tell him to go on the hikes or insist I'll be fine if he goes. No matter what I say, I know he won't go on any month-long climbs. And he'll probably never take out the months-long guided trip he did this summer ever again, despite how much money that netted him.

"I'll train you on the accounts during the summer," he continues. "If you still want the job. And have you ready to go full-time by the end of the season."

A part of me relaxes at his statement—hearing that my future plans are already factored into his gives me a strong sense of security. My friends from school used to talk about striking out on their own, but nothing would make me happier than working with Chris.

"What is it you plan to do, Mark?" Chris asks, gaze sliding from me to him.

"I have a job lined up for when I graduate."

I look at him in surprise. "You do?"

"I checked out the job fair the last two years and ended up talking to the same architecture firm for a long while. They offered me a starting position when I graduate."

"Where are they based?" I ask.

"Their main office is in Dublin, and they have smaller offices all over the country. They specialise in rural houses and buildings and drawing plans that follow the rules of each area. All the technical details are what I'll be doing," Mark explains. "They'll be having me do the different training courses I need for the role once I start for them."