He would do his best to follow Gray’s rules from now on, because alternatives inevitably ended with horrible suffering. So he nodded, and licked his aching lips, afraid to make a sound even when the treatment hurt him.
Gray seemed to appreciate his silence, and his handsome mouth stopped showering Shadow with mean words, which would have been a step in a good direction if it wasn’t for the fact that without talking they barely connected. Shadow couldn’t read Gray’s thoughts, and with the ban on talking, Shadow wasn’t able to communicate the depth of his feelings. Silence was a wall Shadow resented already.
During Shadow’s time alone in the bathroom, Gray had prepared a nest of sorts for him, and even though it was far away from Gray’s bed, Shadow’s spirits were lifted when he realized he’d lie next to a radiator.
The comforter offered to him was soft and warmed up quickly when Gray handed Shadow a hot rubber container wrapped in fabric. Had there been a different start to this gesture, he would have seen it as caring, but that wasn’t the case, because Gray didn’t want to know how much Shadow was hurting, how there was a lump on his head, or how his hair was wetting the pillow.
Shadow couldn’t help but feel even more rejected when Gray chained him to the radiator with a pair of cuffs, but he no longer had much hope for the miserable two months awaiting him here. He couldn’t wait to be back with the others, on the Other Side, away from the pain of being unwanted.
Without paying Shadow any attention, Gray was getting ready for bed himself, and when he disappeared in the bathroom, Shadow couldn’t help a whimper. Despite everything Gray had put him through, Shadow hated to think about Gray’s lovely warm skin being subjected to the icicle bath.
When Gray walked out, he was wearing different clothes—a disappointment, since Shadow had hoped for a glimpse of skin at least, but maybe it was for the better.
The light died and Gray slid under the covers without another word.
Shadow lay in his nest of comforters, sulking and restless, with only the hot water bottle to keep him company. He hugged it tight, imagining it was Gray resting so pliantly in his arms.
Chapter 6
Gray hadn’t gotten much sleep. His mind overflowed with thoughts of what could have happened had Shadow not gotten distracted, and his racing brain was on the constant lookout for threats. Curled up under the comforter, he’d gotten sweaty, but he refused to kick off the covers, comforted by the illusion that they were protecting him somehow. In the fragile state between reality and dream, the folds almost felt like Mike’s arms. Still, any sound, screech, rustle, was a warning sign that had his muscles tensing and his ears turning into overly sensitive receivers.
The urn containing Mike’s ashes was what helped him through the insomniac hallucinations. Made out of the peanut tank of Mike’s own motorcycle, it was as extravagant as he used to be—polished and decorated with blue flames airbrushed over a black base. And when it rested in Gray’s bed and absorbed the heat, it let him imagine Mike was there.
Shadows shifted on the wall as night moved on, and every time Gray shut his eyes, he feared he would see the large shape looming above his bed, about to pour down and choke him. So he refused to open his eyes, as if not seeing Shadow’s silhouette could somehow keep him safe. But he wouldn’t uncover his cards. Showing your opponent weakness was what put you six feet under. And Gray wasn’t ready to die yet. His biker family still needed his help.
Last night had been a bitter dish that he had to consume whole and even lick the plate. It didn’t matter how tough of a training regimen he followed, or how religiously he exercised at the hospital. Without one arm, he was in a vulnerable position, even more so when pitted against someone physically stronger and larger than him. The advantage of being prepared meant nothing when he’d lost one of his tools of trade, and it would take only days for his brothers to notice that he was no longer the capable man they could rely on when a job needed stealth and precision. Some would try to be kind, others less so, but ultimately they would all see that Gray was no longer an ace in the hand of cards that represented all the members. They would see he was a liability, at best a joker, a filler to be left on the side when the game got heated.
As his heart counted the seconds, night slowly transformed into day, and by the time light turned from purple to yellow, Gray’s eyelids finally became heavy.