Chapter Sixteen

 

Dean unlocked his front door to get inside and went to hit the light switch. “Fuck!” In aggravation, he flipped it a few more times, but no, nothing changed. No lights. “Son of a bitch.” He’d dropped off his parents at their hotel after a tense ride to Cassan. He knew his mother was itching to pry into the argument he’d had with Cade, but she’d somehow managed to not badger him. After all of that, he comes home to a dark house.

Walking inside, he wondered how long the power had been out. He aimed for the kitchen and opened the freezer. A cloud of cold popped out. Not long. Good. He started pawing through drawers looking for the flashlight. He knew he had one. He really hoped it had batteries that worked.

He used the screen light from his phone for a dim halo as he searched. He slammed the drawer shut. It wasn’t there. Damn it, where did he put it last time?

The temperature was dropping without the heater kicking on. He could feel it against bare skin. He started digging in another drawer. Wind pushed against the house, making it creak and groan. Sounded like another front. Not a good night to have lost power.

Hunting in another drawer, his back was turned to the hallway to the second half of the house. It wasn’t a very large home, a single-wide trailer. Three bedrooms with the kitchen and living room separating them, and one of those rooms was nothing but storage. He wasn’t even close to being the first owner, but like he’d told Cade, how much did he really need? He’d shared a place with Daniel, but after his death, he’d needed something that wasn’t a constant reminder when he had Gemini’s for that.

Maybe the phone could give off enough light to at least check the breaker box. There had to be a reason it went out. The bill had been paid, so it had to be something electrical.

He glanced out the kitchen window to the front yard. It was dark, overcast, and the wind was picking up surface powder and tossing it around like a dust storm. There was something definitely moving in. The last good snowfall had been several days before, which meant they were due for the next wave.

He shivered. He did not want to be in a powerless house overnight. His phone started singing. He sent the call to voicemail, well aware by the tone who was calling. He wasn’t ready to talk to Cade. Dean was still pissed at him, with plenty of reasons to stay that way.

His hand lowered.

The instantly biting pressure around his neck shocked him. He jerked for it with a clawed hand as it painfully started to slice through skin.

The stranglehold held him immobile, pinned between the body behind him and the counter before him.

Scratching at the thin wire around his neck was pointless as the pressure increased. His jaw ached as he clenched his teeth, jerking his body to unbalance the man behind him. They struggled, weaving and bouncing around the kitchen.

Dean hunted with a hand but couldn’t get enough backward lean to find the man’s head. Air was beginning to burn as he labored to breathe. His throat felt on fire. The line of pain was intense. Each jerk of limbs, of bodies, sawed the wire a little deeper into soft flesh.

He bent and spun, unable to shake the weight of the clinging man. The garrote was anchoring him to Dean.

Sparks popped in front of his eyes, scattering like wild comets.

The level of pain bursting from the pressing slice of the garrote had never been felt in his life. He refused to give in to it.

They crashed into the refrigerator, toppling things to the floor from above as they struggled. A few things shattered, or rolled. He didn’t have the capacity place what they had been. He tried to trip his attacker, but there just wasn’t a way to take him off balance. The man avoided elbows like a matador avoided horns. He pulled on arms, yanked on clothing; he had absolutely no leverage to disentangle the person behind him.

A knock on the door was followed by, “Dean, open up. I’m sorry.”

Dean almost passed out as the pressure increased with deadly intent into his neck. No more drawing it out. The man behind him wanted to finish this. Like a twist tie was being wound behind his neck, the noose shrank, cutting deeper. He pushed with one last gathering of strength, knocking them both into the refrigerator again. It shuddered and shook. They rebounded into the wall, creating an explosive thud. He gasped as the pressure moved, increased, jumped. Seared his flesh. He felt the slick slice as it dug deeper into skin. He was losing.

He was going to die.

“Dean!” Cade rattled the door impatiently.

His vision was going gray. The darkness surrounding him thickened. His chest raged with the strain.

The door exploded inward with a hard boot kick.

His legs went out from under him, unable to hold his weight any longer. His lungs screamed for air. His throat… Blood. It was soaking his front. Pain. Aching numbness.

An unholy growl was followed by a cry. The tension around his neck vanished. He collapsed face first to the floor, gasping, holding a hand to his throat. He shuddered in agony and then darkness enveloped him.

 

* * * *

Cade stopped behind Dean’s car. The house was utterly dark. He had to be home. Cade didn’t think he had that much of a head start on him that he’d already be in bed, but maybe he was.

It felt eerie, though. There was absolutely no light, from anywhere around the house. Cade frowned. A sense of disquiet pervaded the air. Wind blew, but the rest…felt…off.

He climbed the steps and knocked on the door. “Dean. Open up. I’m sorry.”

He waited, listening, hoping Dean would give him one more chance. Expecting a light to pop on, he stood on the step. A loud thud caught his attention, locking his muscles in anticipation. The impact rocked the whole trailer. “Dean!” He tried the knob, cursing that it was locked.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong,” he whispered. He kicked in the door.

Pitch black filled the house to every corner, with only the slightest tinge of illumination through the windows. Harsh panting and scuffled feet whipped his head in the direction of the kitchen.

He barely acknowledged the growl when it filled his throat. A running start. His entire body launching through the air. The crash they made as he took the man to the ground. It was disjointed and done completely instinctively. Cade held him down with a relentless grip and punched him. Just once. He went limp instantly.

“Dean!” He shook the man he straddled then lurched away. “Dean! Talk to me!”

Scrambling over the person’s body, he reached Dean’s side, ignoring the oddities on the floor. Blood ran from the wound around his neck. “Dean!” He hunted for a pulse and almost sobbed when he found it.

“I got you,” he whispered. With care, Cade rolled him to his side, jerking off his coat to rest his head on then tried to see what he could find to staunch the blood coming from his wounded neck. He dug kitchen towels out of the drawer and used them to pack against Dean’s throat. “Stay with me, babe. Please.” The bleeding was lessening. That was a good sign. He hadn’t reached a vein or artery.

Withdrawing his phone, he called for emergency. His own panting was slowly evening out from sheer panic.

Cade kept a finger to Dean’s pulse and a hawk’s watch on his breathing. So many things could happen. Blood into his lungs, a collapsed passage… He tried hard to not let those thoughts distract his vigilance over him.

Lights and sirens eventually lit up the frozen world outside the gaping doorway.

“In here!” Cade shouted. He hadn’t moved from Dean’s side, and wasn’t about to. Not until they were ready to put him on the stretcher for the trip to the hospital. “I’ll be right behind you, babe.” He kissed Dean’s forehead and let the EMTs take him away.

The wire had done a lot of damage. His anger boiled up again when he saw it as the EMTs started to treat him beneath better lights with a wrap to slow blood.

“Why is it so dark?” Officer Archer was playing with the light switch. They’d dragged out Dean’s assailant in cuffs, still groggy and incoherent.

“I don’t know. It was like this when I got here.” He gathered his coat, kicking the kitchen towels to the side to be picked up and tossed later. “I’m following that ambulance. You deal with whoever you have in handcuffs.”

“Will you be with him?”

“For the rest of my life,” Cade said, waiting to be challenged.

Kelly grunted. “I’ll be in touch in the morning to see if he’s awake. I’ll have questions for both of you by then.”

“By then, I might have answers,” Cade replied. He checked for his phone, spotting Dean’s on the floor. He grabbed it and dropped it into a pocket. “Close the door on your way out.” He had absolutely zilch desire to stay behind to help where he could do less than nothing. At least with Dean he could keep him company, and keep his own heart from shriveling in agonizing fear.

He jogged from the house for his truck. He didn’t care what the police did. The only person that mattered was being carried away by the ambulance ahead of him.

He made phone calls on the drive. First to his brothers, then to Dean’s parents. He told them he didn’t know anything about his condition, only that the man behind the attacks was behind bars now.

“I’ll keep in contact and let you know as I find out things,” he said.

His mother, weeping, said thank you and hung up. He tossed the phone with his into the cup holder. It was all the information he had at the moment.

Dean was on his way to the hospital and the man behind it was going to jail. He didn’t remember one second of the drive, just that he never once lost the spin of those strobing lights.

 

* * * *

Cade jerked awake when the door opened to Dean’s room. He scrubbed his face, feeling grungy and twice as weary.

“How is he?” Jamie inched closer

“He’s still out. They finished surgery about midnight. They said he wouldn’t be awake until sometime in the morning.”

Jamie handed over a large coffee. “Thought this might be better than the hospital brew.”

“I’m positive it is,” he replied, accepting it gratefully. He drew a sip, letting the still warm liquid coat his insides.

“What happened?”

“I don’t really know.” Cade pulled out his cell phone. It was a little after seven. Sleeping in a cramped and uncomfortable chair most of the night was not being appreciated by any part of Cade’s body at the moment. He stretched gingerly, working out kinks, slowly drinking the coffee to wake up.

“Do you think this guy is behind everything?”

“I do. It was someone who knew Dean well enough to know when he’d be home, when he’d be at the bar.” He rubbed the back of his neck, stretched his spine. He didn’t think his shoulders were supposed to pop, but they did.

“Will he have permanent damage?”

“The doctors didn’t say, but I don’t think so.”

Jamie nodded with the news. Then, “Chris gave you the next month off.”

Cade straightened on the chair. “He didn’t—”

Jamie gave him one of those unsettling looks that all of them had already learned meant business. “Take it, Cade. Dean needs you and you need the time with him. They can take care of the clinic between them.”

He slumped in the chair, unwilling and too exhausted to fight. “Chris is lucky to have you.”

Jamie rolled a shoulder, a slight smile fleetingly appearing then vanishing. “I’m the lucky one. Always will be.” He patted Cade’s shoulder. “I have to get back to Silo. Call when you find out anything.”

Cade reached for the hand on his shoulder. “I will.” He squeezed.

Jamie left and the room fell quiet again. Cade finished the coffee and dozed off and on, staying quiet and unobtrusive during nurse visits. So long as he didn’t cause anyone issue, they’d left him alone. He behaved because he wasn’t about to be thrown out.

Dean roused out of his drug-induced sleep about nine thirty.

Cade moved his chair closer as they waited for the staff nurse to come in and do a checkup. He held Dean’s hand, keeping him from poking too curiously at the brace around his neck. It looked like he was wearing a white, cloth sausage.

Dean’s lips moved, but the sound was very graveled and nearly inaudible.

“I know, babe. Don’t talk.”

Dean sighed, heavily shadowed eyes closing.

One of the head shift nurses came into the room. “Morning, Mr. Eckler,” she greeted gently. She helped him adjust the bed so he could sit more upright then began taking a round of vitals to input on a computer she’d dragged in with her. “Okay,” she said once that was done. “I need to ask you some questions. Don’t try to talk. Can you lift your hand?”

Dean raised his free hand and gave a thumbs up.

“Good. I want you to answer these as truthfully as you can. If it’s one to five, thumb down and then fingers.” She showed him. “If it’s six through ten, thumbs up and fingers, okay?”

Dean nodded.

“Good. How much pain does it cause you to breathe?”

Dean took slow breaths. Thumb down and three fingers.

“Good. I was hoping you’d say something along those lines. It’s just sore from the trauma. Your esophageal passage wasn’t injured.”

“That’s good, right?” Cade asked.

“Very good.” She typed and asked some more questions about pain and where.

When she was almost done, Dean tapped Cade and pointed at his mouth.

“Water?” he asked.

Dean nodded.

The nurse answered for him. “I’ll get you some ice chips for now. Your throat is fine, but you had damage to several tendons around your vocal chords. Excessive muscle movement over the next several days is going to be very uncomfortable.”

“I’m guessing that’s your way of saying it’s going to hurt like hell if he pushes?”

She smirked. “Your words, but yes.”

Dean’s chest rose and fell as he breathed steadily. He nodded in understanding and made the okay finger sign.

When the nurse left, Dean tapped him again and motioned like he was writing.

“Sure. Let me see if I can find something. Rest until the ice gets here.”

Cade left him relaxed on the bed, going to the nurses’ station for a pen and pad. Saying thank you, he returned to find an orderly just dropping off the ice.

“Little sips,” Cade warned.

Dean rolled his eyes but nodded.

Putting his finds on the table beside the bed, Cade helped slip chips of ice between Dean’s lips.

It wasn’t supposed to be anything beyond helping him, making sure he didn’t overdo it right after having surgery.

What it turned into was an erotic tease.

The cool touch of the ice to Dean’s lips, the soft capture of those same lips as he tongued the bits into his mouth off the spoon. The flick of lashes as sensation and relief collided on his features.

The moist sparkle of damp the ice left behind on his lips killed Cade with the desire to lick them.

Cade handed him the cup, clearing his throat. “Maybe… Maybe you should do it.” He had swollen beyond uncomfortable in his jeans in the last ten minutes watching Dean make oral love to the spoon.

Dean huffed silently with humor but didn’t refuse the cup. He took his time and Cade let him, not interrupting him.

When he was done, he set the emptied cup and spoon on the table next to him. He tapped the top of Cade’s hand and motioned for the pad.

He wrote out a few things and handed it back.

Cade read them and started to answer each one.

“Yes, your parents know. I promised I’d call as soon as I learned something. No, I haven’t talked to the police. They want to talk to both of us. I’m sure we’ll be seeing them soon.”

He lowered the pad to study Dean. “What happened?”

Dean reached for the pad and started writing. Cade gave him time as the words flowed from pen to paper.

When he read it, he trembled. Jeee-sus. So close. So. Fucking. Close. “Who is this guy?”

Dean shrugged.

“You don’t have any ideas?”

No. A very small head shake.

“Maybe the police know.”

He reached for the pad and wrote, I hope so. Then, When do I go home?

“I guess after the doctor looks in on you. Now that you’re awake, I don’t think you’ll be here much longer.”

He wrote out one more thing: Thank you.

Cade swallowed the rush of emotions that dared to clog his throat. “Always, babe. I’ll always be there for you.”

The use of babe caught Dean by surprise, his expressive eyes widening.

Cade cupped his hand. “We need to talk, but right now, all any of us want is to get you home.”

Dean squeezed Cade’s hand in undeniable agreement.

“Home,” he breathed, a very raw whisper. You. He pointed to Cade, then to himself. Me.

“Yes. Home.” Cade sighed in relief, pressing Dean’s held hand to his cheek. Even after a million and one fuckups with Dean, his lover was giving him one more chance.

He promised he wouldn’t waste this one.