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  “No, I’m not going to tell him to leave. In fact, I’m going to take another whack at trying to convince him we not only can help him, but we’ve got his best interests at heart.”

  “Oh. Okay. I’ll see you at lunch.”

  Brett nodded, once. “Yeah, baby.”

  “Thanks, Benj.” He gave the sweet man a smile and fell into step with Brett.

  They walked quietly for a while, and then Ralph cleared his throat. “It’s been brought to my attention that I’ve neglected to give you a crucial piece of information.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s okay if you’re angry. It’s understandable and allowed, and I’d be surprised if you weren’t. I mean, we need to deal with it—you need to work through it and find a way to not be angry anymore, but no one is saying that it’s wrong for you to actually be angry.”

  Brett’s head tilted. “Are you speaking English, man?”

  “I’m trying to. It makes sense in my head. Look, you’re angry—I know you are, but you keep denying it. And maybe that’s because you think you shouldn’t be or something.”

  He’d never had as much trouble communicating with anyone as he seemed to with Brett.

  “It’s you who thinks I shouldn’t be pissed off. You keep saying it has to stop. Why? Why can’t I be mad that my fucking body is getting old? Why can’t I be mad that I hurt and that I might not be able to play ball?”

  “You can be mad, but you’ve got to work through the anger. You can’t just hold on to it. If you stay angry, nothing’ll change, man. And none of us want that. We want you to get better.”

  “Look. I don’t know what you want from me. Tell me what you want!”

  “I want you to get healthy, Brett. Healthy and happy.” He didn’t know why he wasn’t getting through to Brett. It just didn’t make any sense.

  “No. Listen to me!” Brett grabbed his arm. “You tell me what you want. You want me in the gym at nine. You want me in the pool twice a week. You want me to lose ten pounds. Tell me what I have to do.”

  He tilted his head. “I’ve drawn you up a schedule, but you need to work on your emotional state too, and that’s not as easy as ‘do a hundred push-ups.’”

  “‘Work on your emotional state’ is not helpful. I’m a man. I don’t have feelings.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Brett snorted. “Tell me something concrete. Something I can accomplish.”

  “You can tell me what you’re angry about.”

  “Dude, I’m here. I’m hurt. Isn’t that enough?”

  “I don’t think it’s going to be.” He put his hand on Brett’s good shoulder. “That anger’s eating at you, man. It’s tearing you up inside.”

  “I don’t understand what you need from me.”

  “I need for you to face your emotions. The first step would be to admit that, even though you’re a man, you’ve got them.”

  “Okay. I have them. Can we work now?”

  Ralph chuckled. “Sure, man. I want you doing the electrical current this morning. We can talk again when you’re done.”

  “Cool.” Brett headed back to the workout room, jogging easily.

  Ralph followed and got Brett set up with the electrodes all over Brett’s shoulder. “Did you want to read or something?” Although simply relaxing wouldn’t be a bad way to spend the time either.

  “Nah, my head hurts.”

  “You want something for it?”

  “Shit, I don’t think anything will stop it, man. It never has.”

  “You’ve been mostly medicating it with alcohol, though, right?” Man, would suggesting meditation have Brett finally slugging him?

  “It helps, and don’t give me shit about it.”

  “I won’t—I trust that you’ll not have any except on Sundays as we agreed. How about some white willow bark for your headache, though? And I’d really like to set you up with some meditation. And before you say no outright, I’m thinking maybe an hour every day in the afternoon—I’ll do it too, and Benj can join us. We’ll let Jean lead the sessions, but mostly it’s just being quiet and relaxing.”

  “Whatever you say, man. I’m just the body here.”

  “Healing is about more than just your body, though. It’s about your mind too, and your emotions.” He gave Brett a grin. “Your spirit.”

  “I don’t have one of those either.” Brett winked at him. “Gimme the Tylenol, man.”

  “Jean swears his food is good for the soul, so I hope you do because he’s a hell of a chef. He also swears by willow bark.” He grabbed some willow-bark powder, added it to a bottle of water. After mixing it up, he handed it over.

  Brett finished the water, then asked for another bottle.

  This time Ralph handed over a large one. It was possible dehydration was playing a role in Brett’s headaches as well. Especially as most of the liquid he’d been imbibing had been alcohol.

  Then he left Brett alone for some quiet time while the electricity did its work.

  He could only hope that, with a new understanding of Brett’s ideas of what was manly and what wasn’t, he’d be able to help with the nonphysical aspects without it sending them into fits.

  Chapter Thirteen

  FEELINGS.

  Jesus.

  Brett worked through another set of reps, knowing that as soon as he was done, Ralph would want to talk more.

  Or meditate.

  Or something.

  Shit.

  How could a guy named Ralph want to talk about feelings so fucking much?

  “Brett?” Benj poked his head around the corner.

  “Hey, baby.” He smiled at his lover.

  “Hey. Are you ready for lunch? Jean said we were going to all meditate together afterward.”

  “And you didn’t talk him out of it?” He put the dumbbell down and grabbed a towel. He could eat. In fact, he was starving.

  “I thought it might be nice to spend some quiet time together.”

  “We don’t need that to be together, baby.” He winked and wiped down, then let Benj lead the way.

  Benj giggled for him, hand slipping into his. “Yeah, but this is in the middle of the day, and they’re calling it ‘work.’”

  “Uh-huh. You just nudge me if I start snoring, huh?”

  That earned him another laugh, Benj bright-eyed and smiling. “I promise.”

  “Then we’re good.” Fuck, he did like having Benj all grinning.

  Jean and Ralph were already in the dining room when they got there, and Benj breathed in deeply. “Something smells really good.”

  “Mmmhmm.” Jean could cook, he’d give the man that.

  “Just something light today, I imagine.” Ralph came in behind them, clapping him on the back. “Don’t want you too full for meditation.”

  “Chicken sandwiches and fruit salad.” Jean came out with four plates balanced on his arms.

  “Oh, that sounds lovely.” Benj moved to “his” chair at the table, sitting eagerly.

  “Are there pickles?” Brett was feeling a sincere lack of pickles.

  Jean chuckled. “For you, Mister Gator, there are.”

  “I told Jean you loved them.” Benj smiled at him as he sat. “Like, insanely loved them.”

  “Pickles are a gift from God.” Brett believed that with all his heart. He ate pickles before every game.

  “They’re his good-luck charm,” Benj whispered loudly enough they all heard it.

  “Hush.” He grinned, poking at Benj’s leg.

  Benj giggled. He was in a good mood; the worry lines around his eyes had eased.

  Brett dug in, eating all of one and half of another sandwich before he slowed down enough to taste them. Benj ate leisurely, looking more pleased with every bite he took. Come to think of it, Ralph was smiling as he ate as well.

  He thought about asking what the fuck everyone was grinning about, but shit, he didn’t really want to know.

  The food was good, and halfway through dessert, Benj slippe
d him a couple of Tylenol.

  He arched an eyebrow, curious, but he took them.

  “For your head. And your shoulder.” Benj smiled. “So you don’t have any pain while we’re meditating.” He lowered his voice. “I picked the pills up in town.”

  “Thanks, baby.” He leaned over before he thought and almost kissed Benj’s cheek.

  Benj turned his head and pressed their lips together.

  “Benj.” His eyes went wide, but he didn’t pull away. He gave Benj a soft kiss instead.

  “This is going to be fun, love.” Benj’s eyes glowed with warmth and happiness.

  “Sitting and thinking? Weirdo.”

  “It’s to help relax you and make you feel better.”

  Ralph nodded. “It does. I know it sounds tutti-frutti, but it works.”

  He nodded, squeezed Benj’s hand. “Yeah, yeah.”

  Benj leaned close and whispered, “If nothing else, you can have a nap.”

  He nodded. “That sounds great, actually.”

  “There you go!”

  Benj reached across the table, grabbed a slice of pineapple, and handed it to him.

  He ate it, but refused another. “I’m full, Benj.”

  “Okay, love.” Benj’s hand slid over his, warm and soft.

  He met Benj’s eyes, winked. “You flirting with me?”

  “Maybe.” Benj actually fluttered his eyelashes.

  Brett chuckled, grinning as Jean laughed out loud.

  “Don’t tell me we need to have a ‘break’ before starting the meditation.” Ralph waggled his eyebrows.

  “Don’t be a perv.” Brett stood, back popping. “Where are we doing this?”

  Ralph shook his head. “In the flower garden out back. It’s quiet, private, and pretty.”

  “It won’t be warm enough to do that for much longer, huh?” He held one hand out for Benj.

  “No, it won’t. We can do it inside, though. In front of the fire.” Ralph put his arm around Jean and led them outside.

  There were four pillow deals and long mats spread out. God, this was weird.

  Ralph and Jean and Benj each sat cross-legged on a mat. Benj smiled up at him and then patted the pillow next to him. “Come on, love.”

  He eased himself down. “You’re sure this is important?” He wasn’t sure who he was asking.

  “I am.” Ralph was the one who answered.

  Brett sighed and nodded, getting comfortable.

  Benj’s hand slid onto his thigh, patted it, and then stayed.

  “All right, everyone close your eyes, clear your mind, and follow Jean’s breathing.” Ralph closed his eyes, his face slowly going lax.

  Benj followed suit next to him.

  This was insane.

  Brett sat there, watching. How were you supposed to clear your fucking mind when there wasn’t anything to do but think?

  Benj was already breathing in sync with the slow and quiet “in” and “out” coming from Jean.

  Ralph seemed to be as well, but a moment later he cracked one eye open. “Psst. Brett. Eyes closed, man.”

  “You can’t tell if mine are open if yours are closed….”

  “Brett, just get with the program.”

  “Shh,” Jean hissed at them.

  Benj started giggling, and Brett fought his chuckles with all he was worth. Benj squeezed his thigh, hiccupped, and then went quiet again. His eyes peeked open, though, and he blew Brett a kiss.

  Brett winked, rolled his eyes, then closed them.

  Benj squeezed his thigh again.

  Then all was quiet, save for the sound of the four of them breathing.

  Breathing as an exercise.

  Jesus.

  He wanted to go for a walk or a run or something. Stop sitting here and move.

  “Clear your mind of all thoughts, of all emotions,” Jean said softly.

  Wait. Wasn’t this whole thing because he was supposed to have emotions?

  “Find each one, look at it, and put it away so that your mind is clear, at peace.”

  Oh for fuck’s sake.

  He amused himself by going over stats. First his and then the team’s—starting with this year and working backward.

  Benj all of a sudden leaned against him, head bumping onto his shoulder.

  His eyes flashed open, and he looked over.

  Benj’s eyes were still closed, his mouth half-open. A little snore sounded.

  Oh, now that was cute.

  Really cute.

  Benj kept right on sleeping even as Jean started murmuring something else about peace and quiet and finding his center.

  Brett glanced at Ralph; he was pretty sure Ralph was sleeping too.

  Then Jean stopped talking, and there was nothing but the sounds of nature and the occasional snore from Benj. For, like, a long time.

  He sat for at least ten thousand innings of baseball before he shifted, eased Benj onto the ground, and got up to go run.

  Dorks.

  All three of them.

  Sleeping dorks.

  BENJ WOKE up when Jean shook him, and he blinked and looked around. Brett and Ralph were already gone.

  “I fell asleep,” he admitted, feeling a little foolish.

  “We all did, cher. ’Cept your man.” Jean held one hand out to help him up.

  That made him laugh. “Really? Poor Brett.”

  He grabbed Jean’s hand and let himself be hauled up.

  “He’s out on the track, running hard.”

  “Isn’t he supposed to be taking it easy?” He knew that was difficult for his lover, but he’d been hoping Brett would stop pushing himself so hard.

  “Oui. ’S why Ralph’s out on the track, stopping him.”

  “I’m sorry I fell asleep. Maybe if I’d stayed awake, he would have stuck around.” Maybe Brett would have fallen asleep instead.

  “Don’t. No guilt, eh? Come help me start supper.”

  “Oh, I’d like that.” He enjoyed Jean’s company a lot.

  Jean smiled at him, and they headed for the kitchen. “Things are better between you two, yes?”

  Benj nodded, feeling his cheeks heat a little as he thought about exactly how much better things were in certain areas. “We’re… communicating a lot more.”

  That caught-up-in-it feeling he’d been carrying for so long had eased. Not to mention he knew now that Brett still wanted him.

  It made a huge difference.

  “That’s good. You need to, eh? Connect. Communicate. Fuck like bunnies.”

  The heat in his cheeks flared.

  “Now, now. We both know you should. It’s good for you.”

  He couldn’t meet Jean’s eyes, but he nodded. “It feels so good to have him see me again.”

  “You’ll help him, cher. You’ll help him heal.”

  “I want to. More than anything I want to help him feel better.”

  Jean nodded and pulled out onions and peppers, handed him a knife. “We are. You are.”

  Benj beamed at Jean. Jean made him feel like he was important here, that he had a role to play.

  “Slice the onions up nice and thin.” Jean moved to the stove. “Did you talk to him about taking the better drugs for pain?”

  “I talked to him a little bit about it. You have to remember we’re going from nothing to something here.” Besides the booze. He bit his lip, worried it.

  “Stop it, now. He’ll feel better off the booze.”

  “He doesn’t feel any better yet, if you listen to him tell it.” He knew that wasn’t the case, though. Brett might not want to admit it, but he was already a little more at ease. Their lovemaking proved that.

  “The massages are helping. The cold weather that’s coming won’t.”

  “Well, I’ll just have to give him extra ones, then.” He peeled the onions and started cutting them. He could feel the fumes starting to make his eyes burn.

  “Do you have plans for tomorrow? I was going to drive to town, get supplies.”

  “
Oh, I’d love to go into town!” While being out in the country wasn’t terrible, he was a city boy at heart.

  “Excellent. We’ll make a day of it.” Jean came over, bumped hips with him.

  He bumped back, giving Jean a warm smile. He really liked the man.

  “Do y’all dress up for Halloween?” Jean asked.

  Benj nodded eagerly. “We do! And we carve pumpkins, and I usually decorate the apartment. Brett was just mentioning he’d like to pick up some pumpkins. It would be fun if we could do a little party.”

  “Sounds good to me, cher. This should be like a home, hmm?”

  “Thank you—I know you’ve worked hard to make us feel comfortable.”

  “It’s my job. Besides, cher, you’re dear.”

  Benj’s cheeks warmed again, and he chopped the veggies harder. Before long, they had a soup cooking, the smells in the kitchen a little overwhelming.

  “Could I have a glass of water?”

  “Anything you want, cher. You okay?”

  “I’m just a little dizzy—I think it’s been too long since I ate.” He grabbed a glass and filled it with water, moving to sit at the table.

  Like magic, a sandwich and a plate of fruit appeared in front of him.

  “Oh, Jean, you didn’t have to do this.”

  “Shh. Eat.” Jean patted his head.

  He smiled up at Jean and began to eat. The food, as always, was amazing. The sandwich settled him immediately, left him relaxed and easy. He speared a piece of pineapple. “What else can I do? To help, I mean.”

  “Eat. Keep me company. Help me plan the holidays.”

  It was going to be a long, long winter.

  Chapter Fourteen

  RALPH JOGGED out to the track and set himself in the middle of it, waiting for Brett to come around. The asshole was running hard, pushing himself. Instead of meditating. Hell, the rest of them had fallen asleep—a nap would have done wonders for Mr. Hurting and Grumpy.

  He crossed his arms, watching as Brett ran.

  The man looked good—muscled and solid, head down as he drove himself.

  If it wasn’t for the shoulder, he’d have bet Brett had another five years in him, easy. Five good years at that.

  Sometimes life was a real bitch.