FOURTEEN
The ride back to Colby’s place was a quick and quiet one, and Keats was looking forward to crawling into bed and passing out. His head was pounding, it hurt to move, and his eye felt like it had its own heartbeat. He just wanted to sleep for a few days. But Colby had other ideas because not twenty minutes after they’d gotten back and Keats had lowered himself onto the bed, Colby was back in the guest room.
Colby leaned over the bed, frowning. “Lie still. I’m going to take a look.”
“I’m fine.” But Keats’s fingers dug into the sheets when Colby dragged Keats’s shirt up and off to inspect his back and ribs. The soreness was settling in now, and even the brush of cotton over his skin felt like too much. Colby pressed a warm palm along his side, applying the barest amount of pressure.
“Any trouble taking a full breath?”
“Not really.” Keats demonstrated and managed to keep his grunt of pain to himself. “I cracked a rib in middle school. This doesn’t feel like that. I’ll be all right.”
Colby leaned back, looking unmoved. “We’ll see. I have a doctor coming over to check you out anyway.”
Keats rolled onto his stomach too quickly, sending a sharp pain up his side, and his breath left him for a moment. “What?”
Colby hooked his thumbs in the pocket of his jeans. “I know a guy who’s willing to make a house call and won’t ask too many questions.”
“You know a guy?” Keats asked, adjusting the pillow beneath his head and trying to keep the bracing pain each movement caused from showing on his face. “Did you forget to tell me you were in the mafia or something?”
Colby smirked, his dimple making him look like a mischievous kid. “Not the mafia.”
A few minutes later, the doorbell rang and Colby left the room. Keats pulled the blanket over himself and let his face drop back onto the pillow. The last thing he wanted to do was see a damn doctor. He just wanted to crash and forget tonight ever happened. But Colby wasn’t going to be swayed, so he’d have to grit his teeth and get through this.
Footsteps and voices sounded in the hall, and Colby returned to the room with his guest. “Keats, this is Dr. Montgomery. He’s going to take a look at you. Let him.”
Keats kept his face planted in the pillow. “Please tell me you come bearing fistfuls of pain pills.”
The doctor sniffed. “Rough night, huh? Why don’t we see what we’re dealing with?”
Keats peeked out with his good eye, surprised that the doctor seemed vaguely amused. Colby leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb, obviously intending to stay for the exam, and Dr. Montgomery—who was hard to think of as a doctor with his jeans and faded Oregon Ducks T-shirt—came to the side of the bed. At least he had a stethoscope around his neck. Keats gingerly rolled onto his back and moved the blanket aside.
The doc recoiled.
“Jesus.” Anger crossed his features. He sent a hard look toward Colby, accusation in his eyes. “What the hell did you do, Wilkes?”
Colby frowned deep, his gaze darting to Keats for a brief second before returning to the doc. “Seriously, Theo? You know me better than that. The guy got in a fight.”
“Oh.” The doc’s shoulders sagged as he released a breath. “Sorry. I just—”
Colby waved it off, though he still looked annoyed. “Just make sure he’s okay.”
Keats peered back and forth between them, trying to figure out what was going on. Why would the doctor think that Colby had hurt him?
The exam proceeded without many words exchanged. Dr. Montgomery poked and prodded, asked a few questions about pain levels, and checked Keats’s vitals. When he seemed satisfied, he stood and declared that Keats had bruised ribs and a mild allergic reaction to ant bites but was otherwise okay. Then the bastard prescribed regular ol’ ibuprofen because he figured Keats “could handle a little discomfort” and prescribing pain meds outside the hospital could raise eyebrows.
Colby thanked the doctor and walked him out, leaving Keats not much better off than he had been before the doctor came. When Colby darkened the doorway again, the grim expression he’d been wearing since he’d found Keats at the motel had softened a bit—relief. So Colby really had been worried. That concern burrowed into Keats and settled into a place he didn’t want to examine. He shifted on the bed. “Well, a helluva lot of good he did me. Ibuprofen and rest. I could’ve told him that. And where does he get off knowing what I can and can’t handle? This shit hurts.”
“All the tattoos and the fact that you’re at my place probably gave him that idea.” Colby gave him a wry smile. “He thinks you’re a masochist who’s used to handling pain.”
“Why the fuck would he think—” Then it hit him. “Shit. He thinks I’m like—”
“Mine,” Colby said, leaning against the wall and looking way too entertained by Keats’s reaction. “He thinks you’re my submissive. That’s why he was pissed when he saw how hurt you were. He thought he was coming over to tend a few battle scars after a fun night. That’s usually what he’s called in for.”
Keats’s lips parted, the information almost too much to process. “Usually? You injure people often?”
“No. I hurt people often, but with their permission, and I know what I’m doing. I’ve never had to call in Theo for one of my own. But I work at a kink resort on the weekends as a trainer, and Theo’s the go-to guy if something goes wrong. Accidents can happen.”
“So he’s like—fine with all of that?”
Colby shrugged. “He’s part of all of that. Very popular with the female dommes at The Ranch. Excellently trained submissive.”
Keats scooted up the headboard and raked a hand through his knotted hair while trying to picture the smug doctor kneeling at some woman’s feet. “I don’t get it. The guy seems like a bossy asshole. I wouldn’t think he’d be the type—”
“There is no type,” Colby said simply. “The man’s a world-class trauma surgeon. Successful, well respected, in charge in his day-to-day world. But behind closed doors, he likes something different. What people are on the outside doesn’t always match the desires hiding beneath the surface.”
Keats considered that. “I guess I just had an image of what a submissive guy would be like, and I was expecting some wimpy dude who wanted someone to take care of him.”
Colby rubbed a hand along his jaw, observing him in that way that made Keats want to squirm. “Submission takes more bravery than anything else—especially for a guy because of all the stereotypes out there. Putting complete trust in someone else, someone who happens to enjoy using implements of torture on you? Cowards wouldn’t go near a dom. And yes, a dominant takes care of his or her submissive, but that goes both ways. Some of the worst fights I’ve seen in my years in the kink world are submissives going into protective mode when someone tries to mess with their dominant.”
“I guess it’s just hard for me to understand it.”
“Is it?” Colby asked with a little head tilt. “Last night in the kitchen, you said you were fine suffering the torture of listening if it turned Georgia on. You said there wasn’t much you wouldn’t do to please a beautiful woman.”
Keats blinked. “All I meant—”
Colby held up a hand, halting him. “So if Georgia wanted to tie your hands behind your back, put you on your knees, and demand that you make her come, that would turn you off?”
Keats groaned at the image, a twinge of heat sparking low. “Well, fuck, of course it wouldn’t. But what guy wouldn’t be turned on by that?”
“I wouldn’t,” Colby said matter-of-factly. “I had to do submissive training in order to be a trainer at The Ranch. I was terrible at it. Couldn’t get hard when I wasn’t in control.”
Keats stiffened, embarrassment and anger mixing into one. “So what? You’re saying something’s wrong with me?”
“I tell you I couldn’t get it up for something, and you think I’m saying something’s wrong with you?” Humor sparked in Colby’s eyes and a hint of a smile appeared. “Of course not. People who like to be tied up and forced to do things are some of my favorite people.”
Keats’s stomach dipped, and he hated that his body responded even when he knew Colby was purposely goading him.
“I’m only trying to help you understand that there’s nothing wrong with being one or the other, or both or neither. You asked me earlier about my lifestyle. Since you’re going to be staying with me a while and probably meeting some of my friends, I’m simply answering some questions.”
“And you think I’m submissive,” he said flatly.
Colby crossed his arms, impassive. “I don’t make assumptions about anyone, especially someone who’s never tried kink before. Nobody really knows until they experiment and find out what does it for them. There aren’t always neat boxes. I know masochists who are dominants. Submissives who hate pain. People who switch roles depending on who they’re with. It’s complex. So no, I haven’t slapped some label on you, Keats.”
“So the people you train at that resort, they already know what they are?”
“No. Some of them are still figuring it out. I help them with that if they need it.”
Keats focused on folding the edge of the blanket into small zigzag folds. “So that’s what got you this house, huh?”
“What do you mean?”
“This isn’t a neighborhood for a teacher’s salary.”
“Counselor.”
“Whatever. Bet it pays a lot less than fucking people for cash.”
Colby’s jaw clenched. “I’m not having sex for money. I’m a trainer. I don’t fuck students.”
Keats couldn’t help the snort that escaped. “Yeah, I got that message the night you tossed me out of your house. Loud and clear.”
Colby blew out a breath and ran a hand over his face, looking drawn and exhausted all of a sudden. “You know what, Keats? Part of me wishes I had kissed you back that night. No matter how wrong or inappropriate or illegal it would’ve been. Maybe that would’ve kept you there for the night and off the street the next day and the day after that.” He met Keats’s gaze, regret resting in his. “You were too good a kid to have to travel down this road. The world had bigger things waiting for you than this.”
Keats’s lungs felt tight, and it had nothing to do with his ribs. He didn’t want to think about the what ifs. He dropped his gaze to the comforter, memories flooding him. Memories of the boy he used to be, the dreams he used to cling to, and how his dad had finally crushed the last bit of them that night. Remembering how desperately he’d wanted to believe that if he meant something to Colby, then maybe he wasn’t as worthless as he felt. “I don’t even know what I would’ve done if you had kissed me back. It’s not like I had any idea what I was doing.”
“Would’ve never happened anyway.”
Keats smirked, still staring at the comforter. “You’re bad for my ego. I had no shot, huh?”
Colby made some indecipherable sound and moved toward the door. When Keats dared to look up, Colby’s back was to him, his hand braced on the door frame. “No, Keats. You were a kid. I didn’t think of you that way. Not back then.”
With that, Colby disappeared into the dark hallway and shut the door behind him, leaving Keats staring after him. Not back then. But now . . .
Below the covers, Keats’s body stirred to attention.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
He planted a pillow over his face and groaned.