Page 18 of Gunpowder

Why would he want to know? It was more of a deduction than a question, though, and it wasn’t uncommon knowledge around Flushing. He nodded. “Yeah, our second owns it. Inherited it from his folks. I help out in the kitchen sometimes.”

Wren didn’t say anything more as they went through the two traffic lights on the way to his place. It would have been an easy opening to take if he wanted to know more about the gang. He doesn’t care, Blair reminded himself, cursing his paranoia that everyone was out to get them now.

He looked over when the car came to a stop. Wren was damnably unreadable. His eyes flicked over to Blair but there was no emotion in them that Blair could discern, making him feel less like he was being looked at and more like he was being observed. He didn’t know why he was still in the car. He had thanked Wren like he wanted to, he could move on with a clean conscience. It had to be one in the morning or later, they both had sleep to get and lives to go on with but still, his hand didn’t reach for the door.

Having a connection to someone with medical knowledge could come in handy for the gang, Blair decided. That was why he was hesitant for them to go their separate ways. Or at least, that’s what he tried to tell himself. He glanced at Wren again but the street lamps reflecting off his glasses obscured his eyes. “So. This was kind of not bad.”

A sigh. “Blair.”

“Hey, I’m not saying make a regular thing of it, just like a semi-regular, maybe occasional—”

“Blair.”

“Let me finish before you say—”

Those reflected lights were suddenly closer and Wren’s fingers were on his lips, shushing him. Wren leaned forward, letting his fingers slip away until only the pad of his thumb rested on Blair’s bottom lip. Blair’s breath hitched, but he found himself pressing into the touch. He could feel the faint tickle of Wren’s exhalations on his face and he could swear they were getting warmer, closer.

Blair reached out with unsteady hands only to grasp at air. He didn’t remember closing his eyes, but he had to open them again when his brain caught up to his thundering heart. Wren had returned to his seat with only his thumb still commanding Blair’s silence where it pressed against his lips.

“Blair,” Wren said again. “Shut up.”

Blair didn’t, couldn’t take a full breath until Wren’s hand fell away. He jumped at a muffled popping sound that cut through the silence and his cheeks burned when he noticed the hood of the car hanging open. Right, his crutches.

Exhaling shakily, he fumbled for the door handle. He had to get out of there before he was dragged under by the dark, turbulent waves breaking over his resolve, threatening to pull it out of his reach.

His leg throbbed in protest when he stepped out of the car. He paused on the sidewalk with his hand on the door, and leaned down to peer back inside. He made a few false starts at a goodbye that were silenced when Wren clicked his tongue and faced forward, looking away from him.

“I’ll call you,” Wren said.

There was a note of finality in Wren’s voice that Blair didn’t feel like he could win an argument with. The slam of the door closing rang in his ears in time with his heartbeat. He limped to the hood of the car to get his crutches and knocked it shut before stepping back onto the sidewalk. He couldn’t see into the car on account of the tinted windows but he watched it go anyway, until it was no more than a fading pair of tail lights. Asshole.

Blair stood there with his disassembled crutches tucked under his arm and a much bigger problem than the mounting ache in his thigh. A problem in the form of a tall, pretty man with a terrible personality. Blair’s words didn’t return to him until after the car was gone and he was left staring at the intersection it had long been absent from.

“Well, shit.”

5

GALLOWS

Blair woke up wanting to claw his leg off. It wasn’t quite bad enough alone to wake him up—he had the trilling of his alarm to thank for that—but it still fucking sucked. He swiped his phone to dismiss the alarm. If only it was that easy to make his leg stop itching, a feeling that had slowly been outweighing pain as it healed.

He swung his legs off the side of the bed and tested his weight on them. It didn’t feel great, he didn’t think he was ready to abandon his crutches altogether, but he could feel the difference. His leg probably would have buckled if he’d tried that right after he got out of the hospital.

The stairs leading up to the open upper level of the apartment where his bedroom was had certainly been an obstacle since he came home. He had mastered them now, getting up and down even with the awkward use of his crutches. He rifled through the pantry until he found a bag of coffee and some crumpled filters. His coffee maker made a few garbled sounds before coming to life and he heard the telltale bubbling of water from the back. He didn’t drink a lot of coffee or caffeine in general, but he’d woken up with an unusual craving for it.

Spencer awaited him downstairs. It was humid as all hell outside, the worst kind of day to be going to the docks. At least he could enjoy the frigid air conditioning in the Lexus while it lasted.

They weren’t even off his block before the interrogation started.

“How did your not-date go?” Spencer asked, and though his face was blank Blair could hear the shit-eating grin he was concealing.

Blair didn’t have half the skill he would need to deceive Spencer. He didn’t bother trying, just groaned and ran his hands down his face. “He’s such a dick.”

“Lucky for you that you don’t have to see him again, then.”

“Yeah.”

“You want to, though.”

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