Page 24 of Private Exhibit
“No,” Devon gasped, then realized how desperate he sounded. He cleared his throat and repeated, “No. I'm not uncomfortable with it.”
“Are you sure? Because if you don't want to be faced with more reminders of your condition–”
“If it's part of the job, it's part of the job,” Devon replied, trying to hide his growing excitement. He slowly turned the key card over in his hands, his fingertips tracing the edges as a thrill of fear and excitement ran through his body.Oh gods. Just like that?He wouldn't even have to sneak his way into the Ashworth-Grahams files. The hospital had just handed him access to everything he'd ever wanted to know.
Well, almost everything. He still needed to see if he could find Dannika's autopsy file, but that would have to wait. Job duties had to come first. Oliver needed a home more than he needed answers, and Devon could only give him that if he had an income to support it. He could not afford to lose this job. His search for answers could only begin once he completed everything else and found some spare time.
“Thanks,” he said, waving the key card before tucking it safely into his pocket. He felt the stiffness of it through the fabric. The edges dug into his leg once he sat back down, adding to his sensory overwhelm. For once, he didn't mind. Theintrusive sensation would be a hopeful reminder. Something to look forward to.
Once Mr. Bokin released him, Devon hurried back down to the morgue. The office was just as he'd left it, the lights still off and a neat pile of paper files on one corner of the desk. He grabbed the next file, spread the pages across the desk to be scanned, and got back to work.
It was so easy to get lost in the process. With only the desk lighting the room, all the rest of the space was dark, like the world ceased to exist beyond that soft, blue glow.
Devon smiled. It felt good to be doing something useful. Something he was good at. Something that didn't require him to put on a mask and struggle through all the sensory chaos that came with being out in the world.
He glanced towards the morgue.
Except for that.
Devon frowned. He couldn't hear anything coming from that room, but he had a feeling Dr. Gerard was still in there. What was the man doing? Was he in the middle of an autopsy at that very moment?
Or was he just avoiding Devon?
Devon sighed and looked away. “Probably that,” he muttered under his breath, then turned to stare at the door again. “Nope. Don't do it,” he told himself. “You're at work. You need to be professional.” He tore his gaze away, but it went right back, almost beyond his control. “Damn it.” Devon got up and tiptoed over to the door. He paused there, listening, straining to hear, but couldn't detect any sounds whatsoever.
Holding his breath, Devon eased the handle down and pushed the door open a tiny bit, just enough to peek into the room.
The lights were dimmed, the pristine, sanitized surfaces looking slightly less severe. At first glance, Devon thought the room was empty.
Until he spotted the doctor stretched out on one of the autopsy tables, wearing a set of earphones, fast asleep.
Devon shuddered.Holy shit. How could the man sleep in a place like that? How did it not bother him? Then again, Dr. Gerard worked in that room every day, so he was probably accustomed to it, but still. Devon gulped and inched the door open a little wider, allowing him to take one step into the room.
He swallowed hard.Gods. How could someone like that actually exist in the world? Devon had watched plenty of doms in action when he'd gone to The Dungeon in the past, but nobody had ever stirred anything inside him the way this man did.
Something about Dr. Anderson Gerard spoke right to Devon's soul.
Devon took another step closer, still clinging to the door. The man looked so beautiful, it actually hurt to look at him. Especially like this. Fast asleep, Dr. Gerard looked so warm and inviting. So at peace. Devon couldn't help thinking about curling up beside the man, tucked up against him, cozy and safe.
He rolled his eyes at himself.Like that'll ever happen.
Still, he couldn't stop imagining it. It sounded so blissfully perfect.
Devon's phone vibrated in his pocket. He gasped and jumped back, quickly and quietly shutting the door before backing up to the desk. The phone vibrated again.Shit. Someone was calling him.
He dove back into the chair and snatched up the next file, eyeing the door as his phone kept vibrating. Devon held his breath. He waited, hoping he hadn't woken the doctor.
The phone went still, and a perfect silence settled over the room. Devon let out a shaky exhale.That was close. He wasgoing to have to resist, to not let temptation grab hold of him like that again.
Devon squirmed in his seat, itching to peek right back into that room again. To watch the man sleep. To let himself daydream about things he could never have.
He sighed and pulled out his phone. Nobody ever really called him, but just in case it was Oliver, Devon wanted to check. Besides, he needed a brief distraction.
But it wasn't Oliver. The number belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Ross, the people who were supposed to have adopted Devon as a baby.
Devon gasped. They'd tracked him down a couple weeks ago, surprised to find him still alive, and said they wanted to make amends for denying him a home and a family. The couple had flown into New Haven, both to see their adopted son, Hayden, and to meet Devon in person.
But other than one brief meeting and that accidental run-in at the club the other night—where they'd all watched Hayden marry Thomas Pennington—Devon hadn't heard a word from them. Did they want to meet up? To sit down and talk with him so they could finally get to know each other?
