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They shared a look, then Fritz nodded. “Go.”
Sharp hadn’t even locked the door. And while he wielded a knife, he was too far away to reach Spencer before Fritz tackled him to the floor.
Grant made a beeline for the doc, assessing his condition as he went. Spencer was conscious, his arms tied to the chair, and blood staining the neck of his scrubs.
“Are you hurt?”
“Don’t yell,” Spencer mumbled. “I may have a concussion. I’m about to—” He heaved once, twice, then screwed his eyes shut and just breathed.
Grant cut the bindings, then pulled Spencer into his arms. Relief almost buckled his knees when he held the warm, familiar weight and felt Spencer’s heart beat against his. They’d only known each other a few days, but Grant had gone and fallen for the man and never realised it. Just as he hadn’t realised that love came laced with fear.
He’d forever be afraid of someone taking Spencer from him. Or of Spencer going off on stupid-fool errands of his own. “What the fuck were you thinking?” he demanded, clutching Spencer as if he needed something to keep himself upright. “What the fuck was that?”
“I thought I could reason with him,” Spencer said. “Explain that Carlo meant nothing to me.”
“You’re a fucking doctor. You know better. Going off without backup is stupid and irresponsible!”
“I said DON’T YELL!” Spencer took a step back, clearly not realising he was the one doing the yelling. “I’m stupid? You’re one to talk. You get paid to walk into dangerous situations.”
“We’re also trained to deal with situations like that.”
“Yeah? Is that why you’re covered in scars? Training? Why Rylan has a massive lung contusion and could barely breathe when I saw him? How the fuck can you claim to take care of clients when you don’t even take care of your best friend?”
They stared at each other across three feet of distance that felt as wide as an ocean.
Grant was the first to look away.
He hadn’t meant to shout at Spencer, and now he didn’t know how to take back his words. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. Spencerhadbeen reckless and—
“Grant! Give me a hand.”
Fritz’s call felt like a lifeline, guiding him through the mess he’d made. He crossed the room to Fritz’s side and helped him restrain a sullen Matthias Sharp. “What are we doing with him?”
“Nothing. Luca’s called hospital security. It’s their pigeon.”
Grant opened his mouth to answer, when the sound of many voices washed into the room. Security arrived, along with nurses in scrubs. Fritz shoved Mattias Sharp into their arms and pulled Grant out of the way to where Luca stood, observing the melee.
When Grant turned back to the room, Spencer had vanished.
Chapter Nine
Spencerscrubbedthefloorfor the third time in as many days. Then he steeped lemon slices and rosemary sprigs in hot water and used the solution to wipe down walls, cupboards, and kitchen worktops, ignoring the ache behind his eyes and the snatches of vertigo that had him stumbling whenever he moved his head too quickly. His home was immaculate, but—to Spencer’s senses—the smell of petrol still tainted the air. He just couldn’t get it out of his nose.
His house also felt emptier than it ever had before.
His bed was bigger and colder—even though Grant had never slept in it.
Even his dining table gave the impression it had grown overnight.
He’d noticed none of those shortcomings before he’d met Grant, nor had they been apparent while Grant had been in his home. It was his absence that had brought the defects into focus. That had made Spencer realise what he was missing.
Couldn’t the damned man at least text him?
But why should he, seeing he’d raced to Spencer’s rescue, only for Spencer to yell at him?
Besides, they’d both told other people how they felt, but they’d never told each other. Spencer couldn’t stop hearing the words. Grant’s to Fritz and Luca. His own to the man who’d threatened to kill him. Somewhere along the line, those words should have connected, and they hadn’t. And now Spencer felt lost and alone, and he didn’t care for the feeling.
His phone chimed, and he was glad for the interruption. “Cath, hi.”
