Capture & Surrender (Market Garden, #5)(63)

He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. Pure physical exhaustion would take over eventually. He just had to wait it out.

On his dresser, his mobile buzzed.

Frank jumped out of bed so fast he nearly knocked the lamp off the bedside table. This late at night usually meant a call from Market Garden, and that wasn’t good.

He snatched up the phone without checking the caller ID. “What’s up?”

“We need to talk.”

He grabbed the edge of the dresser for balance. “Brandon. We—”

“Please.” Brandon’s voice was soft. “I shouldn’t have stormed out on you like that. We weren’t finished.”

Closing his eyes, Frank sighed. Yeah, they were finished. Why rub salt in the wound? But still. “All right. Let’s, um, let’s talk.”

“Will you come downstairs?”

Frank’s head snapped towards the bedroom door. “Are you—”

“Yes, I’m already here.” Brandon exhaled. “I should have called before I came over, but all I could think of was needing to talk to you and—”

“I’ll be down in a minute.”

He slipped into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and then barefooted into trainers. Then down the stairs, into the kitchen to pick up his keys, and back into the foyer.

When the door opened, Brandon lifted his head. Frank thought he looked about as miserable as he’d expected, and his stomach knotted up and sank towards his knees.

“Come in. Tea?”

Brandon eyed him quizzically, then nodded. “Sure, yeah.”

Frank headed into the kitchen, saw the tray of pills that stood in full view, and grimaced. As if he’d needed a reminder. He reached over it and flipped the switch on the kettle. His hands went through the motions of making tea—take tea bags from a tin, toss one each into a mug, pour hot water, leave for a little, extract tea bag, and pour in a splash of milk—half-expecting Brandon to bridge the gap between them and touch him again.

Frank took one mug and handed it to Brandon, then took his own, turned around and pushed up against the work surface, arms crossed.

As long as you stay the responsible adult, there’s nothing to worry about.

“At least you look like shit, too.” Brandon lifted his mug as if to salute him.

Frank sipped his tea and shrugged. “Some nights, I barely sleep at all.”

Brandon’s eyes raked up and down his body. Frank fought the urge to straighten up, but he was too tired for any kind of posturing.

“How can you do that? Offer me a way out and then tell me to get the f*ck lost? One moment you care, and the next you don’t?”

I care too f*cking much. Frank sighed. “That’s not what I said.”

Brandon nodded. “Okay. No, you didn’t. You said you don’t want to hurt me, and that’s why it’s over.”

“Bottom line, yeah.”

“Disregarding that breaking up hurts, too.”

“It does.” Frank pressed his lips together. “But nothing like watching somebody die that you . . .” Love. Oh, God. Let’s keep that word out of this discussion. “Care so deeply about. I’ve been there. You’ve been . . . been there. Do I want you to wish I’d die already so I’m no longer suffering? Do I want you to get to the point where you want me to die because that’s the merciful option? No.”

Brandon flinched. Folding his arms across his chest, he shifted his weight and kept his gaze away from Frank. “There are worse things, you know.”

“I can’t think of many.”

“I’ve lived one.” This time, Brandon met Frank’s eyes. “Not knowing. Trying to go through my life like normal, even though the . . .” He paused, lowering his gaze again. “Even though my partner is sick and might be dying. Not being able to be there with him, and . . . not knowing. That was worse than any night I spent with him when he was really sick and we thought it might be the end. Far worse.”

Frank exhaled hard. “And you think I want you to go through anything like that again?”

Brandon pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. “No one wants anyone to go through that, for God’s sake.” He dropped his hand and turned to Frank. “But you could send me packing right now, and I could walk out that door and get flattened by a f*cking bus. Or I could get cancer or . . . hell, anything. Because you’re—” He snapped his teeth shut.

“Because I’m what?”

Brandon swept his tongue across his lips. Some colour bloomed in his cheeks as he shifted his weight again. “Just because you know something will eventually . . . will eventually kill you doesn’t make me or anyone else any less mortal.”

Frank lowered his gaze into his tea, letting that hold his attention while he digested what Brandon had said.

Brandon arched an eyebrow, some playfulness slipping into his voice and expression. “And for all either of us knows, you’ll get flattened by a damned bus.”

Frank couldn’t stop himself from laughing at that, and Brandon chuckled too. Frank set his cup down. “Point taken.” His humour didn’t last long, though, and he watched his thumb trace the handle on the cup instead of holding Brandon’s gaze. “You deserve to be happy, Brandon. Not taking care of someone who’s on his way out.”