Cut and Run 4 - Divide and Conquer

reached out, catching Ty‟s arm by
    blind luck.
    Ty turned and lashed out, catching him right under the chin.
    Totally surprised, Zane was knocked off balance, and he collapsed
    backward against the bookshelves, hitting them hard enough to send
    several books thunking to the floor as he fell with a hard grunt to the
    thin carpet.
    Ty turned to head for the door, shaking his hand and grumbling.
    “Ty,” Zane said weakly.
    “Go to hell,” Ty responded without turning around. He grabbed at
    the doorknob and yanked the front door open.
    “Ty,” Zane repeated, a real tinge of desperation in his voice. “I
    think I can see something.”
    Ty stopped and turned to look at him, frowning. Zane‟s face was
    set in a pained wince. He pressed the heel of one hand to his temple as
    he blinked over and over. Ty cocked his head and watched him,
    waiting. When Zane looked up, one of his eyes was totally bloodshot,
    more red than white. He kept blinking like he was facing a bright light.
    “Son of a bitch,” Ty muttered as he slammed the door shut and
    stalked past Zane toward the kitchen.
    Divide & Conquer | 239

    “Get the fuck back over here, you asshole,” Zane ground out.
    “That fucking hurt !”
    “I‟m calling the doctor,” Ty snapped back at him. He snatched up
    the phone and jabbed at the numbers angrily. Zane didn‟t growl back;
    he just held his head in his hands, looking miserable. Ty warred with
    the instinct to protect that had been in overdrive for a week now and the
    urge to kick him while he wallowed down there. He wouldn‟t have
    placed bets on which instinct would win out.
    After some terse snapping, he got one of the doctors on the line,
    turned back to Zane, and poked him with the end of the phone. “Doctor
    wants to talk to you,” he said in a low voice.
    “Bastard,” Zane muttered from where he sat on the floor, leaning
    back against the shelves, covering his eyes with one hand and bracing
    that arm on his propped-up knee. He fumbled for the receiver. “Yeah,”
    he said into the phone. After a moment he added, “Yeah. I‟ve had a hell
    of a headache all day, until I went to the gym.”
    Ty paced, still fuming and unable to stand still.
    Apparently the doctor was droning on, explaining what might be
    happening. “So this is a good thing?” Zane asked after listening. Ty
    could feel Zane‟s gaze following him. After a week without it, Ty felt
    uncomfortably pinned down, and that just made him angrier.
    “Okay,” Zane said, his tone unsure, and he thumbed off the
    phone.
    “Gonna live?” Ty asked him curtly as he took the phone from
    him.
    Zane turned his head slowly, as if afraid he might be dizzy.
    “Yeah. Maybe you should have hit me sooner.”
    “I couldn‟t agree more.” He tossed the phone toward the couch as
    he moved to the door without another word.
    “Ty, wait,” Zane called out, his voice pained.
    Ty answered by slamming the front door. He thought he should
    have felt just a little bit guilty. But he didn‟t.

    240 | Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux

    ZANE stalked into his apartment and kicked the door shut behind him.
    Five hours. Five goddamn hours he‟d sat at the hospital for the doctors
    to look at him for five minutes, a ten-minute CT scan, then a pat on the
    head and shove out the door. And all he‟d been able to stew about was
    how he‟d fucked up so royally with Ty, however unintentional it was.
    He shed gear and clothes as he walked through the apartment to
    the kitchen in his jeans and socks, intent on getting a Coke and then a
    hot shower. When he yanked open the refrigerator door and saw the
    untouched boxes and bags from Chiapparelli‟s, his first instinct was to
    slam the door shut, yell, and throw… something . But he swallowed on
    the anger, and though it was really, really close, he made himself grab a
    can of soda off the shelf and shut the door carefully. He hadn‟t been
    this angry in a long time, and it made his head pound, his eyes sting,
    and, dammit, his heart ache.
    Zane slid onto a bar chair and pressed the cold can to his cheek,
    then his temple, then his forehead, trying to get some relief as he fought
    the swell of emotions. Upset and anger, obviously. A healthy dose of
    utterly pathetic gratitude and frantic joy. An aching regret, and an even
    deeper hurt. The conflict was about to make his head explode.
    With a sigh, Zane set down the Coke, and he was about to get up
    when he saw the small pile of mail sitting forgotten on the