The One That Got Away Read Free

the bedroom and to the bathroom door. “Shit!” he swore, seeing David sprawled on the floor awkwardly. He knelt down and pulled him into more of a sitting position, feeling around the back of his head, relieved to find no blood.
    Heart still pounding from the scare, he cursed under his breath and held David against his lap. “David. David?” He lightly patted the other man’s cheek, unsure what to do.
    Pinpoints of light like the sparklers kids use on the Fourth of July played on the dark backdrop of David’s eyelids. His head was throbbing again and so was his shoulder. He could hear Trace’s voice, but it sounded far away. “Trace?”
    “David? Come on, open your eyes. Please? You’re scaring the hell outta me.”
    The voice was closer—clearer—and worried. Without opening his eyes, David spoke. “I’m okay. Head just hurts like hell. The last thing I remember was being in the shower.”
    “Yeah, well, now you’re on the floor. Did you hurt anything? Did you hit your head?”
    “I don’t know.” David opened his eyes and winced, immediately closing them again. “My shoulder hurts too.”
    The quick flutter of David’s eyes wasn’t enough for Trace to judge his condition one way or another. “Which shoulder? The one you were laying on?” He slid his arm up to it, squeezing the joint gently.
    “Ow! Fuck, yeah, that’d be the one. Flip the lights off, will ya, so I can hobble my way back to bed.”
    “I’m helping you this time. Shit, David. You could have broken something or worse.” Trace’s voice was ragged with concern as he half-lifted David from the floor and helped him stay on his feet. It wasn’t until he slid his arm around David’s waist and his fingers touched a bare hip that he realized David was still nude. Well, he thought, it won’t matter once he’s between the sheets.
    Grateful for the support, David leaned into Trace’s strength, the friction of his friend’s clothes highlighting his own lack of covering. 

    “Fuck,” he muttered, whispering a silent prayer that their friendship would survive this day.
    “What?” Trace asked, voice sharp with worry as they limped to the bed. “You okay? Something hurting?”
    “No, I just realized I was naked as a jaybird. You should be getting hazard pay for this visit.” Sitting on the side of the bed, David nodded gingerly toward the dresser. “You want to get me some boxers so I don’t offend your delicate sensibilities?”
    Trace snorted. “David, I’ve got a set of the same gear myself. I think I’ll survive the embarrassment.” He reached up and pulled down the sheets, waiting for David to shift so he could get under the covers. Then he grabbed three of the four pillows and propped him up on them. “I’ll get the soup, if it’s not scorched by now. I sort of dropped the spoon and ran,”  he said as he left the bedroom.
    David swallowed the lump in his throat, unsure if it was the thought of food or Trace’s tender concern that had put it there. Florence Nightingale was not a role he’d have ever cast Trace in, but the hard-nosed reporter made a damn fine nurse.
    The soup was, indeed, ruined, so Trace dumped it into the sink and started a new pot. It only took about ten minutes, and he headed back to the bedroom with two mugs and a sleeve of crackers. “Here you go. First-class service,” he said drolly, setting the mug on the nightstand nearest David. He walked around the bed and sat on the other side, carefully opened the crackers and set them on the sheets between them.
    “I can’t believe your lovers let you get away with eating crackers in bed,” David exclaimed, blowing the steam off the top of his soup.
    Trace shrugged, munching on a crisp wafer. “Usually my bed, so I do what I want, right?” He sipped at the soup carefully before picking up a cracker and handing it to David. “Besides. You’re not my lover.”
    David had a flash of sitting naked in bed with Trace for a reason other than illness,