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“Colt?”
Shit. Colt’s eyes crept open as another knock came echoing from the front door.
“Not now, Ry,” he called back, voice croaky from sleep and disuse. Shifting in his seat instinctively, muscles screamed in protest.
Oh, that was a bad idea.
He really, really shouldn't have fallen asleep on the couch again. Pain lanced through his lower back, sharp enough to steal the breath from his lungs and the words from his lips. It settled into a familiar deep, grinding ache that had rapidly become a near-constant companion in the long weeks and months since his fall.
Heat flared along his spine, every muscle spasming in protest after being folded into the couch for who knew how long. His laptop slid dangerously against his thighs as he caught himself with one hand, breathing carefully until the worst of it passed.
Colt fell against the back of the couch, gasping through the pain. Fingers spasmed around the laptop as he struggled to keep it in place.
“Yes, now!” Ryland's voice rang out through the apartment – closer than it should be – seconds before Colt’s laptop snapped shut.
Fantastic. So much for pretending not to be home, Colt thought wryly.
If it hadn't been for the spare key, Colt could have dragged this out another minute or two – made Ryland wait while he hauled himself off the couch, one careful step at a time, to answer the door. Instead, Ryland was already there, with a look of displeasure on his face that set off warning signs in Colt’s head.
“Oh. Hey, Ry. Fancy seeing you here.” Colt dredged up a thin smile. “As I was saying, now’s really not the time–”
Ryland folded his arms across his chest. “Funny thing. I went to drop in on you at the hospital to see how physio’s going, only to find out that you cancelled? Yeah, no. That's a conversation we’re having right now..”
Colt scrubbed a hand over his face, five days of stubble rasping against his palm. He shifted without thinking. Again.
Fuck me.
Another wave of pain, white-hot and sudden, overwhelmed his senses. This time, he forced himself to keep moving through the pain, forcing his shoulders to loosen, his expression flat.
Maybe Ryland hadn't noticed? Nope, Ryland had noticed. Of course he had. Ryland always noticed.
“Here's the part I don't understand.” Ryland disappeared into the kitchenette. “They told me you've cancelled your appointments. That you're not going back to physio. Colt, why?”
A cupboard door opened. Then another. And another. Silence. Colt closed his eyes.
“What the…?”
Right. The kitchen. He’d forgotten about the kitchen.
Weeks' worth of takeaway containers and instant ramen packets covered every available surface, spilling onto the floor. He'd tried to keep on top of it at first, but after dropping that first damned protein bar and discovering he couldn't bend far enough to pick it up...
Well.
After that, it had all started to feel a little pointless.
"Colt..." Ryland's voice was quieter now. "When was the last time you cleaned in here?"
It wasn’t even the question that got him. It was the way Ryland asked it. Quiet. Careful. Like he was trying not to hurt him.
Shame unfurled in Colt’s chest all the same.
There was a reason why he hadn’t invited Ryland back to his place since he’d got out of the hospital. Since he’d stopped being a bum taking over Ryland’s bed and leaving the man to sleep on his own couch between classes and grading papers and hovering – always hovering – over Colt’s own dumbass.
Did Ryland think it was just leftover habits from back in their student days, when neither of them were great at remembering to clean up after themselves until it got close to biohazard levels? At least back then, Colt had got his shit together enough to make sure that it wouldn’t interfere with Ryland’s life. He had always known his baby brother – those three minutes counted – was going places.
Something crashed in the kitchen. The sound of boxes toppling and trash rustling filled the apartment before something shattered. Colt tensed, sending a fresh wave of pain spasming across his back, the kind that left him sweating beneath his thin tee and worn sweatpants. Yeah, today was a bad day.
“I’m okay!” Ryland called before Colt could try and start the impossibly long process of hauling himself off of the couch and making it to the kitchen.
Ryland returned with a glass in one hand, a bottle of pills in the other, his glasses only slightly skewed. Colt immediately shook his head, eyes lingering on the bottle. Those things were expensive, and without another appointment in sight, he wasn’t exactly going to be able to get a refill anytime soon.
“I’m fine. I don’t need those, or physio. But if you wanna stay and clean my kitchen for me, be my guest.”
Ryland shook his head wordlessly, unscrewed the bottle, and tipped two tablets into his palm before holding them out with the glass of water.
“I said–”
“Take the damn tablets, Colt. I’m not kidding right now.” Neither brother moved. “Do I have to pin you down and make you? Because I’ve run the calculations, and I’m fairly confident my odds are better than yours right now.”
A choked laugh escaped between them.
Ryland hadn’t been able to take him down since they were thirteen and Colt decided he wanted to become a real life stuntman, just like in the movies. Who was he kidding? Not since they were still kids Ryland wouldn’t even stand up for himself against the boy next door who kept stealing his icecream, and no amount of trying to help his brother learn to stand up for himself seemed to work. Ryland had always been the more sensitive of the two. The crybaby. The one Colt had always convinced himself needed protecting.
How was Colt supposed to keep protecting him like this?
Colt accepted the tablets with a tight smile, swallowing them down with half the glass of water. He even went so far as to open his mouth and show Ryland it was empty – because apparently that was the level of trust they were working with now.
He went to lean forward to place the glass down himself, but his back reminded him exactly why that was a stupid idea. He handed it back instead. Ryland took it without comment. His brow was already doing that thing — the little furrow between his eyes that meant he was about to say something Colt wasn't going to like one bit.
“Did you need something?” Colt asked before Ryland could say whatever was clearly coming next, because the silence was somehow worse. Ryland’s expression only seemed to grow more incredulous.
“Help me what, Ry?” Colt cut in, a bitter laugh catching in his throat. “Get my mobility back? Get back to work? Be able to get off the fucking couch without wishing–”
He stopped. The rest of the sentence lodged somewhere behind his teeth, refusing to come out. Not around Ry. He didn’t need to hear that shit.
Ryland perched on the edge of his coffee table, shoving aside magazines bearing Tom’s face and papers filled with too many numbers – numbers bigger than Colt had earned across his entire stunt career – and words too long and complex, the kind of legal bullshit designed to make sure people like him nodded along and signed where they were told.
He pushed Colt’s phone to one side, his gaze catching on the seven missed calls. A grimace flashed across his face. “I didn’t know you and Tom still spoke.”
Colt shrugged, making no move towards his phone. It wasn’t like Tom really wanted to talk. “You break your back for a guy one time and suddenly it’s like you owe him one.”
Ryland went very still. Colt watched the confusion flicker across his face, followed quickly by something more careful — like he was rearranging the words in his head before deciding which ones were safe to say. “Are you two…?”
“What? No. Hell no.” Colt let out a humourless laugh. “You remember how Tom is. It’s just a pity thing. He’s off shooting in Venice right now, I think. It’s probably not even him calling.”
Since the accident, Gail had taken to personally chasing up Colt’s progress – and to see if he had signed those non-disclosure agreements yet. It would be better for everyone if he just signed. Then they could get the movie out of limbo, get the final edit done, make sure everyone else got paid.
“He always was an asshole.” Ryland’s mouth twitched as Colt laughed, but his expression softened. “But you do know if… if that’s your type, and you two are thinking of giving it another try, I would be here to support you one hundred percent of the way. Even if you could do better.”
“I’m pretty sure there’s no ‘doing better’ than the number one superstar, Ry.”
“Sure there is.” Ryland shook his head, like this was the most obvious thing in the world. “You just haven’t found them yet.”
Ryland leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Colt felt like a specimen being studied. It was less unsettling than it should be.
“How’s school?” Colt asked, mostly because it was easier than talking about himself. Ryland sighed, the kind of long-suffering sigh Colt had heard a thousand times before.
“Stop trying to change the question,” Ryland said automatically.
Colt looked away. He knew his brother. Three. Two. One.
Ryland shifted on the edge of the coffee table, leaning back slightly as if settling in for a longer conversation. “Though, I do have something next week. A call about a potential job. Some government thing, apparently. I still haven’t got all the details.”
“Government?” Colt repeated, brow furrowing. He didn’t like the sound of that.
“Yeah, I know. Very mysterious.” Ryland gave a small shrug, his expression softening “I’m probably gonna skip it. Enough about me.”
Colt knew that tone. This time, he didn’t try to bite back a groan.
“Talk to me, Colt. I can’t help if you don’t talk.”
Colt refused to meet his earnest gaze.“I don’t know what you want me to say, Ry. There’s nothing left to say.”
He shifted, reaching for the coffee table out of habit, then stopped as his back twinged. He braced himself for the familiar spike of pain. It didn't come. The movement still hurt, but less. A little less. Stupid Ryland being right as always.
“How about ‘I’m going to rebook physio right now’ as a start?”
“Nope.”
Ryland blinked. “Nope?”
“Nope.”
He paused, blinking, before asking, “...Why not?”
“Because.”
Ryland stared at him for a long moment. “How are you more childish now than when we were actually kids?”
Colt huffed a laugh, shifting back against the couch. “I’m the same as I’ve always been. Maybe you’re just more attuned to it now that you’re working around kids every day.”
“No.” Ryland shook his head, completely serious. “No, this is new.”
Colt rolled his eyes. It was almost comforting, this. The ridiculous arguments. The way Ryland could make him feel like they were eighteen again, sitting on the floor of their dorm room surrounded by empty takeaway containers and textbooks that looked well on their way to worn out before winter break.
Ryland had never been the responsible one. Not really – at least, not in the way that most people assumed. He was brilliant, sure, but brilliant people still forgot to eat when they got excited about a new theory. Still stayed awake until three in the morning because they'd convinced themselves they were this close to figuring something out. Still needed Colt to drag them back to reality occasionally.
Colt had always been the one who looked after Ryland. That was the part he couldn't figure out how to handle. Because now Ryland was looking after him.
“It’s almost like people change over time,” Colt said.
Ryland frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Colt scrubbed a hand over his face, letting out a long, weary sigh. “It means that I’m tired, Ry. I’m tired, and I can’t do this right now. So why don’t you just head home and we can talk about this some other time.”
Ryland didn’t move.
“Or we can talk about it right now,” he said, calmer than Colt expected. “And we can get you booked back in for physio.”
Colt looked away. “I’m not going back. End of discussion.”
“Discussion?” Ryland blinked. “Who’s having a discussion?”
“My point exactly–”
“No.” Ryland’s voice sharpened. “No, Colt. You don’t get to decide this is over just because you don’t like where the conversation is going.”
Colt stared at him, mouth opening and closing. He couldn’t remember the last time Ryland sounded like that. Not aimed at him.
Ryland held his gaze. “You need to go back.”
For a second, Colt just stared at him. At the certainty in his voice. The way Ryland said it like it was simple. Like booking an appointment was the only step between where Colt was now and getting his life back.
Something inside him snapped.
“Oh, yeah? And how am I gonna pay for that, Ry? Huh? Tell me that.” The words hung there between them. The second they left his mouth, Colt felt it – that same awful slick shame spreading through his chest.
It wasn’t Ryland’s fault Colt’s insurance wasn't paying out. It wasn’t Ryland’s fault Colt missed one union payment – one fucking payment in nearly a decade that he could have sworn that he made – and now they won’t pursue the studio on his behalf, either. It wasn’t Ryland's fault that Colt shattered three vertebrae in the fall (the thought of how much worse it could have been wasn’t lost on Colt; if anything, it lingered behind his eyes every time he tried to go to sleep).
Ryland went quiet.
That was somehow worse than if he’d argued. Colt knew that look — the one where Ryland was trying to process something he didn’t understand, trying to figure out how he'd missed it. “You’re having money problems? I thought – the studio? And the union?”
Colt leaned back against the couch, letting his head fall back. His silence spoke volumes.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ryland sounded so hurt.
That was the thing though, wasn’t it? Colt already knew how things would go. If it had been three years ago, Ryland would have insisted on helping him out, no questions asked. And Colt probably would have swallowed down his pride and let him. While it wasn’t like Ryland had ever raked in the big bucks, his research position had at least come with some pretty good benefits, and the amount of freelance work he ended up doing – guest talks and lectures, peer reviewing research and assisting with papers – was enough to net him an amount that Ryland had once called comfortable, and Colt had teased him was enough for drinks to be on Ryland indefinitely.
But that was before the meltdown.
Before Ryland’s career ended up doing a complete u-turn into teaching – one of the few fields where his expertise could still be of use without either Ryland feeling like he was selling his soul, or having to give up his specialism entirely. And it wasn’t exactly like teaching was known for its salary or benefits.
“It wasn’t something you needed to know,” Colt said, voice pitched low but firm.
Silence fell between them, stretched painfully thin. Ryland looked like Colt had hit somewhere he hadn't meant to aim. Hurt flashed across his face, followed by something worse: like he was only just realising that, despite everything, Colt had been carrying pieces of this alone.
Colt refused to take the words back
Ryland stood, wiping roughly at the corners of his eyes. Colt’s throat tightened. He knew that look. Could hear the tears in Ryland’s voice without looking.
Colt kept his eyes closed, head pressed back against his couch. He listened to Ryland’s footsteps retreating, to him pausing by the door, as though he was waiting for Colt to stop him, to call out, to make things right – to do something. Anything.
For one second, Colt almost did. The words were there. I'm sorry. Stay. I didn't mean it.
But saying them meant admitting Ryland had been right. It meant admitting that he was scared, that he couldn't do this alone, that he needed someone.
So Colt stayed quiet.
It wasn’t Ryland’s fault that Colt was a fuck-up having a bad day. But Colt could make sure it didn’t continue to be Ryland’s problem.
Colt remained silent as the door finally opened and closed, the sound echoing throughout his apartment. Tears of frustration pooled at the edges of Colt’s eyes. Ryland would call him again later and he could apologise then. For now, he could let himself be weak.
Without Ryland filling the space with questions and quiet concern, the familiar comfort of Colt's apartment felt stifling and empty. The familiar comfort of Colt's apartment felt stifling and empty without him. As the painkillers finally kicked in enough to dull the lingering fire in his back, there was nothing left to distract Colt from the guilt and anger still churning beneath the surface.
Colt finished his water, finally able to reach for his phone. His thumb hovered over the screen as he stared at Ryland’s name, guilt keeping him frozen in place.
He really had been an asshole. Maybe he should wait until morning, give them both time to cool off. Yeah. That seemed like the better idea.
Three days later, two more painkillers, and four meals of instant noodles later, Colt’s phone rang. Huh. An unknown number. Before, he would have ignored it without a second thought. Now, after everything that had happened, he couldn’t risk missing something important.
“Hello?”
“Mr Seavers?”
His stomach tightened. Leaning back against the kitchen counter, his hand clenched tightly around his phone. For a moment, he expected the worst.
“Yes?”
“This is Jenny from UCSF Physical Therapy. I’m calling because we’d like to confirm your next appointment. We have sessions available with your regular physical therapist this Friday or next Tuesday, if either of those might work for you?”
Some of the tension left his shoulders. Not the studio. Not insurance. Not another problem he couldn’t fix. Then he remembered why they were calling.
Colt blinked, pushing down a wince as he shifted. “Yeah… that’s not really in my budget at the moment. If you could just remove my number from your list, I’ll get in touch with billing and–”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Mr Seavers, I think there might have been a misunderstanding. Your account is fully up to date.”
“What? That’s not possible.” Colt frowned. Someone would have called him if the studio had changed their mind, or if his insurance had actually come through. Someone would have told him. “Are you sure you have the right account?”
“I’m looking at it right now.” The woman went quiet for a moment, the faint tapping of keys coming through the phone. “It would appear that your outstanding balance was paid in full. I have a note on your file that your future appointments are covered. So, if we could go ahead and get you booked in?”
Colt stared blankly down at the noodles balanced on the countertop opposite, steam curling out from the top of the cup. That just didn’t make sense. Someone had to have entered something wrong. “There has to be some kind of mistake. There’s gotta be a card on file or something. Can you tell me who paid that?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t have access to that kind of information.”
The hospital billing department was no more helpful. They could, at least, confirm that yes, his balance had been cleared. Yes, future treatment – physio and follow-up appointments included — had been authorised. Yes, his repeat prescription had been pre-paid.
No, they couldn’t disclose the name attached to the payments. Privacy reasons. Confidentiality. Policy. No, really. There was nothing more they could do.
By the third time Colt called back and heard the same script, he stopped asking. Whoever had done it clearly didn’t want credit, and there was only so long he could look a gift horse in the mouth before he had to accept that maybe, for once, someone had decided he was worth helping.
“That idiot.”
It wasn’t Tom who had paid off his bill. Tom would have made sure Colt knew. He would have turned it into some grand gesture, something impossible to ignore.
Which left only one person.
Colt stared down at his phone for a long moment, thumb hovering over Ryland’s name. He still wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to say. Thanks didn’t feel like enough. Why the hell did you do that? felt closer to the truth, but somehow worse. How the fuck are you paying for this? was his biggest concern.
“Pick up the phone,” he muttered, hitting call again. “Pick up the phone, pick up the phone, pick up the–”
“Hi, you’ve reached Dr Grace. I’m sorry I missed your call. I’m probably unavailable because I’m teaching or in a meeting, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.”
The familiar greeting twisted something deep inside Colt’s chest. He hung up without a word, staring at the screen as the call ended.
Maybe Ryland was in class. Or stuck in a late admin meeting. Or buried under some new research project and completely unaware that Colt was sitting there trying to figure out what to do with the fact that his best friend had quietly fixed a problem Colt hadn’t even admitted he had.
He tried again. Voicemail. He’d pick up eventually. He had to.
Call. Voicemail.
Call. Voicemail.
Call–
“Fuck.”
Colt pulled up his messages, his thumb hovering for only a second before he typed. Call me. Now.
It was a ridiculous idea, really. Ryland was an adult. He had a phone. Colt had no reason to think something was wrong just because he hadn’t picked up, but after three days of unanswered calls and a growing sense that there was something he was missing, he needed something concrete.
The receptionist picked up on the third ring. “Good afternoon, Grover Cleveland Middle School.”
Relief loosened something in Colt’s chest. Finally. Someone who could actually give him an answer. “Hi there. Could I speak to Dr Ryland Grace, please?”
There was a pause. “I’m sorry?”
Colt blinked. “Sorry. Mr Grace. Science teacher? Eighth grade?”
Another pause, longer this time. Relief gave way to the familiar growing, gnawing sense that something wasn’t quite right.
“Mr Grace is no longer employed here.”
The words hit wrong, like Colt had heard them but his brain hadn’t quite caught up. “What?”
His grip tightened around the phone. No. That didn’t make any sense. Ryland loved that job. He loved those kids. He always called to talk about how his kids were doing, who had improved, and which ones reminded him of himself when he was younger.
“Did something happen?” Colt asked, the question coming out faster than he meant it to. His mind raced through every possibility, most of them impossible. Had there been a problem at the school? Had someone complained? Had Ryland somehow gotten himself into trouble?
He couldn’t imagine it. Ryland was incapable of being angry at the right volume, let alone doing something that would get him fired. But then again… Colt couldn’t imagine him just walking away, either. Ryland wouldn’t have walked away from his students without telling him. He wouldn’t have made a huge life change and let Colt find out by accident.
Except apparently, there were a lot of things Ryland had changed without Colt knowing.
“Did something happen?” Colt asked.
Silence followed, long enough that Colt wondered if the call had dropped. He pulled the phone away to check the screen, but the timer was still counting. The receptionist was still there.
He swallowed, suddenly aware of how ridiculous he must sound. He was asking a stranger to give him information about another adult’s life, and he didn’t actually have any right to ask. Not unless there was some reason they had to listen.
“No, I understand, I just–” Colt tightened his grip around the phone.“I’m his brother. I just need to know if he’s okay.”
There was another pause. The woman on the other end of the line at least had the decency to sound apologetic. “I’m sorry. It’s against our policy to discuss employee information.”
Frustration crawled up his chest. Of course it was. There was always a policy. Always a reason nobody could just give him a straight answer.
“I just need to talk to him,” Colt said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Can you tell him I called? Can you–”
The line clicked.
Colt stared down at the phone, the empty feeling in his chest only seeming to grow.
It took another three calls and a visit in person, but eventually Colt managed to get some answers. Resigned. The word still didn’t make sense.
His Ryland? The same Ryland who stayed hours late helping struggling students? Who spent his free time designing pop quizzes and new experiments, trying to find ways to get even the most disengaged kids excited about science? The same Ryland who spent his own money on supplies when the department budget didn’t stretch far enough because he couldn’t stand the thought of one of his students missing out?
That Ryland? The Ryland who had once admitted to him, with a shy smile over a rare beer, that he’d never been happier than when he was standing in front of a classroom? No.
No, something was wrong.
Quitting his job. Paying off Colt’s medical bills. Not answering his phone. Not answering his goddamned door when Colt went over. Something had happened. And Colt was rapidly running out of ideas of what the hell that was.
Breaking into Ryland’s apartment was easy enough. Well, it wasn’t really breaking in when he was using the spare key Ryland had given him years ago and never asked for back.
The lock clicked, and Colt hesitated for a moment with his hand still on the handle. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to find on the other side. Maybe Ryland would be there. Maybe he’d open the door and look surprised, then immediately start fussing over Colt’s back and asking why he hadn’t come sooner. Maybe he’d find him buried under a pile of books and papers, halfway through some ridiculous research rabbit hole that had stolen five days of his life without him noticing. Maybe he’d tripped and broken his phone again, and hadn’t got around to replacing it yet.
Instead, the apartment was silent, the air stale.
Colt stepped inside, his eyes moving automatically over the familiar space. Nothing looked wrong. Nothing looked like an emergency. There were no signs that anything had happened at all. He searched the rooms, one by one, just in case. Just to be safe.
Living room. Bathroom. Bedroom. Kitchen.
Nothing.
He swallowed past the lump in his throat, pulling his phone out one last time to try Ryland’s number again. Maybe… maybe that was in the apartment somewhere that he’d missed? He could still hear it ringing if it was–
Voicemail.
A choked sob caught in his throat before he could stop it. What had he expected? To arrive at Ryland’s apartment and find him curled up on the couch after a five-day science bender? They weren’t teenagers anymore. Ryland probably wouldn’t do that.
Colt wiped roughly at his eyes as the beep sounded from his phone. He took a steadying breath.
“Hey, Ry? I know it’s been a few days, and I know I was an asshole, but… I need you to call me back. I don’t know how you did it, or even why–”
The word caught in Colt’s throat. Why. That was the part he couldn’t understand. He understood Ryland helping him. He understood Ryland worrying, because Ryland had been doing that for as long as Colt could remember. He was a worrier. But this? Quietly paying off an obscene amount of medical debt, and disappearing without a word?
Colt swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue. “They said everything’s been paid. And it sure as hell wasn’t Tom, or my insurance, or the union, which just leaves… I don’t know how you’ve done this, Ry. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say.”
His fingers tightened around the phone. “I need you to call me back, okay? We can… we can get this all sorted out, if you’re in some kind of trouble. You and me. I swear. Please… call me back.”
He ended the call before his voice could crack any further.
The apartment settled around him in silence. For a while, Colt just stood there, staring at the phone screen, waiting for it to light up. Waiting for Ryland to call back and tell him he was being an idiot. Waiting for some explanation that would make any of this make sense.
Eventually, he began moving around the kitchen, searching through cupboards for a glass. The constant low ache of pain in his back was starting to worsen, and now, he had enough meds to actually make a difference.
Ryland’s apartment looked exactly like it always did: lived in, chaotic, full of half-finished thoughts and projects. Unopened bills sat beside a stack of papers waiting to be graded, reminders and notes scattered between books and old coffee mugs. It was so completely Ryland that for a moment Colt could almost pretend nothing had changed.
Tossing back his pills, Colt drained the glass of water slowly, letting his hand wander idly through the nearest pile of papers on the countertop. Letters and papers shifted, giving way to yet more letters and papers underneath. An envelope slipped free and landed near his hand.
He almost ignored it. Bills and paperwork had become background noise lately. Then he spotted the return address: UCSF Physical Therapy.
Colt stared at it for a long moment before picking it up. As he shifted the envelope, something slid free from beneath the paperwork. A single business card, only a name and a number printed in neat black ink on pristine white paper.
Eva Stratt.