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“And what do we have here?” Blue eyes lit up behind broad, yellow-tinged aviators. Tom watched the phone vibrating across the seat. His seat. And that, most assuredly, was not his phone.
They had been filming Bad Cop, Good Dog for what felt like an eternity. They really weren’t joking when they said never work with kids or animals. If it wasn’t for Gail’s insistence they could have his stunt double step in and take over some (most) of his scenes with the little asshole – Tom was adamant that German Shepherds were not as well behaved as rumours (and said assholes handler) would have you believe – then Tom would have demanded they switch to CGI just to speed things up.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Colt go flying, Champ’s leash wrapped firmly around his hand and wrist as they repeated the same scene for the fifth time. Tom didn’t even try to swallow down his smirk as Colt barely managed to get his hands beneath him in time to avoid landing face-first a good half foot over the crash mats they were using. Champ proceeded to jump on his shoulders, giving Colt yet another enthusiastic tongue bath.
Better Colt than him.
Thick fingers wrapped around the still-vibrating phone. ‘No Caller ID’ lit the screen up in big, block letters. Tom’s eyebrows crept up. There weren’t many people who were stupid enough to leave their stuff on his chair between takes. Everyone knew that if he wasn’t heading back to his trailer or sharing his invaluable insight with the director and Gail as the three of them reviewed the last take, then he was using his chair. It was impossible to get it mixed up with anyone else's. It was the one with his name and a giant freaking gold star.
Gail’s latest personal assistant was nowhere to be seen, and the runners on set had already learnt better than to interrupt his process, which only left… Tom turned his attention back to Colt, watching as he stood, brushing himself off with a wince. Champ proceeded to throw herself at him, sending Colt sprawling with an audible groan.
“Are you sure we need to go again? That one felt like a good one,” Colt called to the director, just a hint of pleading creeping into his voice. To Tom’s immense satisfaction, the director looked to Gail who, with a shake of her head, had them resetting for take number six.
“You’ll get it on the next one, Colt. Places, everyone!”
“Maybe a little less face this time?” Gail called. Even at such a distance, Colt’s rolling eyes were obvious.
Tom lifted the phone and, without pause, hit accept call. It would serve Colt right for leaving it out in the open where anyone could find it. Really, he was doing the other man a favour. Colt could thank him for it later.
“Hello~? Colt Seavers ph–” Tom’s eyebrows rose as the voice on the other end of the line cut across him.
“Mr Seavers. Finally. We’ve been trying to get hold of you,” a harried voice admonished down the phone. Tom rolled his eyes, not bothering to try and correct her. He never had been good at taking on negative feedback – even when said feedback was technically aimed at someone else. “This is Erin Walsh. I’m a nurse at San Francisco General. I see that you’re listed as Mr. Grace’s emergency contact.”
The longer the nurse spoke, the higher Tom’s eyebrows rose. Why the fuck would Colt of all people be down as someone’s emergency contact? Did he have an overly dependent roommate? Or was Colt married? No, wasn’t he mooning over that camera chick? Then again, chasing after her – Judie? Joanne? Jenny? – didn’t mean he was single. Tom’s mind ground to a halt. Wow, was Seavers actually cheating? He didn’t think he had it in him.
Tom’s eyes slid over the crew lingering on set. Apparently, the entire production had ground to a halt because Champ had decided to take a shit between takes. Great. Fantastic. His next contract was going to include a very specific no-kids, no-animals clause.
“I just want to reassure you that Mr. Grace is doing well. He was involved in a small cycling incident this afternoon. He’s awake, stable, and asking for you. But he did hit his head and we can’t be too careful when it comes to head injuries.”
Tom winced, nodding along in understanding and remembering to hum in most of the right places. He knew how much of a bitch head injuries could be. While he had avoided most serious accidents during his years in the industry, he'd suffered from a concussion near the start of his career. He had been barely fifteen, with exactly three lines in some godawful pirate movie. It was back before Gail knew he would be a star, when she still had her eggs in several baskets, and so she hadn’t had quite the same time to devote to ensuring everything was as strictly above board as it should have been on set.
Now, Tom knew that he shouldn’t have been anywhere near the action when the not-so-controlled explosion went off. He’d had the worst brain fog for a whole week afterwards, and a headache that just wouldn’t shift. He hadn’t even been able to face the lights in his shitty motel room, much less return to set, until nearly a week later. Still, the payout when Gail found out and raised hell had been half-decent, and the producers had been so keen to ensure he wouldn’t sue that they’d given him an actual supporting role in Direct Hit. Things had worked out pretty well in the end. Though, neither Tom nor Gail had worked with that particular director again.
“What do you need me to do?” The words came automatically, Tom’s attention already drifting away from the set to seek out Gail. It didn’t take long to spot her between the assistant director and a harried looking production assistant. He waved a hand towards her, catching her sharp-eyed gaze before gesturing towards the phone. Tom bit back a grin. To anybody else, Gail’s smile hadn’t faltered, but to Tom? He could see the barely contained eye-roll, could practically hear the little aborted huff beneath her breath. God, what would he do without her? At the little incline of her head, he turned towards the exit.
“We’re hoping to discharge him shortly, but he can’t be left alone. Would you be able to collect him and stay with him overnight?” she paused, finally giving him the chance to chime in.
“You said it’s just a concussion, right?” It was one thing to let his curiosity and need to mess with Colt extend as far as a little embarrassment, maybe even building up a little blackmail material. It was another thing entirely to take responsibility for a whole person who might, like, have broken ribs or something.
The double doors closed behind him as Tom exited the soundstage onto the backlot. The scent of cigarette smoke drifted past him, cursing soon following in his wake. Tom didn’t pause as he started crossing the lot, already anticipating the footsteps that would follow soon after.
“Fuckin– will you at least warn me when you finish filmin’ early? Or didya decide lunch wasn’t up ta your standards again?” The familiar voice of his latest bodyguard washed over him. The new guy – British, not entirely a lost cause, and better dressed than half the people who followed Tom around – was faring better than his predecessors at least. He was Gail’s latest attempt to keep him on the straight and narrow.
Apparently the studio was getting a little ‘nervous’ about his ‘over-indulgence’, whatever the fuck that meant. In reality, it seemed to translate to the new guy clearing out all of his alcohol and finding his stashes – both on and off set. It was still in the vaguely amusing stages, though Tom knew if Tan kept it up much longer, he would be having words with Gail about his continued employment. Tom could get behind a little clear-up of his trailer, but his actual hotel room? Yeah, no. There were limits.
“Oi! Are you even listenin’?” Tom wiggled the phone again. Behind him, Tan let out another curse, before pulling out his own phone. “Yeah, Lem? Break’s over. Bring the car around.”
“The concussion is our main concern. Everything else is superficial: a little road rash on his palms, a few bumps and bruises. Nothing else the doctor has raised any concerns about. Do you think–”
“I’ll be there within the hour.”
“Hey, can you tell me where I can find… Grace?”
Standing in San Francisco General’s emergency department, Tom was starting to get the feeling that he might have made a mistake. Just a small one! But still. Some kind of mistake. His phone had started ringing before they left the studio lot. By the time they were gridlocked in traffic, Tan’s phone had started ringing. And Colt’s.
Tom hadn’t braved looking at his phone until the number of missed calls was approaching double digits, and Tan was threatening to leave him on the side of the road if he didn’t answer his goddamned phone already.
“I am not gettin’ fired over you bein’ a goddamned brat,” Tan had threatened, twisting in his seat to glare back at Tom.
“You do remember who’s in charge here, right? Who’s the one who signs your cheques?" Tom had reminded him, only to receive twin scoffs in return. “What?”
“Just answer the goddamned phone, Ryder.”
Tom had, in fact, answered this goddamned phone. Or at least opened his messages. Not because Tan told him to! But because it was the responsible thing to do.
Gail – 13:07
Where are you? Champ is ready for another take.
13:09
I told them you needed five. Please come back before those ten become fifteen.
13:11
Sara says you aren’t in your trailer.
13:13
Tell me you didn’t actually leave the set.
13:14
Tom. This isn’t funny. Pick up your phone.
13:16
You are holding up the entire production right now. The dog is behaving better than you are. Consider that as you will.
13:18
I am five minutes away from letting them film with Colt.
And no, I do not mean from behind.
13:21
Why is Colt asking me if I’ve seen his phone?
13:22
Thomas Perry Ryder pick up your phone NOW or I am having Sara relocate Champ to your trailer for the remainder of the shoot.
Tom rolled his eyes, slipping his phone back into his pocket. There was no way that Gail would actually follow through on her threats. Not on any of them. If she let Colt film so much as a minute of extra face time, she would just have to get the director to change it for him later anyway; there was no universe where he would let Colt’s weird jawline ruin his reputation. And letting Champ near his trailer would, frankly, be more of a problem for Sara than him. He wasn’t about to clean up after the little shit.
Besides, Tom had more important things to worry about. Like who the hell Mr. Grace was. And why Colt seemed to be keeping him a secret. Sure, the two of them weren’t exactly besties, but they’d been working together long enough that Tom liked to think he would know if Colt had a long term partner. Or even a goldfish. For a stuntman, Colt really was… well, boring seemed like an understatement. Still. What kind of person would list Colt of all people as the one to call when there was an emergency? It just didn’t make sense. And Tom was determined to get the bottom of things, one way or another.
The plan (totally not cobbled together in the backseat of the car with his driver muttering something about irresponsible Gordons, whatever the fuck that meant? While his bodyguard sent him increasingly unimpressed looks) had been simple: get inside. Find Grace. Take a photo or two to hold over Colt’s head later. Maybe even spring this Mr. Grace from the ER if he really didn’t look like he was going to be a huge pain in the ass. Unless that would count as kidnapping? Tom paused. Nah, probably not. It would be fine.
Tom had fully intended to stick to the plan, too. Through the worst of the traffic, all the way through the hospital entryway and towards the front desk, down the winding corridors stinking of antiseptic and misery. Right up until they passed the hospital gift shop.
Footsteps slowed to a halt. Tan kept walking, the click of his dress shoes echoing down the hallway as he went. He stopped after a handful of paces, turning back, eyebrow raised. His gaze slid between Tom, to the shop, then back again.
“Hey, Tan–”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was gonna ask?”
Arms crossed in front of Tan’s chest. “Either you want me to carry somethin’ – not happenin’, as I need ta be able ta do my fuckin’ job. Or you wanna borrow cash as you don’t have your wallet with you. Again.”
Tom blinked. Huh. That… was a good point, actually. He didn’t usually bother with things like cash, or keeping track of his cards. What else was a PA for? He glanced around for Sara, then remembered he’d left her back on set. Right. “I’ll pay you back triple and make sure Gail throws in a bonus for going above and beyond. For you and Lem. Do we have a deal?”
Of course they had a deal. Which was why, fifteen minutes later, Tom found himself lingering outside of one Ryland Grace’s cubicle, holding a bear half of his height in one arm, and a handful of balloons trailing from the other. Tan – the traitor – had wandered off to find the nurse in charge to see about actually getting them out of there sometime today. At least there was no one there to witness his hesitation – well, other than the kid in the opposite bay who seemed to have a lego stuck up his nose. Tom pulled a face. Yeah, no. Definitely no kids or animals in his future.
Silver strings brushed against his arm, drawing his attention back to the present as the cluster of balloons floated lazily above him. Those, at least, hadn’t been his idea. The shop assistant had been very helpful (once she’d got past the initial nerves to ask him for a selfie). He wasn’t nervous. Tom Ryder didn’t get nervous about meeting anyone – people got nervous about meeting him. It was just… curiosity. Colt had somehow kept something this big from him for years. What else was Tom supposed to do, ignore it?
He shifted the bear higher against his chest, hiding most of his body behind its oversized head. Maybe he should have gone with chocolates after all. Or flowers. No, flowers were definitely too romantic – or a bit morbid. At least the bear made it clear he wasn’t trying to fuck Colt’s secret partner. Probably.
“Can I help you?”
Tom turned towards the approaching nurse, a press-ready smile already slipping into place. He couldn’t help the warm feeling of satisfaction that grew in his chest as he saw the instant recognition flared in her eyes. There we go. That was more like it.
“You’re–”
“Here to see Mr. Grace? I got a call that he’s ready to get out of here?” Tom neatly interrupted, juggling the bear in his grip just long enough to reach up and slip his aviators off. Gail kept telling him it was particularly douchey to wear them inside. She was wrong. Obviously. But he couldn’t be too careful while technically breaking the law. Probably? Was lying to hospital staff breaking the law? He’d have to write that one down on a post-it note to look into later.
“Oh!”
Tom watched, bemused, as the nurse seemed to pull herself together. He was actually kind of impressed at the speed with which she seemed to recover. “Mr. Grace has been cleared for discharge, but I need to go through his care instructions with both of you first.”
Her gaze travelled over the bear and up towards the balloons, the corners of her eyes crinkling with bemusement before professionalism took hold. “I have it on file that Mr. Seavers is supposed to be collecting Mr. Grace?
“I’m here on Colt’s behalf. He couldn’t get away from work, so,” Tom shrugged. “I told him I would stop by.”
The nurse hummed, glancing down at the tablet in her hand and scrolling through Ryland’s notes. “Ah, yes. Mr Grace did say that his brother might be unavailable. I’ll need to confirm with him that he’s happy to leave with you before we go through the discharge instructions. Please wait here.”
Tom’s smile faltered. “His brother?”
For several long seconds, all Tom could do was stare at her, his mind scrambling, searching back over every little interaction he had ever had with Colt. Surely there would have been some mention of a brother over the last, what, decade? His mind came up blank. Fuck. Had there been something? A single passing comment? A family photo stashed in his trailer (did Colt even have a trailer)? Some mention of where he was going for the holidays? There was no way that Colt could have hidden an entire person for that long without Tom knowing. He refused to believe it.
Before the nurse could answer, a sharp beeping sounded from somewhere behind her. Another voice called from the nurses’ station, the urgency in her voice enough to wipe any traces of bemusement from the nurse’s expression. She glanced towards the sound, then down at the tablet in her hand, as though weighing whether she had time to finish with Tom. Whatever she saw across the ward made up her mind.
“Excuse me, I’ll be right back. Please wait here until we’ve had the chance to confirm everything with Mr. Grace.”
Tom nodded in agreement, his smile never wavering. “Sure, no problem. Take your time. I’ll be right here.”
He waited just long enough for her to disappear around the corner, listening until her footsteps were swallowed by the general chaos of the hospital. Then he gave it another few seconds – counting slowly to ten – before turning back to the cubicle.
A secret brother. Huh. Now that Tom thought about it, maybe it really could be even better than a secret lover or husband. There had to be some kind of story there. Estranged, maybe? Oh! Or maybe they’d separated in a divorce, with one of them raised by their mom and the other their da– wait. Wasn’t that a movie? Okay, maybe… maybe they fell out over some girl. Or guy. Or– Tom took a step forward, forcing himself into action. He couldn’t stand around getting lost in what-ifs. He would have to get back to set at some point, or Gail would have his head.
The nurse had said someone had to confirm things with Grace. But she hadn’t said Tom couldn’t be the one to do that for her. This was going to be good.
“Grace?” Tom called through the curtains. On the other side, he could vaguely hear fabric rustling. He took that as an invitation to enter. Hooking two fingers around the edge of the curtain, he pulled it open. “I–”
Words failed him.
Every clever thing Tom had been planning to say fled as, for one disorientating second, Tom thought that Colt had somehow beaten him there. It was the same face. The same blue eyes. The same nose. The same – ok not quite the same weird jawline, Tom thought, tilting his head. Grace actually looked half good. The faint stubble looked really kind of good on him. As did the gold-rimmed spectacles. And was that a cardigan instead of a leather jacket? Tom reached for the collar of his shirt, forgetting, for a moment, his arms were full of teddy bear. The precious cargo almost went tumbling to the floor, being saved at just the last moment as Tom made a grab for it.
Oh my god they’re twins.
Not-Colt on the bed blinked back at him from behind his glasses. The longer Tom stared, the more little differences he started picking up on. Where Colt was all sun-bleached hair, bruises and a permanent little cocky smirk that he totally thought Tom didn’t notice was aimed at him, and only him, Grace looked… softer. His hair fell in the kind of messy disarray that spoke less of careful styling and more of a day spent tugging on the dirty blond strands in frustration. Even his eyes looked kinder, and his lips–
Nope, Tom thought, shaking himself out of his stupor before he could fall too far. Not going there. Not in a goddamned hospital. Later.
Tom’s gaze lingered on the white dressing neatly attached to Grace’s forehead, trailing down to see scraped hands resting loosely in his lap, shoulders hunched in a way that looked more stiff and sore than casual. Tom winced in sympathy. Yeah, that looked like it would be sore in the morning.
Eyes flicked back up, only to meet Grace’s wide-eyed gaze. Oh. Oh, fuck. He wasn’t expecting him to be so cute.
Tom’s chest tightened as Grace’s gaze moved slowly, tracing the enormous teddy in his arms, before flicking up to see the array of balloons bumping gently against the ceiling. “You’re… not Colt,” he said slowly, his words edging closer to questioning than certain.
“Neither are you.”
Both men blinked. Tom squeezed the bear more tightly against his chest. How was he fucking this up already? There shouldn’t be anything to fuck up!
“No,” Grace agreed slowly, fingers curling around the edge of the stiff white hospital sheet. “I’m Ryland. You are…?”
Tom laughed. Oh, this one was cute and funny? No wonder Colt was always so grumpy; clearly his brother got all of the good looks and the brains and the humour, leaving Colt with… being able to take a hit? “I work with Colt. I’m sure he’s told you about me?”
Seconds ticked on, and yet, no familiar look clicked into place. Tom’s eyebrows rose. “We’ve worked together on multiple films. He’s really never mentioned me? Not once?”
Ryland squinted at him, as if doing his best to try and place him. At last, eyes widened. There it was! They always recognised him in the–
“Oh! Colt’s Jody? I didn’t realise, I mean, from the way Colt spoke about you, I thought you were –” Eyes flicked down to his chest, and Tom’s jaw went slack.
“You think I’m the camera operator? Seriously?”
“...So you’re not Jody?”
“No. No, I am not. I’m Tom...” Tom took a steadying breath. He thrust the bear out towards Ryland before he could change his mind. “I got this for you. As Colt couldn’t make it.”
Ryland looked from the bear to Tom and back again, his eyes a little too wide. A small smile crept across his face, though he still seemed to be working out what was happening. “Oh! The same name as his a-hole boss! I didn’t realise there were two Toms.”
“Wait, Colt called me his boss?” Tom asked gleefully. Being called an asshole was hardly new, but hearing that Colt went around admitting to other people that Tom was in charge? Now that was already worth the trip across town. He was never going to let Colt live it down.
Before he could ask a follow-up, Ryland held out his scraped hands for the bear. Tom hesitated, suddenly less certain this had been a sensible purchase, then carefully lowered it into his arms. It had looked comically oversized in Tom’s arms; in Ryland’s? It was practically taking up the whole bed. Ryland tried to shuffle back against the pillows to make room for it, but stopped with a sharp little breath. For a second, he seemed determined to pretend that it hadn't hurt.
“Here. I’ve got it.” Tom instinctively stepped closer, one hand wrapping around the bear’s shoulder to take some of its weight. “You good?”
“I’m fine.” Ryland managed to rearrange the bear more carefully, settling its head beneath his chin. Scraped fingers disappeared into its soft, dark fur. “Did Colt tell you to get this, or did you really buy a bear for someone you’ve never met before?”
“Chocolates seemed like a bad idea. And it wasn’t like Colt told me what you like.”
Ryland peered around the bear’s head, taking another look at just how far its paws stretched across the bed. “So you went for the biggest thing in the gift shop?”
“Second biggest.” Tom shuddered at the memory of the monstrosity that was supposed to be a frog. There was no way he was subjecting anyone to that thing. “It… made sense at the time.”
Both men eyed the bear. Yeah, no. Tom could see it now; Tan might have had a point about going for a size down after all. Not that Tom was ever going to tell him that. Tan was insufferable enough when he thought he was right. He couldn’t risk giving him any more ammunition.
“...you’ve had a big day, and I thought you deserved something to help make it better?” Tom tried again, as if that might help his case. It had sounded less ridiculous in his head.
“And you thought a giant teddy bear would do that?”
“I mean, that, or getting to meet me.”
Ryland let out a startled laugh. For a moment, Tom forgot about the nurse, the phone in his pocket and the fact that he’d left an entire film crew waiting for him. Ryland’s shoulders shook against the bear, and Tom found himself grinning back at him. Five minutes ago, Ryland had been a name on Colt’s phone. Now Tom wanted to know what else would make him laugh like that – and if he would let Tom have his number.
Then the laugh caught. Ryland went still, a wince overtaking his face as one scraped hand rose to press against his forehead. Tom’s grin vanished. He leaned forward, suddenly aware of how pale Ryland looked beneath the dressing.
“Hey, are you okay? Do you need me to go and get someone?”
Ryland took a careful breath. After a moment, his hand dropped back to the bear’s fur. “No, no. It’s fine. Apparently laughing can be added to the long list of not-concussion-friendly activities, along with having my phone. Or a book. Or literally any form of entertainment.”
A relieved smile twitched on Tom’s lips. “Right. Okay then. No more jokes. I’ll try being boring. I’ve seen Colt do it enough times, I’m sure I can get the hang of it.”
Another burst of laughter, followed by another groan. Tom winced on Ryland’s behalf. “Sorry, sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
As Tom dragged a visitor’s chair closer to the foot of the bed he sat, balloons followed in his wake. One caught in the curtain rail above him. He tugged on the string firmly, jaw clenching as nothing happened. Another, harder pull sent the entire cluster of balloons down, neatly bonking against his head and drawing another, louder laugh from Ryland – and the kid across the corridor. He scowled at the child. Right. He really should close the curtain.
Tom finally dropped into the chair – which had somehow ended up even closer to Ryland than he had intended – and smiled up at him. “See? Boring already.”
“You’re really bad at this.”
“At being boring? I know. It’s one of my biggest flaws.”
Ryland let out a groan, pressing his face more firmly against the bear.
“I’m stopping, I’m stopping,” Tom promised, hands raised in surrender.
Ryland lifted his head just enough to peer at Tom over the bear’s ears. “I’m starting to understand why Colt talks so much about you.”
“So he does talk about me.”
“I didn’t say any of it was complimentary.”
“Eh. No press is bad press. So, So, how often are we talking?”
Ryland’s eyebrows rose towards his hairline, a look of fond exasperation overtaking his face. Considering they had known each other all of five minutes, it should not have been anywhere near as attractive as it was. Tom swallowed past the rapidly growing lump in his throat. When was the last time he had enjoyed talking to someone outside of work this much? Fuck, when was the last time he’d enjoyed talking to anyone this much?
Ryland’s fingers stilled in the bear’s fur. He studied Tom for a moment, his expression turning a little more careful. “You do know that Colt’s already interested in someone, right?” he asked gently.
Tom looked back at him blankly. “...why would you even bring that up?”
Ryland held his gaze for another second, then looked down at the bear. “Right. Okay then. Shouldn’t you be filming right now? With Colt?”
Tom’s phone vibrated against his thigh before he could answer. He pulled it out just long enough to see Gail’s name lighting up the screen, before turning it face-down, silencing it, and pressing it back into his pocket.
“Is… that important?” Ryland asked, gaze following his movements. “You can go outside to take it if you need to. Or want to. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s only my producer. She can yell at me later. I want to stay here.”
“Oh.” Ryland glanced down at the bear, but not before Tom caught the beginnings of a smile.”
Tom smiled softly. “You could show a little gratitude to the handsome stranger who came all the way across town to save you from another few hours in here. C’mon, my driver’s waiting outside. The nurse said you need someone with you tonight, and Colt’s stuck filming. You can wait here for him, or you can take a chance on me.”
Something shifted in Ryland’s expression. “You’re… actually being serious right now. You’re really volunteering to spend time babysitting me so that I can go home?”
The quiet surprise in his voice caught Tom off guard. He sat back, suddenly glad for an entirely different reason that he had taken the call instead of leaving the phone where it was. “Obviously. I already abandoned a multi-million-dollar production just to come check up on you. It would be pretty stupid to change my mind now. What, d’you think I’d really do that for a joke or something?”
Ryland paused, waiting several long seconds as though carefully weighing up his words before finally asking, “Aren’t you… going to be in trouble for that?”
Tom shrugged. Gail had put up with worse from him in the past – and covered his ass for far worse, too. One missed afternoon wouldn’t make the entire production grind to a halt. Maybe if he was lucky, they’d get more of Champ’s scenes out of the way while he was busy. Colt could handle a few more takes with her. Clearly, they were bonding.
“Some things are worth it.” Ryland looked at him over the bear’s head. Tom held his gaze for a second, then reached for the balloon strings before he could think too hard about what he’d just said. He tied them to the end of the bed, having to catch one that slipped loose and floated towards the ceiling. Slipping his phone out of his pocket, he messaged Tan to keep the car nearby, neatly ignoring the growing number of messages waiting for a response. Slipping his phone out of his pocket, he sent Tan a quick message, neatly ignoring the growing number of messages waiting for a response.
“How about this. We pick up a coffee and anything else you need, then head back to yours. My driver’s waiting outside, so you won’t have to do anything except sit there and enjoy the company.”
Ryland glanced down at his rumpled shirt. Tom followed his gaze. That was either a bloodstain or jam residue on Ryland’s cardigan, and was that a hole patched over one elbow? No. No, absolutely not.
“We’ll get you some new clothes too. And did I hear something about a bike being involved? Do we need to replace one of those?” He was pretty sure his Harley-Davidson sponsorship was still active. Gail could make a call; she’d been the one who talked him into posing with the damn thing in the first place.
“You’re planning on dragging someone with a concussion around San Francisco to go clothes and bicycle shopping?” Ryland asked, a hint of incredulity creeping into his voice.
Tom frowned. Okay, when Ryland said it like that, it sounded slightly less thoughtful.
“Fine. We’ll get coffee on the way back to yours, and I’ll have someone bring everything else over. Clothes, food, a new bike. Whatever you need.”
“It was a bicycle, Tom. And I’m not letting you buy me a new one.”
Well, there went the Harley deal. Probably for the best. Gail was trying to land him a Lamborghini campaign, and she’d kill him if he gave them a reason to back out. “Great. I’ll make sure it’s a surprise.”
Ryland laughed. Tom took that as a yes.
Ryland studied him over the bear’s head. His eyes flicked briefly to the silenced phone in Tom’s pocket, then to the balloons still bobbing above his bed. Tom had the uncomfortable feeling Ryland was putting it all together: the phone, the balloons, and the fact that Tom had crossed the city for someone he’d never met. Ryland’s expression softened.
“You know, I’ve never heard of coffee and a new bicycle as a recommended prescription for a concussion.”
“I mean… I kind of thought they were more part of a date than medical intervention, but if that’s how you’d rather think of it?” Tom shrugged.
Ryland stared back at him blankly. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Maybe his head was bugging him more than he was letting on? Should Tom call someone about that? He should probably call someone about that. Concussions were no laughing matter. (Unless they were talking about Colt. But that was another matter entirely).
“...Are you seriously asking me out on a date? Now?”
“Technically, I’m asking you for coffee. If that goes well…” Tom glanced towards the open curtains. The kid with the lego was still there, staring at the bear with a frankly worrying level of intensity. “I’ll ask you for your number. Then, when your brain stops feeling like it’s going to pound out through your eye sockets, I’ll ask you on a date properly. One with an overpriced restaurant, maybe a gallery or something. Unless you want to save us both some time and just say yes now. I promise I’ll still be a perfect gentleman for like, the first five dates, minimum.”
Ryland’s brows drew together. He looked at Tom for a long moment, as though trying to decide whether he meant it. Tom pressed his hands against his thighs, resisting the urge to reach up and brush his hair back. He already knew it looked good – he might have taken a quick detour past one of the gross public bathrooms just to make sure he looked okay before coming to meet Ryland. Still, waiting for Ryland’s answer felt more nerve-wracking than his last three auditions combined.
Ryland glanced towards the open curtain, then pushed his glasses up with the back of his wrist, careful of his scraped palm. “You’re actually serious about this? Going on a date with me? You don’t know anything about me except that I’m Colt’s brother and apparently can’t ride a bike without ending up in hospital.”
“...yeeees? I’m really not seeing any reason not to. You’re cute. You seem nice. I’d like to get to know you better. Is that… not a good thing?”
Ryland looked down at the frayed cuff of his cardigan, worrying a loose thread between his fingers. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “Just to be clear: it’s not just because I look like Colt?”
“You look nothing like Colt.”
“We are literally identical twins.” Ryland said the words slowly, as if they might not yet have sunk in for Tom.
Tom looked back at him, face straight, as he answered, “I really don’t see it.”
Ryland laughed, then groaned. “You promised no more jokes!”
“Who’s joking?” Tom’s smile softened as Ryland ducked his head – not quite quickly enough to hide the matching smile on his face.
“Ask me again when I don’t have a head injury. I’m like, eighty percent certain this is some kind of hallucination right now.”
“So that’s a yes!”
Ryland tried to look stern, but the corner of his mouth gave him away. “That is a middling maybe at best.”
“Same basic principle.”
Ryland shook his head, fingers returning to the bear’s fur. He looked both thoroughly exasperated and oddly pleased. Tom stared back at him, the warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest rapidly growing. He was going to turn that middling-maybe into a yes.
Caught up in the moment, neither man heard footsteps approaching.
“I asked you to wait outside.”
Tom jolted in the chair, his knee knocking against the bed frame. Ryland sat up a little straighter. Nurse Walsh stood at the open curtain, tablet tucked against her chest, looking considerably less amused than she had earlier.
Tom glanced back at her, his press-ready smile already returning. “Good news; Ry’s confirmed everything. I just saved you like, a solid hour of paperwork. You’re welcome.”
“You’ve done nothing of the sort.” Her attention shifted pointedly towards Ryland. “Mr Grace, are you happy to be discharged into Mr Ryder’s care?”
Ryland glanced at Tom, one eyebrow raised. “Yes. Against my better judgement.”
“That still counts,” Tom said.
“Then before either of you goes anywhere, I need to explain what to watch for overnight.” Her gaze returned to Tom. “And you need to listen.”
“I’m a great listener.”
Ryland laughed – followed almost immediately by another pained groan.
“He isn’t,” he warned her.
Tom’s grin widened. Ryland had known him for all of ten minutes and was already warning people about him. Tom couldn’t wait to find out what he’d say after a proper date.
And if that happened to wind Colt up? Well, that would just be a happy coincidence.