Tymber Dalton - Safe Harbor

He whooped with joy and grinned. “Son of a bitch! Please tell me you said what I think you said.”

Mac’s smile widened a little and he blinked twice.

Yes.

Sully’s eyes filled with tears as he started the feeding process.

“Jesus, Brant, that was the best sound I think I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Mac dozed during the feeding, but he opened his eyes when he heard Clarisse arrive. The faint smile returned to his face.

Sully noticed his look and grinned, stopping Clarisse in her tracks.

“What?” she asked.

He looked at Mac. “You want to try again?”

Yes.

Sully grinned even wider. “Honey, lean in close.”

She did, and Mac licked his lips. “Pet.”

She gasped as her eyes widened, then filled with tears. “Oh, Brant!”

Mac smiled.

“He said it, all right,” Sully said, beaming. He glanced around to make sure the nurse wasn’t close by and leaned across the bed. “I asked him earlier if he was ready for his lunch and he said, ‘Yes, Master.’” Her hand flew to her mouth as she tried and failed to choke back her sob.

Mac watched as she leaned in and kissed him. “Sir, I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered.

A tear rolled down Mac’s face. He blinked.

Yes.

He could speak in short, simple sentences by the end of the next week. It was both a difficult physical effort for him, as well as a troubling mental one, Sully observed. Mac had problems finding, much less saying, the right words. He still used the blinking system, and shaking or rotating his wrist for yes or no. He also used his familiar eyebrow arch to indicate a question instead of speaking at times. A speech therapist came in to work with him, as did occupational and physical therapists. The next week, he was moved to a rehab facility a couple of blocks from the hospital, still within walking distance of the apartment.

After a month there, he’d regained some of his gross motor skills, enough Clarisse and Sully could take him “home” to the apartment.

Mac didn’t remember the attack, and he hadn’t asked what happened.

Sully decided that story could wait until later, if it ever needed to be told at all.

With Mac decidedly on the mend, Clarisse’s mood greatly improved. The nightmares that plagued her after the shooting disappeared almost overnight once Mac was safely back with them.

Their first night together following the attack, Sully and Clarisse snuggled tightly against Mac, with him firmly sandwiched between them.

The next morning, Clarisse left to pick up Bart from Tad and bring him to the apartment. Sully was dressing Mac and getting him ready for his daily therapy appointments.

Mac still didn’t talk much, even though he could. Sully suspected it was an exhausting effort for him. His voice sounded weak, almost forced, nothing like its former rich tone.

He was buttoning Mac’s shirt for him while Mac sat in his wheelchair. When Mac weakly caught his hand, Sully looked into his lover’s eyes and saw the concern there.

“Tell me.”

Sully sat on the bed. “Everything?”

Mac nodded.

Sully told him about the attack. He stopped at Mac being admitted.

“More.”

“Brant, you don’t need to know that.”

“Did he hurt her?”

“She wasn’t there. She’d left the marina.”

“After.”

Sully had never lied to Mac in the course of their relationship.

Ever. It was a point he prided himself on.

He owed the man honesty. Hell, he owed him his life.

“He can’t ever hurt her again.” Bryan’s body had been found late the next day by motel housekeeping. As Sully had expected, while there were questions, the fact that Jason caught the case because he was in charge of the investigation of Mac’s attack, combined with Bryan Jackson’s history, allowed many questions to simply remain unanswered. The car, it turned out, had been stolen. If Clarisse’s prints were found in the car, Jason must have taken care of it because it was never brought up, neither of them were ever questioned about Bryan’s murder.

As far as Jason was concerned, he ate dinner with Sully and Clarisse that night, before he returned to the ICU to sit with Mac while the other two took a nap and got some rest.

Surprisingly, when Jason searched Bryan’s room at the crime scene, he found an ounce of cocaine hidden inside his suitcase.

Sully didn’t ask Jason where he’d found that little party favor, but it only stacked the deck against Bryan. The current popular theory was a robbery or drug deal gone wrong because of the surrounding neighborhood being rife with frequent narcotics busts.

He told Mac the rest of the story. Mac listened, his gaze on his hands, which he clenched and unclenched in his lap while Sully softly related what happened.

When he finished, Mac looked up with tears in his eyes. “She okay?”

Sully gently laid a hand on Mac’s shoulder. “She’s really okay.

Her nightmares have stopped.”

Mac sniffled, took a deep breath, and let it out. “Okay.” He met Sully’s gaze. “Love you.”

Sully smiled and leaned in for a kiss. “I love you too, Brant.”

Mac scowled.

“What’s that for?” Sully asked.

Mac arched an eyebrow at him. After a long moment, Sully laughed and hugged him. “Quit pouting, slave . Your face will freeze like that.”

Mac snickered. “Yes, Master.”

“I can do it,” Mac insisted.

Clarisse hovered behind him, around him, in front of him, worried. “I know, sweetie, but let me help—”

“Let him do it, pet,” Sully sternly ordered.

Clarisse shot Sully a dark look, but stepped away from Mac.

With his right hand, Mac gripped the hand rail and slowly lifted his left leg, planting his foot firmly on the riser. It took him ten minutes and three more orders from Sully for Clarisse to leave him be, but Mac climbed the stairs to their house by himself. Once at the top, Sully stepped in and slipped his arm around Mac’s waist for support.

“All right, tough guy. That’s enough independence for your first day home.” He guided Mac over to the couch and helped him sit. In the months since the attack, Mac had dropped nearly thirty pounds, most of that in lost muscle. He’d started using light hand weights, but Sully knew it would take a while to regain his former body tone.

Bart ran into the room, dragging something. It wasn’t until he climbed the ramp next to the couch and jumped into Mac’s lap that Clarisse realized what he had.

The butt plug.

Mac and Sully started laughing. Sully snickered and grabbed the dog. “What a way to welcome him home, pup. Let’s go empty your pan.” He carried the dog out of the room.

Clarisse recognized Mac’s playful expression. “What?”

He patted his lap.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Won’t break. Come here.”

He had her straddle his lap, facing him. He slowly worked to unbutton her shirt, pushing her hands away when she tried helping him.

“Behave, pet,” he scolded.

She grinned. “Sorry, Sir.” It had been several months since she’d even remotely felt in the mood. But as Mac’s planned homecoming loomed and her libido returned, just weeks before Thanksgiving, Sully had denied her release to amp up her anticipation.

Now she understood why.

It’d only been in the past couple of weeks that Mac felt like being intimate. Because of his weakened condition, they kept things simple, usually Clarisse going down on him while Sully held him.

He parted her shirt and pushed it down her shoulders, exposing her bra. He struggled for a moment with the front clasp, then dragged in a long, deep breath when the fabric parted.