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Door
    A half-erection for most of the night was wearing on Grant’s nerves. A sharp stab had ripped through his chest when Cade’s mouth had been a fraction of an inch from Vivi’s. There was no way Grant could brush aside the twinge of jealousy, but it had been double-edged. That duality was what allowed him to respond as calmly as he had.
    Vivi nearly kissing Cade had made him jealous.
    Cade nearly kissing Vivi had made him envious.
    In one swift moment, Grant had tasted the bitterness of longing and couldn’t deny it any longer. He’d wished Cade’s kiss had been for him.
    Cade used the tail of his T-shirt to wipe a smear of machine grease from his finger, rubbing at the stain briskly. Grant’s eyes settled on the low waistband of his jeans, on his exposed hip and the half-visible scar there. It wasn’t much, maybe three inches long and whitened with age, but he remembered exactly where it came from.
    They’d been seniors in high school on the annual school trip to New York. Two almost-eighteen-year-old small-town boys who thought they were invincible were set loose in the city that never sleeps. They’d gotten turned around after a night of underage drinking and stumbled into an alley where they had no place being.
    They accidentally interrupted some fast-talking guy with an attitude doing whatever illegal thing he thought they saw. A scuffle started with Cade snapping drunken comebacks, then came a flash of silver. All he really knew was that Cade grabbed his collar, jerked him out of the alley and yelled for him to run. They had both run, not stopping until the vaguely familiar scenery of Times Square surrounded them.
    Leaning on a building side, trying desperately not to vomit, Grant looked up and saw Cade’s side. A growing red stain was spreading along his favorite T-shirt. He fought Grant when he yanked the shirt up to see how badly Cade was hurt. A single slash cut right above his hipbone, not deeply, but enough to scare a kid half to death.
    “Forget it. I’ll clean it up and slap some Band-aids on it. Come on, let’s get back before Coach Davis realizes we—”
    “Cade, he fucking stabbed you!”
    “No, he didn’t. It’s a cut, that’s all. A box cutter, I think. It’s fine. Don’t be getting my ass in trouble. I’m on thin ice with Coach as it is after cutting practice last week, and you know it.”
    The buzz faded and snatches of memory came back. “He was aiming for me.”
    “No shit, you’re bigger. I’d take you out first too, if I was him.”
    “You stepped in front of me.”
    Cade had wiped his nose on the back of his hand and shrugged, turning away. The casual move hadn’t meshed with the emotion in his voice. “I’ll always cover your ass, Grant. And you cover mine. It’s just how things work between us.”
    Slowly, Grant’s gaze rose. Since then, they’d faced everything together—parents dying, everyday joys and celebrations, getting kicked in the teeth from life. They were always there for each other and always would be.
    Cade murmured something and Grant yanked his gaze from Cade’s mouth. He stood and sharp pain shot through his leg.
    “Fuck!” He threw his weight into the washer frame and jerked his bare foot up. A small screw was embedded in his instep. He sank to his ass, back braced on the cool metal.
    “Oh, damn, man, sorry. I thought I had them all put up.” Cade leaned forward with concern angling his eyebrows. “Is it in deep?”
    “Not too deep.” Grant yanked the metal out and examined the puncture. A thin trickle of blood dripped down his heel. “Goddamn, that hurts.”
    “When was your last tetanus?”
    “Last year.”
    Cade jumped to his feet. “Then sit still. I’ll grab the first-aid kit.”
    Pain pulsed in slow beats, dimming from excruciating to annoying by the time Cade carried in the white-and-red box. He knelt down and handed over a bottle of Maker’s Mark with a grin. “Here, pain killer. Viv isn’t here to bitch, like you