Firm Hand Page 2

  “For all of those reasons and a few more, yes. It sounds noble, but taking care of me is far less glamorous in reality.”

  Rhys sort of snickered. “You think I don’t know that? It’s my job, Cornell. It’s what I do for a living.”

  He had him there. “You’re not a nurse,” Cornell protested weakly.

  “You don’t need a nurse. You need someone to help you with things you can’t do yet and to be there in case something goes wrong. And I’ll actually be able to help you with daily exercise, your mobility exercises, and I can even advise you on how to improve further.”

  He was persuasive, wasn’t he? Cornell almost smiled. Rhys had always been an opinionated, strong character—much like his mother. He and Cassie had their differences, but he couldn’t deny she was about as strong as they came. It was one of the character traits that made her such an excellent Domme.

  “I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle staying at your dad’s house,” he said softly. “To be constantly reminded of his absence…” He had to swallow to get rid of the painful lump in his throat, something that had become almost routine by now.

  “So we’ll grieve together,” Rhys said, his voice soft. “We both miss him like crazy, but don’t you think that missing him together is better than missing him alone?”

  A soft sound escaped from Cornell’s lips. “Oh Rhys,” he said, lost for words.

  “I want you here,” Rhys said. “Please, Cornell, allow me to do this for you.”

  I want you here. When was the last time someone had said that to him? Cornell closed his eyes, feeling himself surrender to Rhys’s gentle insistence. “We’ll need to get some things from my house.”

  “Give me a list, and I’ll get whatever you need before I come pick you up tomorrow.”

  The joy in Rhys’s voice was hard to deny. That, at least, made Cornell feel a little better about the whole thing. Rhys wanted him there, that much was clear. It might not be healthy to be swayed by that, and it totally spoke to what a needy bastard he could be and how starved for affection he was, but Cornell didn’t care.

  “Thank you,” he said softly.

  “You’re more than welcome,” was the heartfelt reply.

  * * *

  Rhys maneuvered his father’s big-ass pickup truck through the parking lot, his eyes on the lookout for a spot in the full lot. There. Someone pulled out in front of him, and he whipped into the space before anyone else could grab it. He checked the walking distance to the entrance of the center, happy when he saw it was doable. That way, Cornell could walk to the car himself and keep his dignity.

  He’d already packed up essentials for Cornell from his house. He could try to convince him to rent it out as long as he was staying with Rhys. He wasn’t sure of Cornell’s financial situation, but surely a little extra income couldn’t hurt when the man would have bills the size of Mount Everest to pay. Besides, Cornell didn’t know it yet, but Rhys was in no hurry to let him get back to his own house.

  He rushed inside the building, determined to be on time. It was eleven on the dot when he knocked on the door to Cornell’s room.

  “Come in,” Cornell called out, and when Rhys opened the door and stepped inside, he found him ready to go. That wasn’t a surprise, since as far as he knew, Cornell had never been late for anything in his life. Rhys remembered many occasions of mutual teasing and ribbing between Cornell and his dad, who had not been quite as punctual—to put it mildly.

  “What’s that smile for?” Cornell asked. “You looked a million miles away.”

  “I had to think of Dad, who was never ready on time when you came to pick him up.”

  Cornell smiled as well. “Oh, I know. I always built an extra half hour in with him. Used to drive me bananas until I realized it was how he was wired.”

  Rhys grinned. “My mom did the same. Telling Dad my recital would start at eight when it wasn’t till eight-thirty, to make sure he’d be there on time.”

  They both smiled at each other, lost in good memories for a while. Then Rhys gave himself a mental shove. “I picked up all the items from the list you sent me.”

  Cornell dropped his eyes to the floor. “Did you find everything okay?”

  Rhys understood how embarrassing it must be for the man to have someone else go through his personal stuff. His thoughts went to the neatly organized drawer he’d discovered. He shouldn’t have, he knew, but one glimpse had been enough to pique his curiosity. Colorful sex toys had been arranged in groups. A number of plugs. Some dildos. A few vibrating ones. And a collection of other implements, like cock rings, a spreader, and some restraining devices.

  It hadn’t even been that vast a collection and not that extreme. Rhys had seen much wilder than that. If you took into account Cornell was a sub and had been one for many years, a much bigger collection wouldn’t have surprised Rhys either. And yet, finding that drawer, seeing that collection of toys and knowing Cornell had used those to bring himself pleasure—it had done something to Rhys. Knowing your father’s best friend was a sub was one thing, but seeing the evidence was a whole other story.

  Maybe he should've packed a few toys. Cornell would've been too embarrassed to ask for them, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need the help for a sexual release. No, that would've been too weird. Far too personal for this stage of their relationship. Cornell was already on edge about staying with Rhys—no need to make things awkward and risk him pulling the plug on the whole idea. He wasn’t risking the best opportunity he’d ever get to get close to Cornell.

  “Rhys? You okay?” Cornell asked.

  Rhys realized he’d been lost in thought again and had forgotten to answer Cornell’s question. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve got everything you asked me for, no problem at all. Are you ready to go?”

  Cornell pushed himself out of the chair he’d been sitting in, a painful wince flashing over his face. He pointed toward the weekend bag sitting on the bed. “One of the orderlies packed up all my clothes and things from here. So if you could grab that, we’re good to go.”

  “Sure,” Rhys said, slinging the strap over his shoulder.

  “So you have my things?” Cornell asked again, and Rhys realized he was either nervous or stressed. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Cornell that way, and it was a stark reminder how much had changed.

  “Yes, I have everything,” he assured him, then added, “Nothing for you to worry about.”

  Cornell turned toward him, those gray eyes burning with intensity. “Young Rhys, the list of things I worry about is so long that this barely makes the list in the first place.”

  Ah, Cornell’s infamous sarcasm. It was somehow reassuring that no matter what had changed, some things had stayed the same.

  “Please forgive me,” he said lightly. “One less thing to worry about.”

  Cornell studied him for a few beats. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Rhys had to refrain himself from offering help when Cornell walked beside him, his gait slow and unsteady. The man had to learn to ask for help—not an easy feat considering how proud he was. And age probably played a role as well. Admitting you needed help was one thing. Admitting it to someone so much younger and healthier was much harder. Rhys would have to give him time. But not too much time.

  Cornell stopped, his right hand white-knuckling the metal bar that lined both sides of the hallway. He was panting slightly, and Rhys spotted sweat pearling on his forehead. Rhys bit his tongue.

  “I’m sorry,” Cornell said, his voice soft. “I’m slow as…”

  He stopped, but Rhys added, “As a snail in heat.” It had been one of his dad’s idiosyncratic expressions, and Rhys smiled. “I’ve always wondered about that one,” he said. “First of all, do snails even experience heat, and if they do, wouldn’t that make them faster?”

  Cornell chuckled. “I asked that once as well, and he said that even in heat, snails are still slow. Or even slower, because they use up their energy for sex instead of speed. No idea if there’s any truth
to it.”

  “Knowing Dad, probably not,” Rhys said, “But I love that expression anyway.”

  It was still surprising, how fast that wave of grief would roll over him, making his throat clench and his breaths painful. His eyes burned, and he took a few slow, deep breaths.

  By the time he had composed himself, Cornell had caught his breath. It took forever to reach the car, and Rhys didn’t like how pale and sweaty Cornell was when he finally made it to the passenger seat. Pride was all well and good, but he would only allow it for so long.

  It didn’t surprise him when Cornell fell asleep during the ride home. He stole a glance sideways every now and then. The lines he’d always thought of as laugh lines had deepened. God, Cornell could laugh, a full belly laugh that was infectious as hell. Rhys hadn’t heard that laugh since the accident.

  Cornell’s usual tan had been wiped away by a pale grayness that worried Rhys. Cornell was not okay. Not even close. No wonder, after what he’d been through, but Rhys still worried. Not so much about his physical state, though he certainly had a long road ahead of him there as well, but more about his mental state.

  He’d known the man since the day he’d been born, and he’d always been full of life. Cornell possessed a wicked, sharp sense of humor that had caused those laugh lines, that had made Rhys laugh on many occasions, even inappropriate ones. At the funeral of his grandmother—his dad’s mother—Cornell had cracked a joke that had them in stitches, scrambling to compose themselves before they got out of the limo. His grandmother had always been a mean woman, and Rhys hadn’t even felt guilty about laughing so hard.

  Cornell had always sparkled, but the Cornell Rhys saw now was the furthest thing from that. It was like his inner light, his fire, had been extinguished, and that worried Rhys. He’d have to monitor his mental state, make sure he was okay.

  He let him sleep until he'd parked the car in the driveway, as close to the front door as possible. Thank fuck his dad had moved into a ranch after the divorce. It hadn't been for any other reason than he'd fallen in love with the house and, more importantly, with the location. Rhys had loved the house as much as his dad had, the tranquility of the country setting with acres of lush green surrounding them. But now it was a godsend, this house, because it would allow him to take Cornell in. And take care of him, whether the man wanted it or not.

  Cornell let out a soft groan when Rhys shut off the engine. "Are we there?" he asked, his voice sleepy.

  He was adorable like that, Rhys thought, not that he'd utter that sentiment. Cornell would call a cab right then and there, and he’d lose his one opportunity to spend time with him. "We are. Do you think you can make it inside?"

  Please say no. He'd hate to put his foot down on the first day, but Cornell really shouldn't walk any more. He'd already pushed himself far beyond his limits for the day.

  Cornell hesitated. "I'm not sure," he said, his voice soft.

  "Do you want me to help you?" Rhys wanted nothing more than to help, but Cornell would have to come right out and say it. Rhys wanted clear lines of communication from day one.

  It took Cornell a little while to make up his mind. "Yes, please," he said, his voice barely audible.

  "Okay."

  Rhys got out of the car and walked around to open Cornell's door. The man managed to turn his body and get out, leaning heavily on Rhys’s arm.

  "How are you gonna..."

  Cornell's question transitioned into a rather undignified squeal when Rhys simply bent over and picked him up, careful not to touch him where it hurt.

  "Rhys, you can’t…"

  "Lean against me," Rhys told him. "Don't fight it.”

  God, he'd lost weight. Cornell had always been lean, with the build of a runner, but he'd lost too much weight since the accident. Muscles too, Rhys guessed. He'd have to make sure Cornell ate well. Lots of protein, to replenish what his body had lost.

  He was surprised when Cornell stopped protesting and instead relaxed his body and put his head against Rhys's shoulder.

  "Thank you," the older man said softly.

  Something rushed through Rhys at those words, a sweet sense of victory. How he wanted to take care of Cornell, much more than the man was ready for. He’d have to be patient. "You're welcome."

  They were both quiet as Rhys carried him inside, where he took Cornell straight to his bedroom. It was the guest room Cornell had always stayed in when he'd spent the night. At least, when Rhys had been home, because he was pretty sure Cornell had spent many nights in his father's bed when Rhys had been with his mom or at college. Those two had been inseparable.

  "I want to stay up for a bit," Cornell protested, and Rhys had to bite back a laugh because he sounded like a tired toddler.

  "It's been intense," Rhys said, keeping his tone warm and friendly. "Don't you think a nap would be smart right now?"

  “I feel like I’ve done nothing but nap the last few weeks," Cornell said, his eyes darkening. "I want to stay up for a change, watch some TV."

  "You can watch TV when you wake up," Rhys said, gently putting him down on the bed. "Do you want to sleep in this, or do you prefer pajamas?"

  "You're strict," Cornell complained, shooting a dark look in Rhys's direction. "Are you getting back at me for all the times I was strict with you when you were a kid?"

  You have no idea how strict I can be, Rhys thought, keeping the emotions off his face. "Pajamas or no?" he asked, ignoring Cornell's comment and question.

  "I can sleep in this," Cornell capitulated, and Rhys helped him get comfortable in bed. "And how long should I nap, oh bossy ruler of everything?"

  Nope, Rhys didn't mind being called bossy at all. "Let's do two hours. It will take you a little to fall asleep, and once you do, you can nap for one sleep cycle."

  Cornell looked at him questioningly.

  "Research has shown that there are ideal lengths for naps. You can either do a short power nap or nap in full sleep cycles, which on average last an hour and a half."

  "Huh," Cornell said, sinking deeper under the covers." I didn't know that."

  Rhys smiled. "They actually taught me some practical stuff in college. Imagine that."

  Cornell's mouth pulled up on one side into a crooked grin, his eyes fluttering shut. "Smart ass."

  Rhys didn't answer but stood there, watching Cornell fall asleep. When he did, his breathing leveling out into a deep pattern, Rhys let out a slow exhale. Hurdle one was accomplished. Cornell was here, safely under his roof. Now he had to make sure the man got better. Rhys vowed he would take care of him. He owed that to his dad’s best friend, right?

  And if he enjoyed having the man near for different reasons, why, that was just a bonus.

  2

  Cornell was embarrassed to realize how tired he was, even after his nap. God, he was like a senior citizen, dozing off on the couch while watching a Netflix series on unsolved murders. His belly was full, courtesy of the pasta Alfredo Rhys had made. Talk about unexpected talents. Cornell hadn't even known the kid could cook.

  When he'd mentioned it to Rhys, the guy had merely smiled and said something about Cornell not knowing him as well as he thought he did. Whatever that was supposed to mean. Cornell had to admit that Rhys kept surprising him, and that was weird, considering how long he’d known him for.

  "Time for bed, maybe?" Rhys's voice startled Cornell awake when his eyes had once again drifted shut. He forced them open, but it was hard, so hard, to stay awake.

  “Yeah," he said, admitting defeat. "I can't seem to stay awake."

  "Allow me to share a bit of professional advice," Rhys said, his eyes nothing but kind. "Stop trying to. Listen to your body and what it needs."

  He had a point, Cornell acknowledged to himself. As a sub, he was well aware of his physical limitations, maybe more so than those who weren't in the lifestyle. He was trained in recognizing his limits, in communicating them even, so why was it so hard under these circumstances?

  It wasn't like Rhys was a s
tranger. He'd seen the kid grow up, for fuck's sake. He couldn't claim he'd ever changed his diapers, but that was more because he'd been clear from the start that wasn't in his description as his godparent. Buying him presents, taking him on fun day trips? Yes, absolutely. Getting up close and personal with human excrement? Hell no. Not even from a baby, no matter how cute he'd been.

  "Cornell, you with me?" Rhys asked, and Cornell realized he'd closed his eyes again.

  "Yeah. Getting up now."

  He couldn't hold back the low groan of pain as he pushed himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the couch. His injuries had been extensive, he knew, but the amount of pain he'd been in had unpleasantly surprised him. Even now, three months after the accident, his body still reminded him daily.

  The other car had hit them head-on, and it had been a massive RAM pickup truck, driven by an eighteen-year-old with not enough experience on icy roads to drive a vehicle that size. Jonas's sleek BMW had been horribly outmatched. The impact had sent them flying and had crushed the front of the car, killing Jonas instantly and shattering Cornell's legs. At first, they'd told him he’d be lucky to ever walk again. He'd managed to beat the odds there, but pain had become his constant companion.

  His knees were the worst. They hurt all the time, a low-grade, throbbing pain, but especially when he bent them and put weight on them. Getting up, walking up or down the stairs, hell, even sitting down on the damn toilet had become something to fear.

  And worst of all: he would never kneel again. That, more than anything, was almost unbearable since it meant the end of his days as a sub. He'd already struggled before the accident to find Doms willing to play with a sub his age, but one who had limitations like he had now? One who couldn't kneel? His chances of ever having a scene again were now zero. As if losing Jonas hadn't been enough of a blow.

  Maybe Rhys had a point. Maybe giving into this bone-deep tiredness was better. Maybe he should stop fighting for a bit, because god knew he'd tried. He groaned and grunted as he shuffled to the guest bedroom, Rhys following him at a distance close enough to grab him, he noted. Cornell stopped to look at him.