Polar Reaction by Claire Thompson Page B

shed. Tuck doesn’t need to see that when we go back out to work on the generator.”
    “Good idea. Be mindful it might still be toxic in there. Only stay as long as you need.” Brendan walked back to the table and picked up one of the walkie-talkie units. He handed it to Jamie. “Put this on and signal me, okay? I’ll stay with Tuck.”
    Jamie kept his face impassive. He pressed the talk button on the unit, causing the other unit, which sat on the table, to beep. Satisfied, he hooked it onto his belt. Taking a mop and bucket from the kitchen supply closet, he added water and bleach to the bucket. He further armed himself with a roll of paper towels and some strong disinfectant spray.
    Putting on his parka and a pair of gloves, he left the warmth of their living quarters and ventured down the frigid hallway toward the shed. The working generator’s engine rumbled, the sound echoing against the bare walls of the room. The ventilator fans were whirring, a good sign the room was probably safe for breathing once again.
    Nevertheless, Jamie was determined to get in and out as quickly as he could. He drew in his breath as he stared at the bright red blood splattered and smeared over the floor. It seemed too red to be real, obscene against the pale gray linoleum.
    Poor Tuck. Jamie’s heart contracted with pity at the thought of him lying there alone. Setting down his bucket, he went to work cleaning the mess. His mind wandered back to Brendan’s words.
    I’ll stay with Tuck.
    “Yeah, I bet you will,” he muttered aloud. Life was so fucking unfair. He’d probably die here, stranded with two gorgeous guys, watching from the sidelines while the two of them made secret love in the dark, spurred on by their mingled lust and desperation…
    Jamie was distracted from his fanciful, dark thoughts by the beep of the walkie-talkie at his belt. He depressed the button. “Yeah?”
    “Just checking. You okay in there?”
    “I’m fine, thanks. Nearly done.” When Jamie finished, a pale pink stain remained on the light green linoleum, but at least it looked a good deal better than it had before. With a last look around the shed, he pulled the door shut and walked back to the living quarters, the bucket of pink water sloshing at his side.
    He returned to find Tuck propped against his pillows, Brendan seated close beside him. Tuck was spooning soup from a mug. Jamie stifled a strong urge to race to his side and fling his arms around him.
    “You’re looking much better,” he said instead. “How’s your head?”
    “It’s okay, actually, thanks.” He smiled, warming Jamie to his toes. “There’s some pain where Dr. Aaronson stitched me up but the mean ol’ doc won’t give me any pain meds.” He grinned at Brendan, who smiled back and patted his arm.
    “You know we can’t risk that with the possibility of a concussion. That’s all we need, to have you slip into a coma on our watch, right, Jamie?”
    Surprised to be included in the equation he thought only equaled two, Jamie forgot for a second to be jealous. “Yeah. Not on our watch.”
    Tuck handed the mug to Brendan and settled back against his pillows. “I’m so tired. I think I’ll just take a little nap.” He closed his eyes, his dark lashes brushing his still-pale cheeks, and crossed his arms over his chest.
    Jesus, was Tuck worse than he’d thought? Was there trauma to his brain? He hadn’t seemed disoriented or confused, but he certainly was sleepy. Brendan hadn’t moved from his seat by the bed. Did he plan to keep vigil for the rest of the day?
    Jamie moved closer and sat on the edge of the cot. He touched Tuck’s shoulder, wishing he could lie beside him. A spasm of pain washed over Tuck’s face, though he didn’t open his eyes.
    “Don’t touch him,” Brendan barked. “You’re bothering him.”
    Stung, Jamie stood abruptly and turned away. Who died and elected Brendan head of the fucking world? He walked over to the sofa and slumped down on it.