Brother-speak for sure, hit me with it.
Thomas chuckled. “I think Daralyn would have something to say about that.”
As Rory thought of her reaction to Amanda Brewster, a smile crossed his face. If he didn’t watch himself, she might check with his mother for tips on how to use that skillet. His head was far too easy a target in his chair.
“You might be right. What did you need, bro?”
“Can you stop by here for a few minutes? Let Marcus know face-to-face things are okay with Daralyn and you.”
“No problem.” Rory was surprised it had rattled Marcus that much. “Is he all right?”
“Yeah.” Thomas paused. In the ensuing silence, Rory wondered if Thomas was doing for Marcus what he himself had done, when Marcus had asked specific questions about Daralyn. Weighing what information was okay to share, against what would respect the privacy of someone you were worried about.
“Marcus has lost key people in his life, Rory,” Thomas said at last, his voice still quiet. “When he was younger. To bad things. He’s pretty protective of people he considers family, and Daralyn matters a lot to him. So do you, though I’d probably have to stick matchsticks under his nails to get him to admit it.”
“Hide his hair mousse. That’d be a worse torture.”
Thomas chuckled. “Believe it or not, he doesn’t use any. His hair just looks that way. Straight out of bed.”
“That’s just sick.”
“Tell me about it. But don’t ever mention it to him, because he’ll spend thirty minutes telling you how the right shampoos and conditioners make mousse unnecessary.”
“Talk about torture. Okay, I’m close. I was headed back to the house for my shower. I’ll stop by.”
“Appreciate it.”
“You want me to tell him you’re mother-henning him?”
“You want me to paint your toenails in your sleep again?”
Rory snorted. “I keep telling Mom we need to take your key.”
“Like I need one around here. When we bought this place, Marcus couldn’t believe there were no locks on the doors. Total culture shock.”
Rory chuckled as he pulled up in front of their house. “Okay. I’ll make up some reason I’m here.”
“No, don’t bother. He’ll know I called you. I wouldn’t lie to him about it anyway. I just don’t always give him advance warning when I’m looking out for him. You know the personality type, right? A controlling alpha you can’t do anything for, unless you go through the backdoor.”
“I have no idea who you mean, but now I know you’re worried about him. You made the joke for that way too easy.”
“Shithead.” Thomas cut the connection, leaving Rory grinning ear to ear. Which fuck, somehow connected to his neck and shoulders, and sent another ripple of agony through the muscles he’d worked. He assumed honking the horn until Marcus came out so they could have a talk through the open window of the van wouldn’t fly, so he reminded himself that movement was the friend of sore muscles.
After he rolled down his ramp, he saw Thomas in the barn loft, offering a wave and pointing downward, telling him Marcus was in the barn office. Rory gave him a thumbs up and Thomas turned back to whatever he was doing up there. Usually he had several easels set up with works in progress. If they were sketches, concepts, he kept the doors open to nature, like today. Final paintings meant the upper doors would be closed or he’d have a curtain of plastic strips pulled across the opening, so he could get the light but didn’t have to worry about anything blowing in and sticking to the paint.
As Rory entered the lower level of the barn, he heard Marcus finishing up a phone call. Perfect timing. He also understood why Thomas had reached out to him—the faint smell of cigarette smoke.
Marcus didn’t have a lot of tells, but that was one. The guy smoked when a bug had seriously crawled up his ass. Guilt twinged. He probably should have called last night or first thing this morning, confirmed everything was good. Like everyone else but Thomas, Rory always just assumed Marcus was fine. But that was why Thomas was Marcus’s person and vice versa.
He pushed himself into the doorway of the office. Marcus had a desk in here, a chair and a couch. Pretty spare for the roomy space, but it gave him pacing room, like now. He was more casual today, in faded jeans that fit him like an action star’s and a loose cotton shirt. The shirt was a deep purple with a graffiti style design of the New York skyline. Probably some designer label, since it had that casual yet fashionable look Marcus pulled off as effortlessly as the hair.
But when Rory glanced at his face, he nixed the mildly insulting volley that usually opened their conversations.
Marcus’s command of himself and his surroundings could be as intimidating as hell. Even his pissed-off side was calculated. Rory should know, since he’d been on the receiving end. The guy had once thrown a hundred-pound sack of grain at him when he was in his unbraked chair. But at that time it had been a targeted move, to get Rory to wake up and stop adding to the straws that were making Thomas’s life a nightmare.
Marcus not looking in control and smooth made the world feel out of balance. But no one was invincible; Rory knew that as well as anyone. What surprised the hell out of him was that Thomas thought he might be able to help Marcus feel better.
“Hey,” he said. “Thought I’d stop in and let you know Daralyn is doing good this morning.”
Marcus’s attention had been on him as soon as he appeared in the doorway. Now his serious mouth tilted a little at the corner. It didn’t make him look less tired, but it gave his expression a wryness that eased Rory’s concerns. “Thomas.”
“Can’t blame him. You look a little rough.”
Marcus sat down on the sofa, stretching his arm out along the back. “I’m all right.”
Rory made a noncommittal noise. “Don’t know if Thomas told you, but she’s going with me to Florida.”
“He did.” Marcus tapped out a cigarette and lit it. It was a good thing most people didn’t look like a black and white film star when they smoked, or everyone would be lining up to get lung cancer.
Marcus considered Rory a long moment. “The way you handled things by the barn last night. You were as calm as any Dom I’ve ever seen during a crisis with their sub. How did you know what to do? If I can ask without invading your privacy, or Daralyn’s.”
The compliment took him off guard, but it also reassured him. “Some of it…I just knew. Felt it. Does that sound crazy?”
Marcus shook his head. “Not for a natural Dom, one that has all the raw material and drive already in him. But you said that was only some of it. What’s the other part?”
He weighed his answer, decided it was okay to discuss, since it was a memory Thomas knew, and Thomas said he didn’t hide things from Marcus.
“When Daralyn first came to live with us, we all had some sit downs with the court-appointed shrink. The one before Dr. Taylor. And with Mom and Dad. It helped us get on the same page about how to deal with certain things. Particularly her panic attacks.”
She’d had them almost daily when she first came to live with them. After a couple particularly bad ones, the psychiatrist had suggested meds as one of the alternatives.