Ghost Boyfriend Anthology.

#7 - Wounded Hearts.

Halfway through his late morning stroll, Ryder Ferris came upon a body in the middle of the forest.

The unconscious figure lay, almost buried beneath a huge pile of snow. It was clad in black and now when observed closely, Ryder spotted drops of blood beside it. He stepped away from them, mentally noting the footprints leading from the meadow to his left and up the hillside toward the deep woods.

The body and prints were slowly being covered by the light tufts of snow and if he'd come upon them a few minutes later, perhaps they would have been concealed.

Staring at the hunched body, he felt a sharp jolt of pain, of something only he could come to terms with.

Invasion and... trouble.

He couldn't be compassionate after all he'd gone through but staring a little too long at the red stains, a sense of humanity stirred itself deep within him.

Moments like this, his conscience became an inconvenience.

Hesitant to touch it, he pulled at the dark scarf to reveal a striking face. He drew in a sharp breath, an undignified feeling pitching in his guts. He leaned closer to the face, feeling the electrifying warmth wafting off it.

The tumult in his stomach stopped as he reached out and felt for a pulse beneath the shirt collar. His fingers quivered then stung when they touched bare skin.

He was hot and his pulse was a little faint than usual but steady.

“Hey,” Ryder whispered, his eyes drawn to the deep black hole beneath the taut blue shirt. It was like a violent sear and had probably been targeted to his chest but missed.

He would have died and Ryder wouldn't have been thinking of taking him back to the cabin.

Without warning, he came around. Eyes the brightest shade of blue snapping at him in alarm. He jerked forward, sending Ryder tumbling back onto the snow.

“What do you think you're doing?” The stranger growled with vigor. A surprise. His blue eyes reminded Ryder of clear skies as they darted across the forest. “What am I — f**k!” he cried out, falling back against the tree with a thud, exhausted. His eyes were still open, glaring at Ryder with suspicion and rage. It made Ryder's resolve to help falter but the teen knew better than to allow whatever this stranger say or do affect him.

He'd decided to help, whether the stranger liked it or not.

“The name's Ryder — ”

“f**k off.” came the response.

Ryder smiled despite himself. “f**k?”

“Leave me. Scram!” the stranger muttered darkly.

“You need my help. You're bleeding.”

“I don't care. Just help yourself out of here.”

“You know what,” Ryder reached out to his trouser's back pocket. He slipped out his cell. “Why don't I call the police, they'll handle you.”

For a brief moment, fear clouded his vision. It made him seem vulnerable and Ryder was amazed how this very fact twisted his already aching heart.

He decided against it.

The stranger said nothing and sat back still as Ryder attempted hoisting him up without much success because he was smaller with a lean build. The stranger wasn't huge either but taller and heavy though incredibly handsome. Ryder felt his face flame up as he bent over the man, slipping an arm over his shoulder.

He'd lost a lot of blood and needed help or he could die.

Ryder wondered how he'd feel if that happened.

“Where are we going?” the stranger whispered in alarm, his voice a betrayal of his earlier busty reaction. “Where are you taking me?”

“My house.” Ryder stated simply, already too bored with much talk. “And stop talking, you need to gather strength.”

He winded the scarf around his body, binding the cut. The intimacy was strong but above all Ryder chose to focus on his work. And that could have worked out if only the stranger didn't stare hard at him for so long.

At last, Ryder permitted him to stand.

He tried, fell back with a brimming curse of pain. He made another attempt, managing to get a grip on his feet, and leaned more and more against him till Ryder felt his legs buckle.

“Place an arm around my shoulder and try to add weight to your feet.”

His hand sagged against the collar of Ryder's coat. Their steps were awkward as they made their way down the hill. Quietly, like a thief, Ryder snaked his free arm around the stranger's waist.

—

Ryder hadn't been this close to any other man in years and as much as he tried not to feel spooned or awkward with the intimacy required to get the job done, he couldn't help noting and almost appreciating the fact that the man had a broad chest and therefore fitted in the fine physique genre.

This revelation scared him. And to think he'd stopped having emotions entirely.

These circumstances were too far-fetched for their good. Ryder also tried to ignore the stranger's weight and familiar scent of musk and cinnamon but was ardently aware of every muscle he used in descending the hilltop. He was tough and lean, nothing too big and he held his silence except the sharp intake of breath he drew in every two seconds.

Ryder pushed the graying thoughts to the back of his mind, choosing to concentrate on where they were headed. From the hill slope, the cabin home looked ominous with a thick brick-walled fence around it with no gate and his neighbor Dolly's apartment huddled back across the road leading to the main town. The cabin had been uninhabited for decades, merely belonging to unknown locals. His inheritance was huge and he had quite a handsome amount to rent a real home but the cabin... had something about it that just pulled his whiskers in.

Up until now, he'd lived isolated and standing against the world with no one by his side. No one returned with him each time he took a stroll into the forest or walked to town. He always came back alone.

But this cold December morning was different.

Downhill, their movements slowed considerably. Ryder hurried as quickly as he could but hunched beside a limping body, he had to act the snail in order not to pep up the bleeding again. They neared the front landing, pausing so he'd take out his key and swing open the door. The sofa wasn't an option and he hated having anyone in his bedroom — his sanctuary of rest. But there was always a time when rules could be bent to fit the situation. Their feet dragged against the floor, the bed not so far away. Sliding onto it, he groaned as Ryder propped the pillows, he groaned as Ryder propped the pillows to make him more comfortable.

He was hardly conscious now, for Ryder feared he laid so still. His temperature had fallen but the pulse at his wrist was discouraging.

His skin had become pale and sharp like white bread that he shivered too hard. Ryder took his large hands in his, rubbing at it slowly to restore circulation. With his clothes wet from the snow, Ryder had to get him warmer or the fever might increase. Also, his injury had to be wrapped up properly.

So much work to be done.

The cabin managed a small hearth right there in the bedroom and he'd taken in some dry logs from the woods the day before so it took no problems setting up a fire. Within minutes, the flames bristled and he turned to find the stranger watching his silently.

Ryder tilted his head back, amazed that a stare could make him so self-conscious. Maybe it was because nobody had ever looked at him this close or taken an interest in studying his features the way this stranger did, and his blue eyes had their dose of mystery — the perfect spear was driven into him.

He hated soul readers.

“Where the f**k am I?” his tone was faint even as he swore.

“Home.”

“I've got no...” he trailed off, strength barely able to contain him. Watching his eyes jam shut, Ryder realized he'd been breathing hard. This wasn't happening, was it? He dealt his face a sharp blow to make sure, wincing as it stung. It was real, the stranger was real and all these were real.

Going on his knees beside the body, Ryder reached out for the medical kit beneath his bed. It'd been long he'd used it and there was never a time when he administered himself or any other person.

But he believed he'd learn when he'd get to work.

Watching him passed out, Ryder found the circumstances a bit manageable until it came to the undressing part. The way he thought about it, it was insipid to witness another man's nudity. Which was why he wished the boxer briefs would be dry or damp a little to save him the embarrassment.

The injury had to be taken care of with soft cotton and solution, then he'd apply some aloe and pack it up with a bandage.

Easy peasy.

Taking off his jacket took hours since Ryder had to move him slowly in order not to ignite the bleeding. He was a bit warmer now, his shirt buttons coming off before Ryder even touched them. The fair muscled chest would have looked a lot nicer if not scarred by a gaping hole close to the middle.

He cleaned the wound next, ignoring the faint rambling of his patient. Undoing a wrap of bandage, he carefully fixed it around the solid chest, heading down to his pants.

It came off faster, his legs firm and equally lean; toned. Ryder feasted his eyes for a moment, reluctantly tugging at the black shorts to check if they were dry.

Unfortunately, it was.

Dissolving some white tablets into a glass of water, Ryder lifted the man's head and forced him to gulp most of it down. Drawing back to study him, a gasp of surprise escaped his lips when his patient latched a tight grip onto his arm.

“Do not call anyone,” he growled,  nails digging onto Ryder's wrist. “No one, you dog.”

“You need a doctor!” Ryder shot back.

“I've had to enough of you already. I don't need anyone else,” he said without pain or anguish that his heart bled.

“If that is what you want, I'm prepared to obey. But I promise to not sit back and watch you die.”

His eyes widened in wonder as he'd just received a rude shock. Ryder looked up at his soft golden ringlets which appeared enchanting and could be nice to touch. He released him, falling back on the bed in satisfaction.

It was strange to feel something for someone so rude and Ryder thought he was becoming crazy — the threat strengthening his resolve. Surely, both of them now had something in common; they both wanted nothing to do with the locals but their reasons were different.

He stood up with the coat and pants, hanging them over the fireplace to dry. He'd need them for Ryder had no oversized clothes to spare or share. His left hand settled on something metal in his patient's pant pockets. Carefully dipping a hand in, he pulled out a pistol and screamed.

Not out loud at least.

He'd never come in contact with arms before but he knew what they were and how deadly it could be when fired. He backed away from the death aid then willed himself to pick it up and hurl it out into the snow. That assured him of safety for the first time that morning.

The gun meant something and although he promised not to call anyone, betrayal crept up as he picked up his cell. The phone was dead obviously which heightened his fears. What if this stranger decided to kill him? He'd already known too much.

It all came down to fate. They were both stuck in here for the latter part. The snow could go on for days and no human dared pitch against the raging blizzard. The howling wind rattled the windows and made the flames behind him cackle. It'd been seven years when he'd been together with someone last. The one he'd lost to death and imposed this self-exile on him. Now, he wasn't sure if the hope he sought came in form of this stranger.

—

Ryder clipped off the dirtied curls then stepped back to inspect his work. It was far from what he'd have normally done but he found himself obsessing over the thick lashes which made the haircut look unkempt therefore increased the vagueness of the stranger's imperfections. It needed to be clipped off too, yes, get rid of the unwanted thing.

Still, a part of him nudged his resolve on. As much as he'd have loved grieving over a shattered solitude, the stranger's vulnerability even while asleep was something hard to contend with.

Face It, Ryder, this man will grow on you.

Someplace between organizing his thoughts, fierce blue eyes snapped open, startling him. Anger settled in their bright depths but softened. “What the f**k are you up to?”

Ryder wanted to lie because it'd be much easier that way and probably calm the pounding in his heart. But he muttered nothingless. “Giving you a haircut.”

His eyes trailed down, Ryder waited — frozen in place as his whole figure was taken in. He struggled to sit up but sank back like an overstuffed pillow. “That's creepy.”

He looked displeased, as though it pained him to be weak. “Where's your phone?”

“On the table,” Ryder pointed to the farthest corner of the room. “I promised not to call anyone and it's dead by the way if that'll make you feel better.”

“What do you have in mind? Why did you bring me here??”

“I have a couple of reasons. To save you for one.”

“I don't deserve to live.”

“You do. Dying is not a choice.”

“You know nothing.” he stared past him, settling on the bursting flames.

“Everyone deserves a second chance in living.”

He sighed, slinging an arm over his eyes to conceal them. “I feel terrible. How long have I been out?”

“A couple of hours.” Ryder pushed the scissors aside and sat up. “You look better than the first time I brought you in here. I was afraid you won't live.”

“That didn't scare, you did it? You'd not prefer me gone and not be a burden to deal with?? I'd be good as any problem solved.”

“That's not the fate you deserve. You've done nothing.” of course Ryder didn't find this appropriate enough but it was what he had in mind at that moment.

The reality of the gun and deep s***h scared him. Who knew who this stranger might be?

A murderer?

Is someone homicidal??

A serial killer???

“Who the f**k are you again?” the firm rumbly voice dragged Ryder out of his mind.

“Ryder Ferris. I'm against swears if you don't know, it doesn't suit you.”

“How would you know that? You barely know who I am or what I can do.”

“True. But I read a lot of books.” Ryder bothered to reach out and pull open the top shelf. “These are my latest collection.”

“You don't say,” he rolled his eyes at him before shutting his eyes momentarily as though recollecting something.

“And you're?” Ryder buzzed.

“Call me J.”

“J? But that's a letter.”

“It's my name.” he opened his eyes again, his aura filling the small room. Ryder felt stung, his eyes were simply impossible.

“I do like sitting up. It sucks to lay in bed all day staring up at the ceiling and listening to you talk.”

“You'd get used to the feeling.” Ryder patted his shoulder softly. “A few days here won't kill ya.”

A brief silence ensued. “You don't strike me particularly as a doctor, and I bet you're half my age.”

“No, I'm not. I'm not that young.”

“Surprise me.”

“Nineteen and a few months.”

“I still think that's young. I'm twenty-three.”

Now, Ryder felt threatened in a silly sort of way. He'd always dreaded staying with a man but never believed that such a day could come. Although the conversation so far had been light, nothing too mild, he couldn't help waiting for the stranger to spring up and throttle him.

It was a far-fetched thought but nothing happened. The room was plunged in a tiring tension which increased the moments he took to admire the stranger's strong features.

“I'd still like to know your name. I can't call you after an alphabet.”

“Give me one.”

“What?”

“I said give me one,” he emphasized each word, his stare turning dark with stormy clouds clashing with blue skies.

Ryder posed, thoughtful for a moment. It was something he least expected. “I'll call you Jacob.”

“Why Jacob? Couldn't it be something more exciting or fitting...”

“Jacob, because I feel it fits your face and attitude. It also starts with the letter J.”

The living rang once more with his deep rumbling laughter. One which Ryder feared would pull the roof down with it. “You're good at creeping me out. It's hard not to like you for that.”

Ryder smiled — a small warm one laced with gratitude. Even if he didn't know much about this man, he was prepared to make do with the singular favor of being appreciated.

It was just a little thing that never happened often.