Digging Deep

by Jay Hogan

  On a one-to-ten scale, this six-day flare-up was cruising a solid eight so far, and only holding at that because, as bad as it was, with Crohn’s, things could always get worse. I fought needing medical help those first three days—the last thing I wanted was an admission to hospital for damn dehydration. But keeping a lid on my rapidly deteriorating health became impossible. Not to mention it wasn’t fair on Aaron. Still shaken up over his ex, the last thing he needed was to be stuck with me, like this.

  My thumb hovered over Caleb’s last text—one of at least thirty over the last five days, but who was counting? This one had arrived less than thirty minutes ago, asking me to please reply as he was going out of his mind with worry. I was such a bastard.

  I’d hurt him, I had, and knowing that was fucking killing me. I’d known even before the words left my mouth, but I still couldn’t stop myself saying them. With the baby, Prim, and finally my fucking Crohn’s—it was just too much to deal with. A single ounce of judgement about any of that on Caleb’s part, and I’d have buried him in anger. But yeah, I didn’t exactly give him a chance. And the truth was I didn’t want Aaron there either. I only let him come to satisfy Caleb. Twice I tried to send him home, but unlike Caleb, Aaron refused. He knew me too well.

  Some boyfriend I’d turned out to be. One twinge in my gut and I’d devolved into my usual ball of piss-and-vinegar attitude mixed with zero tolerance for any do-gooder efforts to help and Caleb had caught the lot. It had felt like the only thing to do at the time, what I’d always done, in fact. Shut up shop, draw the curtains, and hunker down till things settled. Minimal interference, no one fussing. That’s what worked. That was my go-to plan. Having him around would of course screw that up to buggery. Stabilising things would be much easier without him.

  Yeah, right. I was so fucking wrong. If I never heard from him again it would serve me damn right.

  That look on his face when he left? I would’ve done anything to take it away… but I didn’t, because I was a damn coward. Was I more scared of my disease than of hurting Caleb? I’d sure acted like it. And what the fuck kind of person did that make me? Because I knew one thing for sure. If I wanted Caleb in my life, I’d have to change how I did this shit.

  With Caleb at my side, I would probably have been admitted sooner, which would have been no bad thing, as it turned out. His ability to read me came too damn close to my mother’s for comfort. The guy was all kinds of bossy when he rolled out his angry detective.

  As it turned out, my mother had done the job for him when she’d taken over from Aaron. With the instincts and subtlety of a hellcat, one look at me and she’d given me precisely two hours to show a turnaround before bundling me into her car. The rest is history. The physician on admission had left my cubicle puce-faced and muttering something like “fucking nurses who think they know everything,” though I’m sure I must have heard that wrong… he couldn’t be talking about me, right?

  My thumb still hovered, and my heart clenched. One text and he’d be there, I knew that. And God, what I wouldn’t give to have him waiting by my bed, back in my room. Through everything, he somehow managed to spark a quiet stillness inside me, regardless of what was going on, something not Aaron or even my mother could accomplish. I’d realised it the first morning when Aaron arrived and took over. I’d been more centred with Caleb around, even if we were arguing. I didn’t know why or how.

  I’d missed him from the minute he left, the minute I’d all but shoved him out the fucking door. And instead of making things easier, his absence had left an insatiable craving for all things Caleb in its place. Aaron was polite and respectful about my “issues” while I was flaring. He absorbed everything I threw at him with a you-owe-me-big-time-for-this expression on his face.

  Only this time Aaron had said something. When he’d found he was replacing Caleb—who had in fact wanted to stay, who’d showered me, stripped and cleaned me without a damn word or even the slightest trace of distaste—Aaron had ripped me a new one. I believe his exact words to me were “You’re a stupid ungrateful idiot.” And it wasn’t like I could argue with him.

  If I’d let him stay, Caleb would’ve been anything but polite and silent. He would’ve made me laugh with ridiculous in-your-face jokes, inappropriate humour that was exactly what I needed. I wanted the push, the spark, the mockery, the touch, the body behind me in bed, the caring, the… ugh, I didn’t know what to do with all the fucking things I wanted.

  And yet I’d wanted none of this with Jared. On a bad day, he would leave me alone—just how I liked it. So this desperate need to have someone close was so fucking unexpected, and so damn scary, because it meant I was falling for Caleb in a big way, in a way that threatened to change everything, and in some ways, already had. How did I toss out routines that had always worked for me, protected my health, helped me cope and deal with this fucking disease—how did I throw them away and trust I could do it differently?

  And could I allow someone else to get that close again? I’d have to leave the carefully guarded space I existed in, because I couldn’t just care for Caleb when I was well and things were good, and then retreat when they weren’t. I couldn’t push him away, I couldn’t make it all about me every time I flared, about how I was feeling at his expense. I would have to let him in, think about his needs, and let him care for me. I didn’t just miss him caring for me, I missed caring for him back. He deserved so much. He deserved to be loved and protected and cherished. And here I was, not liking people to be within ten feet of me when I flared. What the fuck was I supposed to do with that?

  So yeah, I’d have to give up some of my ironclad control on my life. And that there was the scariest fucking thing in the world. I didn’t even know the first step in how to do that. And that’s why I hadn’t replied to any of his texts. I was terrified of losing him and equally terrified of wanting him to stay. I didn’t know what the fuck to say other than sorry. I didn’t deserve his forgiveness.

  My thumb lifted off the Send and I shoved the phone back in my pocket.

  With the cramps easing and my gut a little calmer, I decided to head back to my room. Wobbling halfway to my feet, I weighed the odds of making it all the way to standing on my own strength, sighed, and retook the seat, the grab rail next to the toilet mocking me. Okay, so maybe I needed to suck it up and accept a little bit of help. I reached out, took a firm grip, and pulled myself up, taking a moment to let the universe settle. Happy days.

  I chalked up another win by making it back to my room and onto my bed without ending up on the floor, doing my best to ignore my mother poised on the edge of her seat ready to catch me.

  “Rough time?” She visibly relaxed.

  I managed a brief nod, which was pretty generous, considering.

  “Dana popped in while you were in the bathroom.”

  My gaze shot to hers.

  “She couldn’t stay, but said to tell you she’d spoken to Kevin, who wanted us to know Prim was recovering well. She was still having a rough time of it dealing with losing Hannah, but she was getting help….”

  I knew exactly how she felt. My heart plummeted.

  “There’s apparently going to be a private funeral when she’s discharged and Dana is going on behalf of the clinic. He, ah, said he hoped you improved soon.”

  “Thanks.” It was clearly just me Prim had the problem with.

  I shifted from hip to hip trying to find a position where the cramps didn’t light me on fire quite as badly.

  My mother watched in silence, worry creasing her brow and the lines around her mouth and eyes etching a little deeper. We both knew this was the worst I’d ever been since I’d first been diagnosed, and we both knew not to mention that fact. But her worry still screamed in every covert look she sent my way, and the tension that tore at every fibre of her body as she sat and did crosswords and endless sudoku in the dim light of the curtained off room. She wore the mother’s hurt and frustration that she couldn’t make things better for me, and I loved her
for it, even if in my head I caught myself wishing more often than I liked for a certain someone else to be sitting there.

  And there I was, right back to Caleb… again. I sighed.

  “Have you texted him yet?” My mother caught my eye.

  How the hell did she do that? I folded my sheet about my shoulders and pulled the warm wheat bag against my belly with a grateful sigh. “Who?”

  She arched a brow.

  “He’s at work and I don’t want him to see me like this. I don’t… things between us are… up in the air.”

  “So you said.” She sent me a flat stare.

  “When I flare, it’s better if I’m alone, you know that.”

  “Uh-huh.” She blinked innocently and dropped her eyes to her sudoku, the unmistakable scent of disapproval wafting my way.

  Huh. That was new. My mother always had my back, especially when I was flaring. She knew the drill. Both she and Aaron knew to close my door and leave me the hell alone, unless I called for them. They were a safety net, nothing more. It’s how I wanted it.

  So why did that suddenly now feel like it wasn’t enough? Instead I found myself craving someone to tease me, to match my sarcasm and not back down from it, to hold me. And not just anyone.

  “He’s your boyfriend,” my mother said bluntly.

  My mind flicked back to this morning, when I’d woken with a surge of pain, certain I was locked in Caleb’s arms as he held me through it. I was safe and cared for and it felt so fucking good. Convinced it was real, I’d turned to kiss and thank him only to find an empty, cold space and a clench in my heart. But even more I wanted to hold him back, to reassure him, to soothe the unease etched into his brow. I wanted to kiss those lips and swallow his words of worry, to show him how much his caring meant to me and to return it. Jesus Christ, I was a mess.

  “Aaron’s been keeping him up to date.” My gaze slid off hers and I buried my head in the blanket.

  “Aaron. I see.”

  How could three words conjure such a wealth of disappointment?

  “I thought you’d be pleased I wasn’t distracted. You can’t tell me you weren’t relieved when Jared walked last time. It was all I could do to stop you heading to his new apartment and egging his damn car.”

  She snorted. “Jared was a douche. You were well shot of him. And as for egging his car. What do you take me for? I was damn well gonna key his car, son. Egging is for wimps.”

  The air in room grew stuffy and still. “I, um… I hurt him, Mum.”

  She sniffed dismissively, as if that was a poor excuse for anything. “I’m sure you did. But that’s life, that’s relationships. We hurt, we apologise, we move on.”

  Joanne breezed into the room with a syringe held high and saved me from whatever lecture my mother was getting a head of steam up to deliver.

  “Got the good stuff. You can kiss my arse later,” she said, then paused, picking up on the tension in the room.

  “Go ahead,” I told her, and she set about delivering the wonder drug into my IV line, her curious gaze flitting between the two of us as she worked. I sent her a grateful smile for her silence.

  “I’ll be back in thirty to deliver the next lot.” She winked and left with a squeak of her sensible shoes.

  I rolled to my side. “I think I need the bathroom again….”

  “No, you don’t.” She gave me that look mothers have used for a millennium or two. The one that speared you to your seat and threatened a lifetime of unannounced visits and compulsory family dinners if you didn’t play nice. In moments like these, she was more Korean than my father.

  I sank back into the mattress.

  She packed her puzzles in her handbag. “You don’t need to escape me, son. I’m going for a coffee and to call and update your dad. He’s planting radishes in the back field. And you’re welcome, by the way.”

  You could have knocked me over with a feather. I reached for her hand. “I love you.”

  She squeezed it gently. “I know you do.” And she left.

  Alone, I pulled out my phone and tried to formulate a text, hands shaking. It would open the door, I knew that. Was I protecting myself from losing him? Of course I fucking was, I wasn’t an idiot. Jared had hurt me, big time. But Caleb wasn’t Jared.

  And there were plenty of people with Crohn’s who made relationships work. Why not me? Any chronic debilitating disease was gonna make a relationship more difficult—love was hard enough without factoring in a major health issue—but did I want to live my life alone? After Jared left, I’d have said yes, alone was just fine and dandy in my books.

  Now? I didn’t even have to reach for the answer. A whopping, emphatic, hit-me-on-the-head-and-drag-me-into-reality no. Before meeting Caleb, I’d been lonely, so damn lonely. But it was more than just having somebody, it was having Caleb. I missed the fuck out of him. I could only hope I hadn’t completely blown it, because for sure I didn’t deserve him.

  I gave up on the text, pushed Dial instead, and held my breath.

  Chapter Twenty

  Caleb

  “YOU’RE WHERE?” I held my phone in a death grip and kicked the wall next to the elevator, attracting the attention of my desk sergeant, who sent me a disapproving glare. “Sorry,” I mouthed back to him. But, holy shit, I couldn’t fucking believe it. Drake’s voice rumbled on, but I was so pissed I could barely concentrate on a thing he was saying.

  I did, however catch one thing. “Three days?” I growled into the phone. “You’ve been in hospital for three days?”

  What the ever-loving crap? I’d held off calling Drake for six days, trying really hard to give him what he asked for, to be patient, give him time to get better, to not push too hard, let him do things his way. Even after the talk with Daniel, I still wasn’t convinced I had any right to barge in on Daniel’s “process,” happy that at least Aaron had kept me up to date. Drake would call me when he was ready. He’d promised.

  And here he was. Calling. After being admitted Two. Days. Ago. Ugh. I couldn’t focus on anything, I was too fucking angry. I caught my boot just shy of thumping the wall a second time and stepped back before my sergeant popped a gasket.

  “Stop it, Drake,” I snapped. “Just stop. I don’t care if you’re on your death bed, I’m supposed to be your fucking boyfriend—and you don’t let me know you’re so sick you have to go into hospital? I just…. Shit. I don’t even know what to do with that. I’m heading up there now and fair warning, if you’re not dead already, you may very well be when I’m done with you.”

  I barely heard his quiet affirmative before hanging up.

  Goddammit. Drake Park was gonna be the death of me, if I didn’t fucking kill him first.

  After Daniel had left me with one of the worst hangovers in years, I’d spent the day thinking long and hard about what to do, which had, as it turned out, been fuck all. Well that shit ended now.

  I gave a heads-up to Leanne at her desk. She fixed me with a worried frown that I ignored, and I headed out. I’d spent two days thinking over what she’d said and gotten a little more clarity. I had no idea if I could be the kind of boyfriend Drake needed, ’cause he wouldn’t damn well let me close enough to find out. Yes, I was a selfish prick, Leanne had been right about that, but I’d never had a reason not to be, never had anyone I wanted to put first. That didn’t mean I couldn’t, though, and the first mistake I’d made was believing that Leanne’s version of me was maybe all there was. Drake had proved that untrue, and it hadn’t taken me long to twig.

  When I’d first laid eyes on him in hospital the night Prim lost her baby, I’d never seen such hopeless devastation, and I’d wanted nothing more than to wrap him up and hide him away to protect him from any and all comers. Let him rest while I stood guard. I had never, ever, felt anything that even came close to that. And later that evening, curled around his shaking body, I was mortified at the moisture on my cheeks. I hadn’t cried since I was a teenager. You couldn’t have pried me from Drake’s side, and letting him p
ush me away the next day was a huge mistake. I should’ve talked it through more, or at least gone back again that night.

  NOT ONE to use my badge unnecessarily, I had absolutely no qualms about flashing it to the duty nurse on my way in to see Drake. He’d apparently left instructions to allow no visitors without prior approval, and guess what, I wasn’t on the list and he apparently hadn’t updated it. Well fuck that. I was done pussyfooting around him. I wanted in on his life, and if he didn’t want me, he was going to have to say exactly that. A twinge of nerves rattled through my chest, hoping that wasn’t what I’d come all the way up here to hear.

  All that big talk only lasted until I reached his door and raised my hand to knock. Then my balls hit the floor as it hit me. If things went tits-up between us, this might be the last time I saw him. I drew a deep breath, rapped once with my knuckles, and eased the door open.

  With the curtains drawn, it took me a minute to adjust to the dim light. But when I did, the sight that greeted me sucked every scrap of oxygen from my lungs and damn near dropped me to the floor. Drake was resting, asleep maybe, it was hard to tell. He was naked above the waist, his skin sporting an unhealthy pallor. Those chocolate eyes I loved were nowhere to be seen, hidden away, flickering under closed lids while his cheeks formed sunken caverns beneath droolworthy bone structure, and cracked lips marked the stuttering passage of his breathing. His head lay back against the pillow, his own judging by the slip, but there was nothing remotely peaceful about him.

  A nasogastric tube sprouted from his nose and two IV lines trailed along his sheets, one leading to his arm and the other ported into another site just below his right clavicle, carrying a bright yellow fluid and a second that looked like milk. I’d seen them before. Parenteral nutrition, which meant Drake wasn’t eating much, if at all. Not that I needed a heads-up on that score. Slender to begin with, Drake had lost a ton of weight in six days. Enough to have his clavicles sharp as knife blades, and I could count his ribs to where they disappeared under the overstarched sheet. Fuck me. He looked like he’d escaped a prison camp.