Digging Deep

by Jay Hogan

  A soft cough pulled my attention back to the darkened room and away from the alarming spectre in the bed. A cheap freshener overhung the stale air, the television flickered on mute, and his mother watched me from a chair by the window, a curious expression on her face.

  “Caleb.” She smiled. “I’m glad to see you.”

  Drake stirred and rolled to face away from me, dragging his bedding with him, exposing his too-thin hips.

  “What?” he croaked, then cleared his throat.

  I moved to the bed and drew the sheet and blanket up to cover his lower half.

  He turned his head, eyes landing on me, wide and wary. “Caleb.”

  “Drake,” I growled his name softly, wanting nothing more than to haul his bony-arse body into my arms. I didn’t, reminding myself I was supposed to be pissed, and I was.

  “And I do believe that’s my cue to leave.” His mother got to her feet.

  I put out a hand. “You don’t have to go.”

  “Oh, but I do,” she said with a chuckle. “Just make sure there’s enough pieces of him left to put something back together. Toodaloo, son.” She waggled her fingers at Drake and left, closing the door behind her.

  “Traitor,” Drake grumbled, shuffling up in the bed.

  He looked even worse upright and fully exposed. I had to suck in a breath just to keep from bursting into tears. I pulled his mother’s chair just shy of the bed and sat, making no attempt to even hold his hand. He watched my every move, his expression unreadable.

  His eyes were cool, as guarded as when we’d first met, and my heart sank. I had no idea where we stood, but it wasn’t the start I’d hoped for. My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I ignored it. Leanne was holding the fort until I was done, and right now there was nothing more important than this muleheaded ghost of a man in front of me.

  “Can you pass me the water, please?” Drake pointed to the full glass on his side table.

  I did as he asked and waited while he downed half of it, noting the wince that accompanied every swallow. I put a hand on his leg without thinking. “Sore?”

  “Fucking mouth ulcers.” He brushed my concern away. “Worst I’ve had them.”

  “You’re allowed to drink?” I flicked a gaze at the IV bags.

  He nodded. “It doesn’t all stay down, but I have to keep the wheels oiled. They top me up. Not eating, though, hence that lot.” He indicated the coloured fluids and shrugged. “Involuntary diet, right?”

  I wanted to slap him for his casual dismissal of the appalling state of his body but simply said, “Don’t. Not funny.”

  He stared at me for a moment, then his gaze slid away. “Kind of is, if you think about it. Way to keep this girlish figure that you seemed to like so much….”

  “Drake, stop it,” I spat.

  His mouth formed a tight line, and I sensed him withdraw into that impregnable shell he wore. Good. Defenceless Drake wrecked my heart. Pissed-off Drake I could handle. I knew him. Bring it on.

  “I guess I should be thankful you called at all. Why did it take so damn long?” Blunt, angry. I started as I meant to continue, and it caught him off-guard. What did he expect? Kid gloves? Too late, buster.

  “You know why.”

  I leaned forward in my chair, taking more than a little satisfaction at watching him pull away. “You want to wallow in peace and quiet? Have everyone tiptoe around you? Poor Drake. How awful for him. We’ll just ignore his appalling behaviour and plain bad manners because he’s unwell. He has Crohn’s, you know.”

  Drake rocked back in the bed, eyes shocked, even a little hurt.

  Good.

  “Whoa,” he breathed the word. “Not what I expected.”

  “No? What did you expect, Drake? What did you expect from your boyfriend, someone who cares for you? Someone you didn’t want near you when you were sick and grieving. When you chose not him but your best friend to look after you, and then never kept in touch as you’d promised, not even when you were admitted to fucking hospital. Three days. Three fucking days. I’ve been worried sick about you. So worried that I made Leanne lead in our robbery investigation because I thought I might miss something. It’s her first lead since being hauled over the coals about that kid, and I haven’t been there for her like I should.”

  He blanched, but I wasn’t done.

  “I needed to know how you were, to hear it from you, not Aaron—but thank God for Aaron. I needed to hear your voice, but I was too damn scared of making things worse to break my promise and just show up. So tell me Drake, what did you expect to hear?”

  He said nothing, just stared as if I’d grown a second head, and maybe I had. The old Caleb would’ve run at the first relationship roadblock and counted himself lucky. This Caleb was having none of this fucking bullshit.

  “You had to step back from leading an investigation?” He sounded shaken.

  “Of course I bloody did. We’re not playing tiddlywinks out there, you idiot. I lose focus and people can get hurt.”

  Drake dragged his hands down his face over his raw eyes. “Shit. I fucked up. I’m sorry, Caleb. I really didn’t think….”

  “What? That I’d be worried? Do you really think so little of me?” I collapsed back against the chair, finally running out of steam. A thick silence fell between us, one I was at a loss to bridge. Drake’s gaze shuffled around the room, landing anywhere but on me. He looked lost, confused… wary. He looked fucking exhausted.

  “I don’t know what to say,” he replied softly, meeting my eyes with no walls in place. And then he reached for my hand. I let him take it, doing my best not to cave to the warmth that flooded my chest at his touch.

  Dark, solemn eyes held mine. “But I’m gonna start with saying I’m sorry, so fucking sorry for how badly I hurt you. I have no excuse. I was a total arsehole. I got sick and I just got on that damn hamster wheel I always run when that shit happens. You didn’t deserve it. And I’ve spent six days regretting it. I wish I could take it back but I can’t. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  I already have, you idiot. “Drake, I―”

  “Let me finish,” he said.

  I waited.

  “I care about you so much, Caleb. And I’m terrified of bringing you into this shitty part of my life, sure it’s gonna scare you away. I saw that look on your face when you came in. Seeing me like this, you’re shocked. But this is me too. Welcome to the flip side of my life, and I can’t avoid it no matter how healthy I try to stay. It could last days, weeks, or even months. I’ll be snotty, exhausted, angry, depressed, in pain, and caged to the house and a bathroom for long periods at a time. I’ll hardly feel like being touched, let alone having sex. I’ll get pissed with you for just being there and being healthy.

  “You have absolutely no idea about this Drake, or maybe you do, now. This Drake is a bastard arsehole who puts up emotional walls tougher than concrete and isolates himself for weeks at a time when his health gets rough. This Drake shits nonstop diarrhoea and enough blood to have to sleep on a towel. He can’t leave his house without a strict plan of attack for bathrooms, and even in good times, might need to cancel dates and plans without notice.

  “This Drake can barely drag his arse from bed with fatigue some days, can’t eat anything but bland baby food, losing enough weight to scare even myself. His libido can take a vacation for parts unknown for days, sometimes weeks at a time when exhaustion and pain take their toll, or, and this is the killer, sometimes for no apparent reason at all. It’s hard to handle all that and be careful about someone else’s feelings.”

  Fuck that. “Who says I expect you to be careful? Isn’t that part of the relationship package? Isn’t it supposed to be a through-it-all kind of deal? I’m a big boy. I can handle your tantrums and pissy moods.”

  “It’s not just a few tantrums and you know it. Crohn’s can be really rough on partners. And for you to just so easily assume you’d be fine is naïve, and frankly kind of insulting to what I go through. Believe me, my constant needs wil
l wear you down. Seeing me sick for a day or two is nothing like living with me for weeks or months like this. And there’s no way of knowing what’s in my future. Surgery of some description, most likely, and none of it pretty.”

  He squeezed my hand and sent me a tiny smile. I drank it in like fucking desert water as he continued.

  “And then there’s you…” His eyes went soft. “… who’s pretty much never had a relationship, never had to think of anyone but yourself, and the only Drake you know is remission Drake, the one who laughs and eats and fucks almost like a normal guy, give or take a few quirks. I just didn’t know….”

  He took a shuddering breath and went quiet.

  Ouch. But then I’d wanted honesty, hadn’t I? Besides, he was right on a lot of counts. Just not all.

  “Are you done?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “Good.” I moved from the chair to the edge of the bed, my hands straddling his hips. “Okay, my turn. I take your points, all of them,” I started. “And I totally agree that there’s no way for me to know whether I’ve got what it takes to deal with everything you describe, but that’s precisely the problem, right? Because you can’t know that either, Drake. You have to trust me enough to let me in and see what happens, not just assume I’m a bust from the start. Can you do that? Can you just not give up on me before I’ve even left the damn starting blocks? Can you give me a decent chance?”

  I took a breath and waited.

  He lifted a hand to my cheek and held it. “What you’re asking is hard for me, Caleb. Because if it doesn’t work out, you get to walk away and get on with your life. I’ll likely end up with a shit-ton of health issues to deal with like last time, and I don’t think I’d ever take a chance on anyone again.”

  I took his hand from my face and drilled him with my best fucking glare. “Is that what you think? That I’d just walk away and not look back? That I wouldn’t have my heart ripped open as much as you? You’re not the only one in this, Drake. I get that you have a condition to consider, but you don’t get to pretend it’s gonna hurt any less for me, that I’m not gonna be just as wary of another relationship down the track. You matter to me. We matter to me.”

  His face blanched. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “I’m not sure I believe you. At some point you have to start trusting that I really do care, that I’m in this for real. So what’s it to be?”

  There was nothing more I could say; the ball was in his court. His face hardened in concentration, his eyes never leaving mine. Not an immediate no, so that was promising. My phone buzzed once more in my pocket and Drake’s eyes tracked down, but I ignored it, again.

  “Shouldn’t you get that?”

  “Nah. Leanne and I have a special ring, code for ‘pick up the fucking phone right this fucking minute.’ That wasn’t it.”

  Finally a smile. Then he dropped his gaze, swallowed thickly, and gave a curt nod. “Okay.”

  I frowned. Okay, what? What did that mean? Okay about me, about the phone, what? I waited, but he added nothing. “I might need some more words to go with that.”

  Another long look. “Okay, yes, I want to try a proper us. Give us both a chance. But you need to know something first. I, ah, I may need… surgery.”

  Fuck. I schooled my expression. “Okaaaay. I still need more to work with here, Drake. What exactly are you saying?”

  My mind raced. Did he mean he needed a bag? He knew I understood the odds of that happening at some stage. They weren’t on his side. So what did I think about that? Did it matter? Gut reaction? No, not in the slightest. I meant what I’d said. And this felt like a test, a last-minute chance for me to back out. It mattered how I responded. It mattered a lot.

  “Hang on.” He shifted onto his hip, leaning toward me with a groan. “Jesus, I feel like an old man.”

  I pulled his pillow through for him and rested a hand on his bare shoulder. It felt damn good to have his body under my hands, bones and all. Before I could rethink it, I lowered my head and brushed his dry, cracked lips with my own, light as a feather. He startled, then chased the kiss, and our lips lingered, softly touching for a moment before I pulled away.

  The corner of his mouth quirked up.

  “So, what’s this surgery, then?”

  The smile disappeared. “There’s a small section of bowel that’s crap full of ulcers, pun intended. It’s… sticky is the best way to describe it, which means there’s a chance the sides may glue together and block down the road. That’s bad news, possibly even emergency surgery. I’m officially resting it at the moment, just fluids and soft food, hence the parenteral nutrition top-up.”

  My gaze flicked to the IVs, then back to Drake’s face―and I didn’t miss the wariness there. This was his answer. He was doing what I asked, taking a risk, sharing with me, opening up. And I felt like a million fucking dollars.

  “They’ve started me on a new drug, some biologic agent. It’s supposed to work on my immune system, target some protein or other to stop the inflammation and hopefully flip me back into remission. They’ve had good success with it on other people, so… fingers crossed. I should see some response in the next week or two, but I still might need that section removed when I’m healthier.” He eyeballed me pointedly.

  “A bag?” I asked carefully.

  He shrugged. “Maybe.” His gaze continued to drill me, and I made sure not a single muscle so much as even twitched. “Not sure yet. It’s higher up and appears contained, so far. But if not now, there’s no guarantee I won’t need one down the track. That’s the trouble with this fucking disease. It strikes anywhere from mouth to butthole. In some ways I’m fortunate. Apart from a few mouth ulcers, my Crohn’s seems to have a hard-on for my large bowel only. Lucky me.”

  Running my eyes over him, all I could do was scowl. There was nothing remotely lucky about any of this.

  “I don’t scare off that easily.” I kissed his shoulder. “But good try.”

  He snorted. “We’ll see about that. But on that note, I think I need to pay another visit across the hall. You up to helping me, boyfriend?”

  “Hell yeah.” I sent him a thousand-watt smile, and he laughed.

  “You’re an idiot.” He reached up and planted a kiss on my lips. “Now get me across that hall before I shit the damn bed.”

  I’d no sooner got him to the bathroom than my phone went nuts in my pocket. Leanne.

  “Is that the code thing?” Drake called from his cubicle, his named cubicle, I’d noticed. Trust Drake to warrant his own en suite.

  “Yeah, sorry.”

  “Go. I’ll ring for a nurse. I’ll be fine. And, Caleb….”

  “Yeah?” There was a moment’s pause and my heart stuttered in my chest. He hadn’t exactly agreed to anything, after all.

  Then, “I am sorry,” he said softly. “And I’m so happy you came. Thanks.”

  I rested my cheek against the door, imagining it was his face. “I’m glad you called… finally. And just so you know, I didn’t need to forgive you. I just needed to understand you.”

  “Be careful,” he added.

  “I will.” I spun and left him to no doubt freak out about it all, as I headed to the 7-Eleven robbery-in-progress. Hopefully we’d nail the fuckers this time.

  But as I drove, I pondered. A wide gulf still sat between Drake and me, but a tentative bridge was in place. I wasn’t stupid enough to think everything had been solved with a twenty-minute conversation and an apology. Still, I’d been given the chance I’d wanted, we both had. And didn’t that one little miracle just rip a smile wide across my face. But there were a million ways I still could fuck this up without breaking a sweat, and Drake was right about one thing. I was talking through a hole in my head if I thought I understood what it meant to be with him during flares like this. That had just become glaringly apparent. But I did have a few thoughts about how to remedy the problem. And for that I needed to tap into some help.

  Chapter Twent
y-One

  Caleb

  “ABOUT TIME you got here, Romeo.” Leanne waved me over from the police cordon set up around the 7-Eleven to where she was crouched behind her car. She scooted across to give me room. “Hope we didn’t interrupt your social calendar too much with our inconvenient police work?”

  I poked my tongue at her, and she laughed. But it sounded strained.

  “How’re you doing?” I said quietly. This was her first major scene since the balls-up with the kid.

  She shrugged. “Okay. It’ll be good to get another one under my belt, you know?”

  I nodded. “Use me if you need me.”

  “Thanks. So, um….” She lowered her voice and frowned. “You guys get things sorted?”

  I sighed. “Getting there.” Based on her previous concerns about Drake and myself, I wasn’t prepared to go further. “So, what have we got here, detective?”

  She took the hint. “Well, detective, behind curtain number one we have our run-of-the-mill arsehole convenience store robbers, Dumb and Dumber, who just fucked up and got themselves into a tight spot. The 7-Eleven owner had a silent foot alarm installed just last week, and now our dynamic dickhead duo have been caught with their proverbial pants down and nowhere to go. They had the owner tied up in the back room, which was causing us a bit of concern, but ten minutes ago, he came flying out the back door still tied but free. Our pair inside, however, are reluctant to own their moronic cock-up, and are currently refusing to come out.”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

  She snorted. “Yeah. I don’t think they’re the sharpest knives in the block, and the Armed Offenders Squad are just waiting on our call to go in and arrest these kids’ arses. Sixteen years old. Where the fuck are their parents?”

  “Feeding the pokies, no doubt. Or down at the pub. They armed?”

  “Owner said they had a gun and a baseball bat between them, but….”

  “I hear you. If it’s the same duo, they’ve always used plastic guns in the past, so yeah. Still…. Are we sure it’s them?”