Digging Deep

by Jay Hogan

  “I didn’t blow him off. I’m trying to do what he asked, to understand what I’m getting into.”

  “Riiiight. Well, all I can say is that no one could pry that man from your bedside until you regained consciousness, and even then, he wouldn’t leave for longer than it took to get some food or visit his ward because… oh that’s right… he was a damn patient as well and bloody sick with it. What the fuck do you think you’re gonna hear from this Evan guy that’s gonna change anything? You either love Drake or you don’t. And you better not wait too long to decide, ’cause if you lose that man, you’ll regret it.”

  Who was I kidding? “Okay, so I might be… in love with him. I’ll give you that.”

  Carmen smiled indulgently and took my hand. “I know you too well, Cal. You only fight this hard when it’s something either you really want or it scares the freaking daylights out of you. And I’m guessing this one ticks both those boxes, right?”

  I blew out a sigh and nodded.

  “So, when’s this Evan guy coming?”

  “Noonish.”

  She got her feet and tested her ankle. “Not sprained leastways.” She sent me a wicked smile. “So, about me staying to look after you…?”

  I stood and took her in my arms. “Go home to your husband. I love you to bits, and your friendship means the world to me… but… and don’t take this the wrong way….” I kissed her ridiculous, well-meaning forehead and looked her in the eye. “This is me, firing that pretty nurse arse of yours straight back to Auckland.”

  Her shoulders dropped and she melted into my arms. “Holy fuck, Caleb. Thank Christ for that,” she groaned. “I hate to say it, but you’re not the easiest patient. You really need to work on those control issues. You’re damn lucky I’m so easy-going.” She pulled back and threw me a wink.

  There were a dozen snarkworthy responses on the tip of my tongue, but I gallantly fought back every one and just patted her cheek. “Very lucky.”

  While Carmen packed, I rang Pete to warn him. He called me a few choice names, mumbled something about a vacuum cleaner and a set of handcuffs, and hung up. And no, I didn’t ask.

  I FLICKED on my phone and checked the time: 10.00 a.m. Only two hours since I’d woken. Really? I felt ready to jump back in bed and call it a day. Evan and I had talked for two solid hours the day before, and I could barely remember half of it. I’d shoved some food in my mouth and gone to bed straight after, sleeping straight through to the morning. Thank God I’d taken notes. The guy was solid—giving me his personal number before he left, making me promise to check in if I needed it. They had a support group for partners, and I’d be welcome if things worked out, he’d said. If things worked out….

  He’d had a few choice names to call the doctor I’d talked to—fucking idiot and cock-sucking bastard, to name two—but what he’d shared about his and his wife’s personal story hadn’t come without its own scary monsters either. They’d had more than a few roadblocks to overcome, and though Sheryl had been in remission for a while, it hadn’t come without cost. She’d lost half her large intestine and now had a bag.

  Funnily enough it wasn’t that last bit that scared me. It was Evan talking about a time he hadn’t been dealing well, and they’d ended up separated for six months—come close to divorce in fact. That had equally stunned and terrified me. If someone like him—so knowledgeable, funny, kind, and clearly madly in love with his wife—if he’d nearly screwed things up, what fucking chance did I have? Jesus, I’d never even been in a long-term relationship, and what Drake and I had been doing so far didn’t really qualify either. What the fuck was I doing? I was playing with Drake’s life, with his health. What happened if we didn’t make it? For thirty-six years I’d barely had the focus or commitment of a damn hamster. Why did I think I could turn that around now?

  And I still didn’t know what I thought about that. I missed Drake like milk on damn cereal—my world tasted dry and lifeless—but Evan had ripped my blinkers away and I was still smarting from the bright light of reality.

  But regardless of what happened, I owed Drake an apology. I’d asked for time and he’d given it, but it had been six days. Too long. The surgery, the concussion, my future, Drake—I’d meant what I’d said, that I needed to catch up. I didn’t want to do the wrong thing. I didn’t want to hurt Drake, but in the end, I’d hurt him anyway. I just didn’t know what to say.

  When I’d woken, I couldn’t settle, and so I showered and then pushed the dust around my apartment a little, or tried to. To be honest I was starting to get antsy for a bit of normality even if it only meant using a damn vacuum cleaner. You wouldn’t want to put me in a race against anything with more than one leg, but overall, physically, I was doing pretty good for a guy with one kidney and a head crammed full of spider’s webs and mayonnaise, or at least that’s what it felt like.

  Now, with coffee in hand, I was trying to get things straight in my head, using a journal. I know, right? A fucking journal. Well, it was more a scrappy exercise book that Leanne had forced on me to avoid repeating the same damn set of questions every time I saw her. Without somewhere to line up my thoughts and refer back to, my concussion ran circles of stupid all around the inside of my head and had me swimming in the crazy pool, trying to remember the simplest thing. Getting down the last bits that I could remember of my conversation with Evan, I stared at the three main bullet points.

  1. Get a life and keep it.

  He’d rated this number one above anything else and credited it with saving his marriage. I said I didn’t mind giving up stuff to look after Drake and Evan had just patted my hand fondly. “It’s almost cute,” he’d said, then proceeded to explain exactly why this was number one on his list.

  “You’ll need it to survive, plain and simple, both of you,” he stated baldly. “You’ll have to negotiate all this as a couple―everyone’s needs are different―but you’re gonna need to get away sometimes, find space to cope, and to refill the well so you can really be there at his side when he needs it. It’s hard to watch the people you love when they’re hurting, but no one can be ‘on’ 24/7, and he won’t want that either. He’ll likely want space too at times, and he won’t want you to stop doing the things you love. It helps him know you’re there because you want to not because you feel you have to.”

  I thought of how I hadn’t surfed or hiked on my own once since I’d met him. Way to go, idiot. How to fuck up on the very first point. It didn’t bode well.

  2. They are the experts in their disease, not you.

  “Don’t hover, don’t lecture, and don’t tell them what to do,” he’d said with a smile. “Though you’ll screw that one up. I always do.” I thought of Drake saying I had to trust him to know how far he could go with sex, and grinned.

  He went on. “With small flares, they don’t need you hovering, and the best thing is to carry on and let them deal with it, step in only when asked. Your most important job is to know when that line’s been crossed and they do need you. Sometimes they can’t or won’t see that for themselves. In that case, be ready for a fight and a bit of tough love. Depression can go hand in hand with a bad flare―it’s a tough ride―and they can’t always see through it.”

  Oops. Screw-up number two. Fuck.

  3. Sex—Be flexible, be creative, think of it in its broadest terms, and don’t assume anything.

  I will be eternally grateful he broached this as I’m not sure I could have, even though he blushed beetroot-red, admitting he knew nothing about gay sex. I told him I was sure I could extrapolate. It was actually pretty adorable.

  “Talk, talk, talk, and then talk some more,” he’d continued. “Never assume anything. Sometimes even on a rough day for her, my wife surprises me. And the reverse can be true also. Drugs and shit all contribute, so keep talking.”

  “And finally,” he said with a quirky smile and another blush. “I can only speak for us, but when my wife is feeling good, holy hell, it’s all on…. Feast or a famine, dude, feast or famin
e.”

  Dude? I laughed loudly. He joined in, and yeah. I sensed this had genuine friendship potential.

  A KNOCK at the front door startled me enough to drop my pen. Shit. I was in no mood for visitors. I struggled to my feet and made it to the door with a few good excuses ready to get rid of whoever was on the other side. But when I opened it….

  “Drake?”

  God, he looked good enough to eat. All my fears disappeared and I instantly wanted to lick him top to toe in long languid strokes as my dick perked to life. But with a few more seconds to drink him in, I saw past my own response enough to realise that he in fact looked dog-tired, run-down, thin, and a little sallow, exhausted and… nervous. But regardless of all that, he still looked bloody fantastic to my heart, which was busy skip skipping all over my damn chest. Until I remembered….

  “Hi,” he answered, his face giving nothing away.

  For a few seconds we just stared at each other as if neither of us could quite believe the other was there, until eventually I came to my senses. “Jesus, Drake. Um… how are you?”

  He frowned, and I could’ve kicked myself. How are you? What the fuck was that?

  I didn’t want to ask how he was, I wanted to haul him against me and bury my nose in all that inky silken hair. It would smell of apples, as it always did, some organic product from up north, but who the hell cared, it would always be Drake to me, and I’d missed it like crazy. For the first time in a week, things settled in my chest. It was like all the pieces I needed were finally on the same board. Just being close to him soothed me.

  That was my first reaction anyways. The second close on its heels was bone-chilling concern and fear. Why was he here? Had he come to break up with me? Had I made it seem like he was a too difficult problem to solve, something Evan had warned me not to do? If he did it then I wouldn’t have to, right? Plus it would be easier on him. And if he hadn’t come to break up with me, then what did I want, what was I going to say? My time had run out.

  “How am I?” He repeated my question back to me, brows arched. “Okay, well, I’m doing better,” he said. “A lot better.” His gaze flitted nervously across my face to peer over my shoulder. “Can I come in? Unless you have company, that is.”

  I didn’t answer immediately, my foggy brain still stunned by his appearance on my doorstep, and he must have taken that as evidence I wasn’t alone.

  His face blanched. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll come back.”

  I grabbed his arm. “No, please. I’m alone. I just, ah….”

  He stared down at my hand on his arm with a wry smile. “Déjà vu.”

  I let him go. “Shit, sorry.”

  His eyes flashed to mine. “It’s fine. I’ve, ah… missed you.”

  He missed me. My heart tripped over itself. That had to be good.

  “I know I shouldn’t have come—”

  “I’ve missed you too.” I stumbled over the words in my effort to get them out.

  “—but—what?” His brow creased adorably.

  I grinned. “I’ve missed you too, Drake.”

  He flustered. “Oh, right… that’s good, that you’ve missed me. That’s… nice.” His gaze slid off me to one of the large potted palms on either side of my stoop. “As I said, I shouldn’t have come, because you asked for time to”—he made air quotes—“catch up.”

  He looked up and I caught a flash of something heated under the nerves. Then he shook his head. “Whatever that’s supposed to mean. Anyway I just thought you should know, well, that’s bullshit… that whole… ‘catch up’ thing… actually.”

  “Oh really?” I leaned against the doorframe, giving him my full attention, not sure where this was going.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked the step with his boot. “I mean, what’s that even about, Caleb? Catching up? What does that even mean? It’s not a fucking test, you know that, right?” His mouth quirked up a little, then his gaze became deadly serious. “I, um, I saw Prim yesterday.”

  Holy shit. “You… what? Where?”

  “She came to the clinic. Dana got me there under the pretext of doing rosters, but really it was so Prim could meet me.” His expression gave nothing away.

  “And…?”

  He sighed, and I caught a glimmer of release. “She says she doesn’t blame me.” Every muscle in his body smoothed out with the admission and some of the tension drained from his face.

  Fucking hell. That was… huge. Drake so deserved to hear those words from Prim, and I wanted to kiss him silly with the relief I felt on his behalf. But I still didn’t know why he was here, and I just… couldn’t. Instead I simply said, “Thank Christ for that.”

  He looked up at me with suspiciously shiny eyes and smiled weakly. “Yeah. She’s… well, she’s not great. She wants to talk more down the track, so that’s good… I think. For now, it was enough just to hear that. I shouldn’t have needed her to say it, I know I did my best, but… fuck it felt good, kind of cleared some space in my head, if you know what I mean?”

  I did, and unable to keep my hands to myself any longer, I reached out and squeezed his shoulder gently. “You deserve every bit of it.” He held my gaze for a second before his eyes slid away and my nerves rattled once again.

  “Is that why you’re here?” I asked, trying to keep the nerves from my voice. “To tell me about Prim not blaming you anymore?” Having Prim’s understanding meant Drake might be ready to move on without me now, regardless of what he’d said in hospital. And that could be a good thing, right? For him? He wouldn’t have to change his life and I wouldn’t spend mine trying not to screw things up. If he walked away, it would hurt… fuck, it would damn near kill me but….

  “Partly.” He still wouldn’t meet my eyes. “But mostly because she said something that got me thinking. That you never know what shit life’s gonna throw at you. Some relationships make it, some don’t.” He looked up through those long lashes of his.

  I thought of Evan. Yeah, his relationship nearly didn’t make it. Here we go….

  “But I was wrong to think you might be a lightweight.”

  Oh.

  “You’re anything but, Caleb. And I meant every word I said in that hospital. I want you, and I was an idiot to push you away. And for fuck’s sake, I want you to stop feeling like you need to prove yourself to me, moron.”

  My brows shot to my hairline.

  He blushed. “Shit, sorry. Poor word choice.”

  I said nothing, my mind spinning loops in my head. He wasn’t walking away? He still wanted me. Oh fucking fuck. What now?

  He blew out a sigh and looked around awkwardly. “Look, um, maybe I should go.”

  No. Move, you idiot. I unfolded my arms and took a step back, holding the door open. “Maybe you shouldn’t. You just, um, surprised me, I guess. Come in, please.”

  He studied my face a moment, then did as I asked, eyeing me warily as he passed. I spun to follow and nearly ran into him as he turned. We ended up face-to-face with barely inches between us. My gaze reflexively fell to his gorgeous mouth, and a soft sigh landed on my lips.

  “Surprised you how?” His breath brushed over my lips.

  I want to kiss him so badly, and oh God, what was the question? I looked up. “Um, I thought you’d come to….”

  “Break up with you?” His eyes dipped to my mouth, and every nerve ending south of my neck turned the fuck on.

  “Ah, yeah.”

  He said nothing at first, just kept staring at my mouth. Then his nostrils flared and he sucked in a ragged breath. “You, um… still sore?”

  I shrugged, my eyes not leaving his for an instant. “Nothing too bad.”

  He licked his lips. “Good to hear.”

  Oomph. He crowded me back against the wall, my front plastered top-to-toe with warm, solid, familiar Drake. My suture line tugged and stung a little, but I wasn’t moving a damn muscle. He rubbed against me like a cat in heat, and every nerve lit up with the shiver that passed the length of my body. Our
eyes danced over each other, and a million questions flew unspoken between us. I wrapped an arm around his waist while his hands slipped under the loose cotton of my T-shirt and sat flat against my chest. Every concern and all my reservations were drowned out by that first touch. They weren’t forgotten, but in that moment, nothing could’ve shifted me from under his hands. I didn’t know if I’d ever be there again. I was like a drowning man thrown a lifeline.

  “Um, hi there.” I peered into those gorgeous chocolate eyes, my breath catching a black lock of hair and floating it sideways.

  He smiled up at me. “Hi, yourself.” Then he reached up, slanted his lips over mine, and just like that, I was gone, opening for him immediately. He sank into my mouth like he belonged there, the taste of him singing across my tongue as he swept through and deepened the kiss, the sensation going straight to my balls.

  He was urgent and demanding and every damn thing I’d missed. Snagging his belt loops, I pulled him close, his cock hardening against my thigh as I took control of the kiss, carefully stepping him back against the opposite wall till he was pinned against me. Another zing in my healing wound, but I ignored it. I had Drake Park in my arms and nothing, nothing was more important than that.

  His hands tracked down to my waist, careful to avoid my wound, humming in approval as I nipped and licked at his mouth, dipping in and out to reacquaint myself with everything Drake. After pressing a line of kisses to the length of his jaw, I then dipped down his throat to suckle at the notch in his clavicle, a definite Drake hot spot.

  He groaned and slid against me as I knew he would, hard and needy, angling to get better friction on his dick. I went to spread my stance and then suddenly it hit me, and decency took a step forward. I couldn’t do this. I wriggled free of his grip and held him at arm’s length as he fought to catch his breath.

  We stared at each other like hungry wolves circling prey. With swollen lips, shirt askew, and straining chinos, Drake looked thoroughly debauched but not nearly enough. I itched to get him under me, around me, any way I could get him. But I couldn’t.