by Emrys Apollo
They eat breakfast and drink coffee, and the conversation is stilted as they try to avoid bringing up the argument and the kiss from the night before.
Jarrod offers him a hug as they say goodbye, and Clive takes it.
“You can still call me,” Jarrod says softly, “if you need someone who knows this part of you, you can still call me.”
Clive nods. “I hope this boyfriend of yours appreciates you properly. You deserve someone wonderful.” He means it, and at the very same time, he doesn’t quite mean it.
Fall in love with me. I’m wonderful, or I could be, for you. Be mine, not his, whoever he is. He could say any of those things, but he doesn’t, because they’re just a little too true for comfort.
CHAPTER 7
Clive doesn’t call. Jarrod calls him once, or twice, and leaves messages both times, but Clive doesn’t call him back.
He means to, originally. But day after day slips by, between waking up, training, extra training, showers, naps, dinner, and bed. Eventually it’s just too late, and every excuse Clive can think of sounds stupid.
Maybe it’s better to let the relationship die there, he thinks. It was a freak accident, the whole thing, really. Him going to that club, him finding Jarrod, him staying with him, and then being with Robin. It was never going to last, and if it was going to end, better to end it on his terms.
The season is quickly winding down, and they’re comfortable, performing well in everything. Clive swears off men and decides that his first love is the only one he needs. So he throws himself into his work. He trains harder than anyone else on the team, and when the rest of the boys go home, he trains more, runs faster and longer, lifts more weights and does more drills.
It reaches the point where one of the medical personnel pulls him aside one day, telling him that if he keeps pushing himself like this, he might end up with a stress fracture. Clive pretends not to care, but he’s only pretending, and if he loses this, he won’t have anything left, so he eases up, lightens up on the running but keeps the extra weight training. He restricts his diet, and it shows in his body.
He’d always been lean, but his cheeks grow almost gaunt in appearance. The dark circles under his eyes don’t help, either. He spends much of the night watching hospital dramas on TV and falls asleep on the sofa most nights. He bulks up, with broader shoulders and bigger arms and muscles in his back that he had never seen before.
Robin looks at him, sometimes, with desire in his eyes. He likes Clive’s new body - Clive can tell, in the long looks he feels on his skin.
Clive ignores him. He stops sleeping with him altogether, asks to be roomed with Samson and Luke whenever possible. He’s polite to Robin, but cold, too.
Luke looks at him too, but with worry. He doesn’t care about the muscles, he’s concerned about the dark circles and the hollow cheeks. Clive stops shaving for awhile, half out of laziness, and half trying to hide how unhealthy his face looks.
Samson lets things go, though he keeps a sharp eye on Clive’s food and often encourages him to eat more.
Their last match of the season is the Championships final, which they win, and for a few hours, the numbness fades and bright, shallow joy fills Clive’s heart. He kisses the cup and tries not to wish it was warm and Scouse and kissing him back.
By that night, though, the joy is gone. He smiles faintly when he thinks about it, the memory still fresh, but it’s not enough to live on. He would know. He’d tried.
Samson shows up at his front door a day after they get back home, after they do the parades and raise the trophy and share their glory with the people who love them.
Clive opens it, and Samson pushes past him, not waiting to be invited in. He heads into the living room and sits down, Clive sitting next to him.
“What’s going on, Cli?” His voice is soft, and Samson’s voice is never soft, and that’s a clue in itself as to how bad Clive must look.
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
Samson shakes his head. “You can tell me, you know. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
It breaks Clive’s heart, hearing Samson’s voice all low and soft, as if he’s an injured animal. He doesn’t have the strength to resist, and he shifts closer to his best friend and leans against him.
“Remember I had that… partner, awhile back? We used to talk on the phone all the time?”
Samson puts an arm around him, and Clive rests his head on his friend’s shoulder, slightly too short for comfort, but he doesn’t care. “Yeah, Cli, I remember. You used to be so happy.”
“Didn’t last,” Clive mutters, “they found out I was - I was in love with someone else. Had been for a long time. It didn’t even end badly, it just faded away.”
“Who were you in love with?”
Clive looks up at Samson, eyes wide and sad. “I think you know,” he whispers.
“Oh, Clive.” Samson’s voice is sympathetic and almost tender as he hugs Clive closer, “I’m so sorry. It must have broken your heart when he got engaged.”
Clive lets out a choked sob. “It did. We slept together. We were still sleeping together when he told me she was pregnant. And then I kept sleeping with him, even after he got engaged. I just - I don’t know. I guess I didn’t care, or I thought he was only with her because she got knocked up and he really loved me? Wanted my ex back after I found out, but he’s moved on, just wanted to be friends - “
Samson must be shocked, knowing that two of his friends and teammates had been sleeping together, but he doesn’t show it.
Clive calms down, no longer crying, and sighs against Samson’s chest. “Gave up on Bartholomew, eventually. Threw myself into training. Tried to fill the gap with hockey.” He sighs. “I love hockey, but it’s not enough to live on, Samson.”
“I know,” Samson murmurs, holding him close, “I know, Clive. What do you need? How can I help?”
Clive’s on the verge of asking for sex, but Samson’s the only person he’s got left, and he’s not going to risk this. Besides, he’s the straightest man Clive’s ever met, and Robin had taught him that there was no way back, once you slept with someone.
“Stay the night?” he asks instead, “just - I hate sleeping alone. Jarr had the tiniest little bed, and we basically had to cuddle if one of us didn’t want to fall off, and Robin used to hold me. And I miss that.”
Samson nods. “Of course, mate. I’ll stay the night. I’ll even move in here for a bit, if you want me to, keep you from being alone all day.”
It’s tempting, but Clive’s afraid of asking too much. He thinks he might always be afraid of asking too much. “Let’s try tonight first. If that works out, maybe you can come stay for a little while?”
Samson smiles. “Okay, mate. Let’s go upstairs then, get ready for bed.”
He lends Samson some of his clothes, and the pants are a little too long, and Clive smiles, seeing his clothes drowning his best friend. “You look adorable,” he teases.
Samson grins, flapping his arms so the sleeves fly around. “Come on, then, bedtime.”
They both get into bed together and it’s awkward, but in a strange way, it’s also not awkward at all. He’s laying in bed with his best friend, both on their backs and looking up at the ceiling.
Samson turns onto his side, propping his head up on his head as he looks at Clive. “When did you realize you liked boys?” he asks, half-afraid it’s asking for too much.
“Thirteen,” Clive says, the memory stark in his mind, “or I guess before that, but thirteen was when I made a move on a boy for the first time. There was this cricketer at school, and I used to feel him looking at me when I was changing, you know? And it felt good, made me feel like I was worth looking at, at least. So one day we were the only two in the dressing room and I walked over and kissed him.”
“What happened after that?”
“He shoved me away and punched me in the face,” Clive says bluntly, “broke my nose, that’s why it’s crooked now.”
“Shit.
”
“Yeah,” Clive agrees, “didn’t pursue anyone after that. Not until after the World Cup. I just wanted to forget, and forgetting meant going out to a club and letting a stranger take me home. And that stranger was Jarr. Probably one of the best things to ever happen to me. So of course I fucked it up.”
“Jarr?” Samson doesn’t complete the sentence but Clive knows what he means.
“Jarrod,” he says, voice fond as he remembers that first night, “he’s studying to be a doctor, Samson. He’s just gorgeous. Works himself half to death, brilliant student, sends money home to his mum to help his little brothers buy whatever they need.”
“He sounds amazing,” Samson agrees, looking at the faraway expression in Clive’s eyes.
“He is. He’s going to do so much good in the world. I’m so glad I got to meet him.”
“Are you sure you can’t save it?”
“He has a boyfriend,” Clive says, “some lad who’s been in love with him since they were kids. Can’t compete with that.”
“I’m sorry, Cli. And I’m sorry you had to go through that alone.”
Clive just sighs and shifts so he’s resting his head on Samson’s shoulder, letting his eyes close. “Night, Samson.”
Samson takes the hint and goes quiet until they both fall asleep.
***
Samson ends up staying for a week, and they cook and watch TV and order takeout and Clive feels like he’s not alone, for once.
Maybe he just needs a roommate.
He’s still staying when the phone rings, and Samson picks up, because Clive’s half-asleep in front of the TV.
“Hello? Who is this? Mate, calm down, take a breath, I can’t understand you - “
He pauses, and shakes Clive’s shoulder. “I think you need to take this one, Cli. The guy seems upset.”
Clive opens his eyes and turns off the TV.
“Hello?” He asks, yawning in the middle of the word.
“Clive?” The voice on the line sounds young and devastated.
“Jarrod? What's wrong? You never call anymore.”
“I didn't know who else to call. I didn't want to - are you busy? If you're busy, this isn't important, I can call back - “
“You're crying, Jarr,” Clive says softly, “it is important.”
“You know I told you we have rotations? I'm - I'm on peds now. Pediatrics? Fuck, Cli, I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't be a doctor, I can't - “
“Shh, calm down, love. Breathe with me, okay? Do you want me to come see you?”
“I - no, I'm okay - “ Jarrod's still crying.
“You're not okay, Frankie. Talk to me here, okay? And I'll come by after we finish talking, I'll drive down to see you.”
“He looked like my brother.” Jarrod whispers.
“Who did, love?”
“The kid. Luke, his name was. He looked like Samson, Clive, and we couldn't save him, we couldn't save him! And his mother was there, his mother was crying and crying and I wanted to cry too but you're not allowed to cry, because what have I lost? She lost her baby, I just lost a patient, and he looked like Samson when Samson was his age, but he was so skinny, so, so fucking skinny, Clive, the size of a three year old, the tiniest little kid, and I couldn't do it, we couldn't do it - “
Clive's heart shatters.
“I did this so I can save people's babies, not kill them, Clive, I killed him. Me and the resident and the attending, we as good as slit his throat, we failed him, I failed him - “
“Baby? Don't do anything, okay? I need you to listen to me, sweetheart. I need you to have a warm shower, put on some gentle music, don’t try to drink it away - promise me you won’t drink, love. I'm going to leave now, I'll be there soon and I'll take care of everything, I'll take care of you-”
“It's too late, it's too late - “ Jarrod wails, breath catching in his lungs, “I can't breathe, Cli, there's - feels like a rock on my chest, I don't know what to do, he's gone, he looked like Samson, I wonder if he had a brother - if your brother dies do you stop being a brother, Clive? If you only have part of the equation left, if suddenly you're an only child, do you stop being a brother? Oh god, Clive, what if Samson dies? What if he and John die, and I'm not a brother anymore? I don't know how to be anything else, I sure as fuck can't be a doctor - Clive, Clive I can't - can't breathe - “
“Sweetheart, close your eyes for me, okay?” Clive says softly, “close your eyes. I want you to take a slow inhale, count to four while you breathe in and hold that air in your lungs for a count of five and then let it out slowly, with a count of three. Can you do that for me? I’ll count for you, okay? Ready, inhale, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four, five. Now exhale slow for me, baby, two three. Can you hold onto that pattern for me Jarrod?”
“I think so,” Jarrod whispers.
“Good boy! I’m going to come see you, okay? I’m coming to take care of you. If you need help while I’m driving over, you call this number, okay? My friend Samson is here, and he’ll try to help you, and I’ll be over as soon as I can.”
“Okay,” Jarrod agrees.
“Keep up that count for me, Jarr, Samson can help you if you’re struggling with it, and I’m going to leave now so I can be with you and hold you.”
“Drive safe,” Jarrod orders, still a little breathless, “baby, you have to drive safe. Promise me! And wear your seatbelt. Don’t go too fast, I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Clive shushes him softly. “I’m going to be very careful on the road, love. I promise I won’t get into any trouble and I’ll be there to hold you as soon as I can.”
“Thank you,” Jarrod whispers.
“Of course, love. Be brave for me until I get there.”
“I’ll try.”
Clive drives fast, but he can’t forget Jarrod’s voice, concerned for him and making him promise to be safe, so he’s careful, too. Still, in record time, he’s knocking on the door of Jarrod’s flat and Jarrod opens the door with a look of utter relief on his face.
“You made it,” he says softly, “you made it here safely. I was so worried you’d get hurt or worse - “
Clive wraps him in his arms and kicks the door closed behind him. “Hi, love. Talk to me?”
Jarrod shakes his head. “Can we just go to bed? I’m so tired, Clive. And I’ve missed you but you never called me back.”
“I thought you wouldn’t want me to,” Clive lies, “thought I should just let you be happy with your new boyfriend.”
Jarrod goes quiet but pulls him over to his bed, clambering under the thick blanket and pulling Clive with him. “I missed this,” he confesses, almost as if he’s reading Clive’s mind, “bed isn’t too big without you, but it gets cold. And my lad never stays over. He can’t.”
“I missed it too. I’ve had poor Samson suffering through sleeping next to me, but he’s such a decent friend he doesn’t put up a fuss about it.”
“You look tired,” Jarrod says softly, eyes open and guileless as he looks at Clive’s face. “Have you been sick?” He reaches a hand out to trace Clive’s jaw, and Clive covers Jarrod’s hand with his own.
“Insomnia.”
Jarrod hums. “I hate when that happens.”
“I think I’ll sleep okay tonight, though, with you. I always sleep well in your bed.”
Jarrod chuckles.
“Talk to me about today,” Clive says quietly.
“There was a five year old boy. He was so tiny, it would break your heart to see him. His arms and legs were like twigs. And his belly was all swollen. He’d been sick so long he couldn’t keep food down, so he was on a drip. He was bald, from the chemo. You know it makes you lose your hair, but you don’t consider that they lose their eyebrows too. Even his eyelashes thinned out.”
Clive strokes his back, holding him close. “He was doing better, but then he caught an infection and developed pneumonia. The chemo knocked his immune system out, pretty much, so he couldn’t fight it off. We were pumping
him full of antibiotics, but it wasn’t enough. He went into sepsis - kidneys failed, then liver, lungs went next. We put him on a ventilator to breathe for him, and then his heart just stopped. Asystole. We tried the defibrillator four times, even though two is the max. The attending didn’t have it in her to tell the resident to stop. And then we had to go outside and tell his mother and brother.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Clive whispers, awed at how much Jarrod had dealt with, and not altogether surprised that he’d had a bit of a nervous breakdown over it.
“She was just in shock. Like, she’d been in the hospital so long, held her little boy’s hand while he was fighting. I don’t think she ever thought he could really die. And his little brother was there, he just kept asking when Luke could come home. He wanted to show him what he’d drawn at school, wanted to play with him. He said he knew Luke couldn’t play hockey anymore and he got tired, but he wanted to play a board game with him instead. And then his mother started crying, just started crying, and he - oh, Clive - he tried to comfort her. This three-year-old boy, hugging his mum’s legs and telling her it would be okay, because he didn’t know his brother was dead - “
Jarrod starts crying again.
Clive has no words for this sort of situation. He just hugs him and wishes he could take his pain away.
“I didn’t know who else to call,” Jarrod confesses, “Mickey - he’s too young to be dealing with my shit on top of his own. And I couldn’t tell my mum or I’d just absolutely fall apart. Still fell apart telling you, even.”
Clive kisses Jarrod’s cheeks, and the skin is damp under his lips. “Have you had that before?” he asks softly, “the not being able to breathe?”
“Panic attack,” Jarrod whispers, “it’s been a long time since I had one. I used to get them a lot, when I first started medical school. Sometimes before a shift, too. More when I’m overworked or hypoglycemic or stressed out. I can’t really function when I have one, but I can at least hide it. And I can follow commands, simple ones.”
