by Lisa Henry
Matt might have called him out on the blatant lie, except at that moment Hayden caught his earlobe between his teeth and tugged, and the blood that Matt needed to operate his brain for a decent comeback flooded immediately to his dick. “Fuck. Hayden.”
Hayden rocked his hips, his arse riding over Matt’s erection. “Mmm. That had better be on your to-do list, actually.”
“You’re a menace,” Matt said, and groaned. They kissed again, and he marvelled at how sweet and gentle their kisses were when everything else was already becoming more urgent. There was heat building between them, and Matt was getting impatient. He thought about rolling Hayden onto his back and being the one to set the pace, to stop him from fucking teasing like this. The arsehole knew just what he was doing to Matt as well, going by the cocky smirk on his face.
He began to grind against Hayden.
But Hayden pushed him away suddenly. He sat up, a knee digging into Matt’s side. “Did you hear that?”
Matt blinked up at him. “What?”
“I thought I heard—” Hayden shook his head, and climbed off Matt. “I thought I heard something break?”
Matt sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up and pulled his uniform pants back on, since they were closest. When he opened the bedroom door, Charlie pressed his nose into the gap, and forged into the room.
“Are you knocking shit over, Charlie?” Matt asked, patting the dog on the head.
Charlie dropped a cocktail onion onto the floor.
“What are you doing with that?” Matt picked it up. “Grandad shouldn’t be giving you onions.”
Hayden slipped out of the room, and headed up the hallway.
Matt followed him.
In the living room, the cricket was still on. Grandad was sitting in his recliner. The small dish lay in two pieces on the floor. Red cocktail onions had been spilled everywhere.
“Grandad?” Matt stepped into the room. He felt a sudden, sickening jab of panic. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. His voice broke. “Grandad, are you okay?”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
I’m not cursed.
Shit just happens.
The blood roared in Hayden’s skull, as loud as the ocean, when he saw Joe sitting in his recliner. When Matt spoke to him, and Joe opened his mouth to answer, but it wasn’t words that came out. Sound, but no words.
“What?” Matt asked. “What are saying, Grandad?”
Joe spoke again: the words were slurred. Hayden could see his teeth, old and yellowing, where one side of his mouth was pulled down in a droop that looked like a grimace.
And, just like the other day out at Bushland Beach, Hayden was frozen. What was it he’d said to Matt? That he was waiting for the next thing. And here it was.
Frozen, but then suddenly he was moving, and in a flash it was all back. All his training. All his experience. All his instincts.
He crossed to the recliner, pushing Matt out of the way. He stood in front of Joe, and took the old man’s hands in his. His fingers were gnarled. Old hands. A lifetime in them.
“Can you smile for me, Joe?” he asked. “Move your mouth for me?”
The right side of Joe’s mouth lifted. The left didn’t.
“Can you squeeze my hands?” Hayden asked. “Hard as you can.”
Joe’s left hand was weak. It trembled in Hayden’s.
Hayden held Joe’s arms out, and released his hands. “Hold your arms there for me, Joe.”
His left arm listed like a mast in a storm.
“Call an ambulance, Matt,” Hayden said. This was the next thing, definitely. Such a tiny thing, such a small bleed, but it could be so catastrophic. “Joe, I need you to repeat for me, ‘The sky is very blue in Townsville.’”
Joe slurred again, like a drunk.
“Okay.” Hayden turned around and saw Matt had his phone out. He held his hand out for it, and Matt passed it to him. It was already dialling. “Ambulance,” he said when the operator asked. “Townsville.”
He held Joe’s trembling hand while the call was put through to Comms.
I’m not cursed.
Shit just happens.
The sun had set by the time Matt and Hayden waited in the ambulance bay at the hospital for their ride home. It was dark under the awnings that sheltered the ambulance bay, although a brilliant moon illuminated the sky.
Joe was sleeping now, after undergoing his barrage of tests at the stroke unit and starting on thrombolysis therapy. He’d be assessed some time in the coming days, the extent of the damage mapped out, and his rehab scheduled.
“He’s a tough old bastard,” Matt said, probably more for his own benefit than Hayden’s. “He’ll bounce back.”
Hayden nodded.
“Shit. I should call Mum.” Matt dragged his fingers through his hair. “Fuck.”
An arc of headlights swept into the ambulance bay—a police car. It pulled to a stop in front of them, and the driver’s window slid down. “Get in, you two.”
Gordy.
Hayden left the front passenger seat free for Matt, and climbed into the back. He tugged his seatbelt on, and stared out the window.
“How are you holding up?” Gordy asked Matt.
“Looking for a do over on this week, boss.”
“I’ll bet you bloody are,” Gordy said. “How about you, Hayden?”
“I’ll second that vote for a do over.”
Gordy snorted, and pulled out of the ambulance bay.
Hayden closed his eyes. The sound of the police radio made him feel like he was back at work. The terminology was different, but the cadence, the clicks, the burst of static; Hayden wondered, if he opened his eyes, whether he’d be in an ambulance instead. Boots up on the dashboard if Kate was driving. Sunglasses on. Driving fast and saving lives. That confident, cocky arsehole he had been before it had all gone to shit in a heartbeat.
The image was so strong that Hayden could almost hear Kate’s laugh.
He opened his eyes and watched the lights slide past the window.
Closed them again, and listened to the radio, to the click of the indicator as they merged into traffic on the bridge over the Ross River, to the low voices of Matt and Gordy as they spoke.
Hayden dozed, not even aware he was slipping into sleep until he was jolted awake as the car bounced over the railway tracks on Ingham Road.
A few minutes later they were pulling into Matt’s street, in front of the dark little house. Hayden climbed out of the car and crossed to the front gate, running his fingers along the cool metal and feeling tiny flakes of rust break off under his touch. He waited until Matt had finished talking to Gordy, and then pushed the gate open and walked toward the house.
Matt slipped past him, standing on the bottom step to unlock the door. He opened it and stepped inside, and a moment later the hallway light flickered on.
Charlie was waiting for them, his head resting on his paws.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” Matt said. He was still wearing the clothes he’d come home in.
Hayden nodded, and continued through to the kitchen. Charlie followed him.
This whole thing. . . what a mess.
He opened the kitchen door so Charlie could go outside.
What a fucking mess.
Hayden took the dishcloth from the sink, wet it under the tap, and went into the living room. The saucer was still lying there, in two pieces. He stacked the smaller piece on top of the larger one, and then collected the cocktail onions that Joe had dropped hours ago. Charlie hadn’t eaten them, at least. They would probably be okay for a dog his size, given that they were processed to hell, but that’d just be the kick while they were down, right? Charlie poisoning himself with onions.
Hayden rubbed the spots on the floor where the brine from the onions had soaked into the floorboards.
How many hits were they supposed to take? It’d be laughable if it weren’t so fucking horrible.
Hayden retur
ned to the kitchen, dumped the plate and the onions in the bin. He rubbed his aching chest, and crossed to the fridge.
Matt would need to eat something. Hayden began to pull the plastic containers out of the fridge: cheese slices, asparagus, grated carrot, beetroot, lettuce, curried egg—Joe had better be home soon, because nobody else would eat curried egg—and tomatoes. He set them on the table, along with the bread and margarine.
When Matt reappeared, a towel wrapped around his hips, he sat next to Hayden at the table and made his sandwich slowly.
“He’s going to be okay,” Hayden said at last, because those were the sorts of lies people told one another, weren’t they?
“Yeah.” Matt managed a faint smile. “Of course he is.”
“No,” Hayden said, the word strong. “I mean it. He made it to the stroke unit in under an hour. That’s the best indicator for a good prognosis.” He quirked his mouth in what he hoped was a smile. “And also, like you said, he’s a tough old bastard.”
“Yeah.” Matt cleared his throat. “Yeah, he is.”
They ate their sandwiches in silence, and then Matt went and called his mum.
Tuesday morning dawned bright and humid. Hayden hadn’t slept, and he wasn’t sure Matt had either. There was a distance between them now, even though they’d lain touching throughout the night. It was an invisible distance, but it felt insurmountable. Matt had spent the night answering texts and calls from family, including a plethora of cousins and second cousins and some guy who wasn’t technically a great uncle, but was one of Joe’s army mates from back in the day.
All these people, and all of them with more of a claim to Joe than Hayden had, and more of a right to Matt’s attention at a time like this.
And what sort of arsehole was Hayden that something like jealousy burned in his gut? Matt was supposed to be looking after him. Not that Hayden had wanted that, but now Matt’s attention was on other people Hayden missed it. It was selfish, and Hayden hated himself for thinking it, but the thought persisted anyway. Hayden didn’t want to share Matt with strangers, not even if they were his family.
Jesus. Petty jealousy was bad enough, but Hayden was afraid it went deeper. He was afraid that the feeling belonged to that little kid inside him who screamed and screamed for his mum, not because she cared, but because she was all he knew. Because he was dependent on her. And that kid, that kid whose screaming panic he could feel threatening to overwhelm him even years later, shouldn’t have had any power over Hayden still. Shouldn’t have had a voice left. Not when Hayden had worked so hard to silence him.
“Hey,” he said to Matt over breakfast. “I’ve got my appointment today, then I’m meeting up with Kate. Will you be okay?”
“Yeah.” Matt seemed to shake himself awake. “I’ll be fine. Mum and Dad are heading down this morning, so they’ll come out to the hospital with me.”
Of course Matt didn’t need help from Hayden. What could Hayden give him that his family couldn’t? Families came together at times like this, right? At least the good ones did. This wasn’t the first time Hayden had felt the gulf between his experiences and those of almost everyone else. When he’d been a teenager, all his edges honed sharp by anger and determination, he’d told himself that he didn’t need anyone. Told himself that he was stronger. As he’d gotten older though, as he’d seen families like Kate’s, his resilience had become cold comfort. He’d known for a long time that he was lonely.
“Do you need me to drop you off to get your car?” Matt asked him.
“Nah. I’ll get Kate to come and pick me up. She’s driving again.”
“Okay.” If Matt was going to say anything else, he was distracted by the chime on his phone announcing a new message.
Hayden went and showered. Then he changed—still in borrowed clothes because he hadn’t collected any from the apartment yet—and headed outside to feed the chickens. The grain was kept in a plastic rubbish bin just inside the doorway of the shed, and the chickens rushed inside excitedly when Hayden opened the door. He had to do a headcount to make sure he hadn’t locked any in the shed when he latched the door again.
He tossed the grain into the grass, and the chickens darted for it eagerly.
Hayden watched them, a strange chill creeping up his spine. It hit the base of his skull in a burst of cold clarity.
What the fuck was he doing here? Playing house with Matt Deakin like they were both pretending nothing was wrong? Like they were both pretending that everything wasn’t falling apart in front of them. They’d worked fine when things between them had been casual and fun, when it was hooking up, but what about now? Hayden didn’t even know who they were right now.
He needed to…
He needed to not be here.
The damp grass tickled the soles of his feet as he walked back to the house. He checked the time and sent a text to Kate seeing if she could pick him up early. No way was he going to his appointment either in borrowed clothes, or in his uniform. He’d go to his apartment and get changed.
Eyes closed, Hayden imagined himself shoving some clothes into a bag and coming back here. Imagined himself climbing into his bed instead, pulling the pillow over his head and never leaving again. He didn’t know which scenario appealed the most.
He was tired again, and it seemed like the same bone-deep weariness that had caught him days ago. It went beyond a lack of sleep. Hayden wanted to walk away, and to keep walking. He’d had that fantasy as a kid a lot—that nobody could stop him. And in the fantasy, the practicalities didn’t count. There were no blisters there, no thirst, no sunburn or aching muscles. In his fantasy, if he walked as far as the ocean then he’d simply start to swim. Maybe that’s where his head had been the other day when he’d walked to the beach. Except he hadn’t been dreaming of swimming then, had he? He’d been dreaming of drowning.
Jesus. How was Hayden supposed to tell a psychologist any of this without getting sent straight to the secure mental health unit at the hospital? How was he supposed to tell Matt? He didn’t want to lose what he had with Matt. But if that was true, then why did a part of him want to just walk away?
He sat at the end of Matt’s bed and turned his phone over and over in his palm.
He hated his own indecision, his fear. He hated that it came from a place so deep inside him that he couldn’t push back against it on his own. He hated that his fear was carved on his bones, scoured into him, and it was so powerful that it made him want to walk away from Matt.
Matt was the best thing in his fucking life.
Another moment of cold clarity, and Hayden held his breath while he processed it: Matt was the best thing in his life.
He glanced up as the bedroom door opened. He half expected it to be Charlie nosing his way into the bedroom, but it was Matt. He looked as tired as Hayden felt. He sat down on the bed beside Hayden, and laced their fingers together.
“Okay?” Hayden asked him softly.
“Yeah.” Matt exhaled. “Just…this week, huh?”
“Fuck this week,” Hayden said, squeezing his hand. “Fuck it sideways.”
Matt turned his head to look at him and held his gaze. There was something equally comforting and vulnerable in his expression. “Are you going to be here tonight?”
And there it was. Hayden had been an idiot if he’d thought that Matt couldn’t see exactly how much of a coward he was. And maybe Hayden couldn’t stem his fear, but he could fight it.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m going to be here tonight and for as long as you want me here.”
The corner of Matt’s mouth twitched. It was too brief to be called a smile. “That could be a while.”
“I can deal with that,” Hayden said, and hoped that he was telling them both the truth.
Before he left the house, Matt pressed a kiss to his lips and a spare key into his hand.
Hayden’s psychologist was called Eden. She worked out of a converted house in Fulham Road, at the end dominated by the Mater Hospital, where a mass of loosel
y associated medical practices had sprung up in the surrounding blocks. Parking was a bitch. Kate ended up dropping Hayden off outside Eden’s office, and heading further down the street. She told him to call her when he was done.
It started to rain while Hayden was there. The clouds rolled in from nowhere, and pressed the humid air down close on the city. Condensation slid down the window that looked out into the small well-kept garden, and then the rain did.
“Why are you here, Hayden?” Eden asked him.
“I’m here because I walked away from a scene,” Hayden said. His stomach knotted. “Last week I lost four patients in the space of two days.” He could still taste the chlorine on his lips. The salt too, from sitting on the beach the next day. “I’m here because last night my boyfriend’s grandfather had a stroke, and I don’t think I can deal with another thing, you know?”
It was…when it was over, Hayden couldn’t even remember exactly what he’d said.
They’d talked a little about Zach, and about Isaiah. They’d talked about how Hayden had grown up in care, and about how his last memory of his mum was screaming for her. And how Zach’s mum had screamed for him, over and over and over, while Hayden had performed CPR. Like a mirror image, flipped.
They’d talked about Matt and Joe, and about Kate and Jimmy.
They’d talked about random shit too. The biscuits that Monique made when she was studying. The best place to get gelato on The Strand. The new H&M at Stockland. The rain, and how it had been years since the last decent wet season.
Hayden made a second appointment before he left, even if he was unsure of how he felt about the process. That’s what Eden called it: a process. No quick fixes.
He waited for Kate under the shelter of an awning at the front of the house, watching the passing traffic. Wet roads meant screeching brakes, because Townsville drivers were the fucking worst in the rain. Hayden heard the distant wail of a siren, and his skin prickled with anticipation.
