Short Stack

by Lily Morton

  If I hadn’t been such a stupid and blind bastard, I could still be with Dylan. If I hadn’t been such a coward, I would have responded so differently to the signs of his caring for me. Instead, I’d run away like a scared little boy to Bath and set us on the path that led to his flat and Valentine’s Day. I shudder at the thought, bile rising in my throat as I remember Ollie’s hands on him and how it had filled me so full of rage I’d wanted to rip my own skin off.

  I’d been so scared at the thought of Dylan loving me. To me, love is just something that ends up with someone being destroyed. I’d made such an excellent job of avoiding it that it actually managed to sneak up on me without me knowing. Unfortunately, I’d only realised that I loved him when he’d looked at me with a weary sort of disgust and told me to leave with a note of utter finality in his voice.

  There had been no going back from that. I tried, but when he fell through that door with another man I’d known it was too late. The last month has been painful, to say the least. For the first time in my life, I'm at a loss. Nothing makes it better. I can’t even fuck it out of my system. I’d gone to a club after seeing him with the other man and I’d been so close to moving on. But the man I’d danced with had touched me and thrown his arms around me, and everything was wrong. His hair didn’t smell of apples. His body wasn’t lithe and warm against me. His laugh wasn’t the same. I’d made my excuses and walked away, and I haven’t been back.

  After taking a sip of my coffee, I wince. Alistair makes lovely coffee, and I resent every perfect drop. I snort as I lower the cup. I think I’m going mad.

  I glance up to find everyone looking askance at me. “This meeting is becoming laughable,” I say with a frown. “You need to discuss the parameters of the offer.”

  That sets them off again, leaving me to my feelings, but all talk stops again when my phone rings. Everyone stares at me in surprise. And well they should because I would eviscerate anyone who had a phone switched on in a meeting. However, this is me, and I don’t count in the rules.

  “Is it the ringtone?” I enquire smoothly. “I’ve been thinking of changing it to something more cheerful. What do you think?”

  They look like they’re considering answering me, but I ignore them, glancing down at the phone to switch it off. The name on the display makes me go still. Jude.

  I shouldn’t take this. It’s only going to mire me further in this mess. I shake my head again in a defeated fashion and, palming the phone, I stand up.

  “Keep talking,” I instruct. “I don’t want anyone leaving this room until a deal is ready.” Then I stride out of the room.

  As soon as the door clicks behind me, I press Connect. “Jude?” I say hoarsely.

  “Gabe.” His voice is tinny with a lot of background noise that sounds like cars and horns. “Gabe, are you okay to talk?”

  “I am. I’m in a meeting, so it’ll have to be quick.” I hesitate before asking the only question in my head. “Is Dylan okay?” The long pause makes me go cold. “Jude?”

  “There’s been an accident,” he says quickly.

  Cold flushes down my body, leaving a trail of icy sweat. My heart hammers furiously, and for a second, my vision goes funny.

  “Is he okay?” I manage to get out, my voice sounding like I’ve been gargling with knives.

  He sighs and mutters something which sounds very much like, “I’m going to hell.”

  “Jude,” I say frantically. “Is he okay?”

  “No. He had an accident on the underground. They’re taking him to the Royal London Hospital.” He hesitates. “Gabe, I’ve got to go. Are you coming?”

  “Yes,” I say immediately. “Tell him… Tell him I’m on my way.”

  “Okay.” There’s a hesitation. “Gabe, I’m so sorry.”

  My blood freezes. “Sorry for what?”

  “Never mind. Just don’t kill me when you get here.”

  I end the call without even saying goodbye, every atom in my body pushing me to move quickly and get to Dylan. It’s why I break into a run once I’m out of the lifts, causing a slight commotion in the foyer of Harrison, Bernett, Farmer, and Foster.

  The journey in the taxi seems interminable. All I can do is clutch my phone in my sweaty hand and wait for a call to tell me something I can’t bear to hear. I check the signal repeatedly and tap my fingers. Horrible scenarios run through my mind. Dylan bleeding or unconscious. Or worse. My mind falters, and I suck in a shaky breath. There are so many things that can hurt someone on the underground.

  “You alright?” The taxi driver’s voice breaks into my increasingly desperate thoughts.

  “Yes, why?”

  “You look like you might be going to throw up.” He taps a sign which states, Any damage to this taxi will result in a fine of £500. He shakes his head. “I’ve just had the cab cleaned. You break it, you pay for it.” He shakes his head again and mutters about city types.

  I stare at the back of his head. “It must be such a problem for you driving around all day with that immense amount of compassion running through you. How do you survive?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “Just don’t throw up.”

  “I’ll endeavour to choke on it,” I inform him. “Please don’t charge my cold dead body when we finally get to the hospital by nightfall. That’s presuming that you’re actually going to start driving properly rather than messing around and bumping up my bill.”

  That shuts him up, thankfully, although I could have done without the bruises I’ll undoubtedly have from where he hurls the car around corners with unnecessary force.

  When we get to the hospital, I thrust the money into his hand. “Keep the change,” I mutter. “Use it to fund a course at charm school.”

  The door shutting cuts his reply off neatly. Aware of the car moving away, I stare up at the gloomy edifice of the hospital and rub my hand over my heart. It’s pounding hard, and I’m scared beyond anything I’ve ever felt before, which is really saying something considering some of the fucked-up times in my youth.

  What if he’s hurt badly? I love him so much that the idea of him being in pain or worse is awful. I falter and think of that warm smile and the humour in his green eyes, his smell, and the sense of home and place that I’ve always found with him.

  I straighten my spine. He’s going to be okay even if I have to use every penny of my money to make sure of it. I nod. I will make it so. I couldn’t have gone through so much in the past just to lose the one person who’s ever meant anything in my life.

  It takes ages to find him in the monolith of the hospital, but finally, as I’m followed by an angrily squawking nurse, I throw the curtain back and look into the startled eyes of the man I love. He’s crumpled and dirty, and his face is pale and creased with lines of pain, but he’s here, and so am I.

  Before he can say anything, I go quickly to the bed and fold myself into him. His arms come up to hold me, and for the first time in months, I feel warm. The scent of his cologne surrounds me, and the nurse’s voice is high with indignation, but I smile because I know that everything is going to be okay. Not because of the money I’ll throw at it, but because he loves me and I love him. There’s a simple power in that.

  Scrambled Eggs and Lemsip

  Gabe

  I’m ploughing through a knee-deep stack of papers on my desk when my phone rings. Recognising the ringtone, I smile involuntarily and reach out quickly to grab the call.

  “Hey, you.”

  “Hey, babe.” Dylan’s rich, warm voice fills my ears, making my smile wider, and then I frown when I register the hoarseness.

  “What’s wrong with your throat?”

  “It’s just a bit sore.”

  “A bit? It sounds really painful. You had that terrible headache last night too. I wonder if you’re coming down with something. Have you taken anything?”

  “Just some ibuprofen. I’ll be fine, babe. Am I interrupting you?”

  “You never interrupt me.”

  He lau
ghs. “Yeah, which was said never until I started taking your dick.”

  “Fuck!” I groan and adjust myself, checking that my office door is shut. “Dylan, for fuck’s sake, don’t say things like that. You know what happens when you start using words like dick, especially in that husky voice.”

  “Hmm, surprisingly it’s the same reaction as when I’m just asking if you want a cup of coffee. But I’m happy to find that my ailment is turning you on.”

  I laugh. “You complaining?”

  His smile is evident in his voice, but that’s nothing new. It’s one of the first things that I ever noticed about him, along with the length of his legs and that tight, biteable ass. “I’ll never complain about that, Gabe. What would be the point when I’d have a hard-on for you even if you came down with the Black Death?”

  I can’t help the growl that rumbles up at the thought of his hard cock. “Did you need me?” I ask, forcing my brain to change the subject. “Or are you just missing me as much as I’m missing you?”

  He laughs. “It’s crazy. We had the whole Christmas period off together, and then the New Year weekend in New York, so in theory, I should have been glad to wave you out of the door, but I really miss you.”

  I smile. No one has ever missed me before, and I hoard the feeling like a bear with honey. “Well, you’ll see me soon enough. The table’s booked at Primavera, as we discussed. I’ll be there at six o'clock. You’ll recognise me. I’ll be the preternaturally attractive man at the bar.”

  There’s a protracted silence, and I groan, already knowing what he’s going to say. “Fuck, Dylan, not again.”

  “I’m sorry,” he hastens to say. “I’m so sorry, babe, but Grant needs me to work late.”

  “Why, for fuck’s sake? What can you possibly do after hours?” I desperately want to rein in my snappishness, but my disappointment won’t let me. I needed him to be where I was tonight.

  Regret and a bit of defensiveness are evident in his voice. “I can’t help it, Gabe. Grant needs me to go over the corrections I gave him, and now is the only time I can fit him in.”

  “He’d like to fit in you,” I snap, and then wince. I don’t wait long for the explosion.

  “What the fuck?” His voice is ice cold. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “Oh come on, Dylan. Use your brain.” Shit. This is not going how I’d anticipated, but then nothing ever has proceeded as I thought it would with him.

  “Use my brain? I’m so sorry, but what do I normally use? Oh, I see. You seem to think that I make all my work decisions based on the demands of my cock.”

  “Well, that’s how it was with me,” I snap back, and then immediately backtrack before he can tear me a new one. “I’m sorry, Dyl. That was uncalled for.”

  “Yes, it fucking was. You were a completely different story.”

  “Why?” I hate the neediness in my voice, but I can’t help needing Dylan. I probably wouldn’t help it anyway, because it’s only by being open that I get to keep him.

  His voice softens. “Sweetheart, you’re everything to me. I fell in love with you. It’s a coincidence that it happened while I was working for you. I’d have loved you even if we met in a supermarket or a book club, and I would never do anything to jeopardise that. You do know that, don’t you?”

  I feel the anger leave me, and I sigh heavily. “I do know that, Dylan. I’m so sorry. I hate that for a second I sounded like him.”

  “You don’t sound anything like him. You’re not jealous normally. I don’t know why, but Grant really seems to wind you up.”

  “Because he wants you, and he’s unscrupulous enough to do anything to get you. You should have seen him at your Christmas party and the way he sneered at me. Well, he can fuck off and get his own man. I got you, and I’m bloody well keeping you.”

  “How I do love being equated with a bone between two dogs.”

  “He can keep his hands off your bone as well,” I snap, and then reluctantly smile as I hear his husky, warm laughter. “I really am sorry,” I say softly. “I never want you to feel guilty about working late. It would be a bit hypocritical of me after I lived in my office for so long. You should pay attention to your career. You’re very good at what you do. It’s just that—”

  “You don’t like him,” he finishes.

  I shake my head, forgetting that he can’t see me. “No, I don’t. And I’m just a bit disappointed about cancelling the meal tonight.”

  He launches into a coughing fit, and I frown as I listen to him. He doesn’t sound right. “I know, Gabe, and I’m curious as to why. It’s not like you to get so hyper over something so inconsequential.”

  I shoot a look at the ring box sitting neatly on the desk. “No reason. Just missing you.”

  “Well, I’ll be home as soon as I can, and, for fuck’s sake, get over the Grant business. He’s nothing. Fuck, if you could see the two of you together, you wouldn’t have any fears at all.”

  “I love you,” I say quickly, and I can feel his wide smile even down the phone.

  “I love you too, sweetheart, so much,” he says hoarsely.

  “Don’t work too late, and take a Lemsip, or whatever that yellow shit is that you’re always trying to force me to drink. Your voice sounds terrible.”

  He blows me a kiss down the phone, and then he’s gone.

  I sigh and reach out and open the box. Inside are two platinum wedding bands. Inside his, I’ve had Thoreau’s quote engraved: Any fool can make a rule, and any fool will mind it. Inside mine are the words, Rules are made to be broken.

  I’ve been carrying them around for months now, waiting for the perfect time. I’d considered asking him at Christmas, but I’d bought the house. I could almost predict the almighty explosion if he thought I’d spent even more money on him. Then I’d thought of New Year’s Eve, but it had never seemed like the right time. I wanted it to be right, and I wanted it to mean something to both of us.

  I shut the box. Maybe it’s for the best that he’s cancelled tonight’s meal. I know him better than I know myself, and he has an absolute hatred of overblown and extravagant gestures. They’re not him, and they make him wince when others do it. I remember the look of horror on his face when a man in the park proposed to his girlfriend with an overhead plane flying the proposal message on a banner. I try to picture what message I’d send, but the sentiment gets overloaded with snark and sass and then turns sexual. I shake my head and pull my work towards me.

  Later that evening, I sit morosely at the kitchen table, surrounded by the detritus of a Chinese takeaway and the work I brought home with me. Charlie is curled up in his basket, which I’ve dragged next to the table so he’s sitting with me. He likes company as he’s a sociable little bugger, and I like to sit with my foot resting against his basket, feeling his warmth on my toes.

  I look up at the clock and grunt. It’s ten o’ fucking clock. Where the hell is he? Visions of him being wined and dined by that turd Grant float through my head. When I start to imagine him being grabbed and kissed by the wanker, I shake my head firmly. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I trust him totally, but I’ve never felt this intense rage before.

  My phone rings and distracts me. I reach out quickly, only to slump slightly when I see that it’s Jude.

  “Hi,” I say, connecting the call.

  There’s a startled silence for a second, and then he laughs. “Fuck me. Gabe, you’ve got to stop being so enthusiastic when you speak to me. Dylan might get ideas.”

  “Dylan’s not the one getting ideas,” I say glumly.

  “Okay.” He elongates the word. “What’s up with you?”

  I sigh. “Nothing.” I pause, and then it comes out in a rush. “He’s working late, and it’s for that bastard, Grant Richards. You know he’s after him, and I can’t help but wonder if he’d be a better bet than me, and—”

  “Whoa, whoa,” he says quickly. “I think that’s enough for now. You’re right. Grant Richards is a total s
limebag, and yes he wants Dylan. A blind, oblivious man would recognise that.” He pauses. “But you’re forgetting one thing.”

  “What?” I say glumly.

  “Dylan’s in love with you, Gabe, and has been for years.” His voice warms like honey. “You mean everything to him.”

  “But Grant’s so smooth. I don’t know if you’ve heard Dylan’s ridiculous opinion that I’m difficult?”

  “I dismissed that at once,” he says seriously, and I smile.

  “Thank you,” I reply solemnly, and then sigh again like a completely sad twat. “I am difficult though, and sarcastic, and too serious sometimes, and… Bloody hell, this jealousy business isn’t fun at all.”

  “Gabe, sweet cheeks, you’re forgetting one major fact.”

  “What is that, and please, for the love of God, never call me sweet cheeks again.”

  “Your loss,” he says peacefully. “Gabe, you were difficult and sarcastic and grumpy when he met you. You’ve never put on an act. You’ve just been you, and Dylan fell in love with that you, the real one. He loves the snark and sarcasm. It appeals to something in him, probably the masochistic side.” I laugh, and he carries on talking earnestly. “Nobody ever got anywhere with him because he was always just waiting for you.” He pauses. “You’re fiddling with that bloody ring box again, aren’t you?”

  My fingers jump away from the box. “No,” I say guiltily.

  “Yeah, yeah. Gabe, you have to ask him. Please.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can’t take any more tension. Every day I think he’s going to announce it. The other morning he said he had news for me and I screamed and whooped and jumped on him, and do you know what he meant?”

  “What?” I ask, smiling. Jude never fails to cheer me up.

  “He’d got me a free copy of The Daily Mail from the newsstand.” I laugh, and he jeers. “I had to tell him that I really loved the paper and didn’t get enough time lately to read the interesting articles. I may have also segued into a ridiculous conversation about the merits of the women’s page.”

  I laugh out loud. “I’ll do it. I promise you.”