Never Too Late

Chapter Twenty-one

We arrived at the hospital to Henri just leaving Laurent’s room, the handsome Frenchman’s face lighting up with a smile when he saw me. I had no idea why he’d pursued me with such dedication since my arrival in Paris, when I hadn’t exactly been a barrel of laughs. Perhaps he had a thing for moody men. In which case, I fit the bill perfectly.

“Finlay,” he said, his accent stronger than Laurent’s. “I did not know you were coming tonight. Had I known, I would have made my visit later, so it coincided with yours. No matter, we are both here now. Perhaps when your visit is complete, we can get a drink somewhere and discuss Laurent’s recovery. The broken leg is going to mean he will require his friends’ help. And we are both his friends, are we not?”

Henri hadn’t looked away from me once, Cillian apparently achieving invisibility in his eyes. “We are,” I agreed. “Tonight’s not a good time, though, Henri.”

“Non?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll hire a nurse for him,” Cillian said with a bite in his voice, “if that’s what’s required. Therefore, no tête-à-tête between the two of you is needed.”

Cillian inviting himself to the conversation forced Henri to either acknowledge his presence or risk coming across as rude. Henri delayed turning his head long enough that I knew he was tempted to ignore Cillian. I had an inkling Henri knew exactly who Cillian was as the two men eyed each other like they were contestants in an episode of The Bachelor and I had the starring role.

I hadn’t thought to mention Henri to Cillian. Why would I when nothing had happened between us and I’d never given Henri even the slightest encouragement? No doubt Cillian was wondering why one of Laurent’s friends seemed hellbent on getting me alone. Seizing hold of Cillian’s hand, I yanked him closer to my side. “Cillian, this is Henri. Henri, Cillian. Cillian’s my boyfriend. We’re recently reunited.”

The two men shook hands, contact between them as minimal as they could make it and it still classify as a handshake. I was beginning to think all I’d needed to do in London to wrest Cillian’s attention away from his work was to have another man show interest in me. If only I’d realized that, it could have saved us both a lot of trouble.

“I see,” Henri said, his throat bobbing. “Well, that’s…” He trailed off, either unwilling or unable to complete his thought. He tried for a smile in my direction, the action not quite coming off. “Laurent will be very pleased to see you.” With that, he turned on his heel and made a hasty departure.

“I think you just broke his heart,” Cillian said as we watched him leave.

“At least I stopped you two from dueling in the car park.”

A slow smile crept over Cillian’s face. “I would have won.”

“What makes you so sure?”

The smile grew wider. “I work in advertising. I fight dirty. He wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

I gave the statement the response it deserved, which was to roll my eyes. “Wait here,” I instructed. When Cillian opened his mouth to argue about being so summarily dismissed, I slipped inside the room and closed the door before he had a chance to. I’d just narrowly averted one pissing contest, so I wasn’t up for Laurent and Cillian getting into another one so soon.

Laurent was propped up on hospital pillows, and while he didn’t look great—more of his face covered in purplish bruises than wasn’t —it was a vast improvement on that first day when I’d had to search for evidence it was really him. His smile when he attempted one was lopsided, and short-lived.

“Does it hurt?” I asked as I approached the bed.

“Does what hurt?”

“Smiling.”

“Always,” he quipped. “Why smile when you can frown? I learned that from a pasty Englishman.”

I pulled a plastic chair closer to the bed and sat. “That pasty Englishman being me, I presume?”

“Of course.”

I rubbed my hands over my thighs while I tried to think of something to say. I’d spent two days lamenting the fact that I couldn’t talk to him, and now I could, the words just weren’t there. “I’m sorry that—”

“Don’t!”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“You were going to apologize for not escorting me home, like I am some… damsel…” He paused after the word, waiting for my nod of confirmation that he’d used the correct word before continuing. “Some damsel in distress and you are my big, butch security guard.”

“Well, yeah, that was what I was going to say, minus the damsel and the big, butch security guard part, anyway. If I’d come home with you…”

“If you’d come home with me, maybe the bus would have hit both of us. You do know the driver lost consciousness and swerved off the road, and that it wasn’t that I in my stupidity stepped in front of it?”

I winced. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Well, there you go then. You need to know the full story before you go apologizing for things that are not your fault. You just missed Henri, by the way.”

“I saw him.”

Laurent hitched himself higher on the bed, the slight gasp that escaped his lips giving away the effort it took. He slumped back against the pillows and studied me from beneath his eyelashes. “Want to tell me why you’ve got stubble rash on your neck?”

I automatically lifted a hand to my neck and rubbed it before realizing my mistake. “I haven’t.”

“No. But it is interesting that you thought it might be possible.”

“I was upset,” I confessed, “after your accident. Cillian rushed to Paris to support me.”

“And?”

“And things have been good.”

“How good?”

The words came out in a rush. “He’s been staying with me, and he’s going to move here. He’s got plans for the two of us to get a place together. And…” Heat rushed to my cheeks. “He told me he loves me.”

“Hmm…” The familiar noise of consideration made me hanker even more for those times when I’d been able to talk at Laurent rather than to him. “And where is he now?”

I jerked my head toward the door. “Outside, waiting for me. I thought it best if I came in on my own.”

“That wasn’t very kind of you, Finn,” Laurent chided. “You better invite Cillian in.”

It was a toss up what was more shocking, Laurent finally deigning to use Cillian’s name, or him wanting the other man inside his hospital room. Despite my misgivings, I got up to do as Laurent had instructed. I wasn’t about to argue with the man who’d lost his spleen. I’d just reached the door when Laurent called after me. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

I turned with a frown. “For what?”

“I got run over by a bus so you two could finally have sex in the same room.”

“I never said—”

Laurent’s scathing look stopped me in my tracks. “Oh, please. It’s written all over your face. And you talked, right? And sorted everything out?” I nodded. “Then you should be extremely grateful that I was the catalyst for bringing him back here. I expect to be the best man.”

“We’re not—”

“Not yet. But if you do.”

I yanked the door open before he could say more, Cillian exactly where I’d left him. I stood aside and swept an arm out in front of me. “You have been cordially invited to visit with Monsieur Dupont.”

Cillian stepped inside, putting an arm around me, that was either proprietary or protective depending on your viewpoint, as we walked toward the bed. “You look rough,” Cillian said to Laurent in lieu of a greeting.

Laurent angled his head my way. “You may have to translate… You know, on account of the thick accent.” It might have been convincing if he hadn’t said it with a smirk.

I nudged Cillian. “Say something nice.”

He looked disgusted at the idea. “Why do I have to be the one to—”

“Because I got run over by a bus and I’m in a vulnerable state,” Laurent interjected, sounding anything but vulnerable. “And I’m still coming to terms with the loss of my spleen.” He reached over and rapped on the cast that came up to mid thigh through the covers. “Oh, and I have this to contend with.” Laurent crossed his arms over his chest, tipped his head slightly to one side, and waited.

Cillian looked like he was chewing on a wasp. “Maybe we could…” I said, starting to feel guilty that I was letting this happen.

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” Cillian said flatly.

“ That is so sweet,” Laurent said with fake saccharine sweetness. “Isn’t that sweet, Finn?”

“It’s something,” I said.

Laurent cleared his throat. “I’m glad you’re not dead too, Cillian.” He looked to me again. “See! We can get along for your sake.”

If that was getting along, there was an awful lot of work to be done before I could leave them in a room together.

“I need a few minutes alone with your boyfriend,” Laurent said to me, as if reading my mind.

“I don’t think…”

Cillian leaned over and kissed my cheek. “We’ll be fine. I have many faults, but—”

“You do indeed,” Laurent half coughed, half said.

“I have many faults,” Cillian repeated with a steely glare Laurent’s way, “but attacking a man in a hospital bed is not one of them.” He flicked a hand Laurent’s way. “And he couldn’t attack me even if he wanted to. He’s as weak as a kitten.”

“Kittens still have claws,” Laurent pointed out. “It pays to remember that.” He lifted his gaze my way. “You’re still here. Shoo.”

“Shoo! I know you didn’t just say that.”

“Please shoo?”

“Better,” I grumbled. When I still didn’t move, both men stared at me. “Fine,” I said, throwing up my hands in a gesture of defeat. “Have at it.” I backed off a couple of steps. “Just… don’t make things worse. Either of you.”

I regretted my decision as soon as I was out in the corridor, pacing doing nothing to improve my disposition. I comforted myself with the knowledge that raised voices would carry, and as yet, there were none. An agonizingly slow five minutes passed with no sign of Cillian. Another two crawled by before he finally appeared. “He wants to sleep,” he said, “so he said he’ll see you tomorrow.”

I peeked into the room to find that Laurent had slid down in the bed and closed his eyes. Leaving him to it, the end of visiting hours rapidly approaching anyway because of our late arrival, I caught up with Cillian and fell into step beside him. “Well?” I questioned when he said nothing. “Are you going to tell me what the two of you talked about?”

“I think he mostly made threats of what would happen if I don’t treat you the way you deserve to be treated.”

“He either did or he didn’t.”

Cillian’s brow furrowed. “He slipped into French halfway through, so it became difficult to keep up with him. There was definitely something about my balls and a vise. Unless, it was his balls, and then I’d be far happier never knowing what was said.”

“He’s a good friend,” I said. “I’m lucky to have him in my life.”

“It’s actually quite nice,” Cillian admitted, “to know that someone is lurking in the background, ready to tell me if I screw up.” He laced his fingers with mine. “But… if you tell him I said that, I’ll deny it.”

I smiled, but said nothing.

Sweat still dried on my skin as Cillian turned on his side so our faces were close together on the pillow. “You still haven’t told me what you think of my plan.”

I settled myself more comfortably. “Which part?”

“Me moving to Paris?”

I tamped down on the flicker of excitement that made me want to grab him and initiate the next round of sex, despite only minutes having passed and neither of us being physically capable of that quick a turnaround, and concentrated on the practicalities rather than the emotion. “Do you really think you can make it work? What about your family? What about Amrita? Have you spoken to them?”

“Of course I have. My family wants whatever makes me happy. Although, they’re a little confused why I’m moving countries to be with someone they’ve never even met.”

I let out a huff of laughter. “I bet they are. Me and them both. My family will want to meet you, too.”

“We should have a big family get together,” Cillian proposed. “Get it all over with in one fell swoop. We could book them all into a hotel here.”

“My family would like that,” I said. “They keep talking about coming to see me.”

“And as for Amrita…” The corners of Cillian’s lips twitched up into a smile. “She’s a smart cookie. I think she saw the writing on the wall when I dropped everything to come here the first time, and she’s been waiting for me to get my act together ever since.”

“You’ll miss her,” I said, phrasing it as a statement rather than a question.

“You think I’ll get enough time to miss her without her being on the other end of the phone or a video call?”

“It won’t be the same,” I pointed out. “I just want you to have thought everything through. I can’t afford for you to do this and then regret it a couple of months down the line.”

Cillian reached over and tucked a rogue lock of hair behind my ear. “I can’t afford that either. Not unless I want to end up with my balls in a vise courtesy of your protective mother hen.”

I laughed. “I bet Laurent didn’t say that.”

“I bet he did.” Cillian was silent for a few moments. “So I’m moving to Paris. What about the rest of it?”

“The rest of it?”

“A new place together? A bigger one. Maybe one more central.”

“I wouldn’t be able to pay half the rent.”

“You could pay what you pay here. Or nothing at all. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“You don’t think we should take things more slowly?”

“Do you?” The intensity of Cillian’s gaze said he was trying to guess my answer from micro-expressions before I said it.

I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. There came a time when you had to stop guarding your heart against future heartbreak and just go for it. That didn’t mean letting go was easy. Cillian might have wormed his way back into my life through slow degrees, but only one person decided how firmly planted he was in it.

“I love you, Finn, and all I want to do is make you happy. So… just name your expectations and I’ll endeavor to meet them. Want to live together… great. Don’t want to live together… not so great, but I’ll cope, and I’ll still move here and work on getting you to change your mind, whether that takes months or years.”

I rolled back onto my side and pulled him in for a kiss. “I don’t think I can handle a Cillian King move in together campaign. I’m not strong enough for it. So…” I announced, letting it hang there for just long enough that I could savor the hope in his eyes. “We better move in together straightaway, and I don’t care whether that’s a palace or a hovel.”