12. LUCAS
LUCAS
Two weeks later…
Max was starting his new job today, medically cleared and with a setup at home to do it.
They couldn’t manage the software product testing role remotely—no beta software was allowed outside the business premises—but had offered him a short-term tech support role at the same pay until he could transition.
I wasn’t too sure how it was possible to be excited about something that sounded so boring, but he was managing it.
He bounced out of my bed in the morning with a quick kiss to my lips and had disappeared into the kitchen before I could even think of copping a feel.
Was this what he was like when he was working? My big ol’ grump, suddenly full of sunshine? It was weird, though of course I was too polite to tell him I thought so.
“What time do you start?” I asked him as I wandered into the kitchen scratching my belly sleepily.
“I have to be logged on by 8:30,” he answered. “Are you on at 4 this afternoon?”
I nodded, realizing that this meant we’d be working almost directly opposite hours. He wouldn’t be done by the time I left, and when I got home he’d be fast asleep. Max seemed to have reached the same conclusion, because he frowned and said, “Oh” in a disappointed voice.
I wondered if it would be possible to ask for more standardized shifts, maybe even daytime-only shifts, so I would have more time with Max.
Should I check with the captain? Or would that be presuming too much?
Max and I were having sex—lots of sex, very enjoyable sex—but neither of us had said anything about feelings or commitment.
If I changed my shifts to match his, would he think I was being pushy?
Hell, maybe he was looking forward to getting more time to himself; I had no idea.
I bit my lip and stole a glance at him as I sat down at the table with an apple.
Should I ask? Was it time to try to define our relationship?
Because I had definitely caught feelings for this beautiful, struggling man.
But what if he laughed me off and said it was just fun?
That would not only be humiliating, but also hurt like hell.
Surely it was easier to just...not ask. And so I smiled vaguely at him and ate my apple.
Completely unaware of the metaphorical crazed gerbil running around in my head, Max smiled back around a mouthful of cereal. “I’ve also got the appointment for my first prosthetic fitting tomorrow,” he reminded me. “Three o’clock.”
That was right! His doctor had concluded at his latest check-in that his stump was sufficiently healed to support a preliminary prosthetic.
It wouldn’t be the final version, and it wouldn’t be as finely-functional, but it would be enough to get him started on getting used to putting it on and taking it off.
“You excited?” I asked, happy to get my mind off the question of whether Max cared about me.
He wiggled his hand from side to side. “Kind of? It’s a step closer to mobility, which, fuck yeah; on the other hand, I’ve been reading a lot of sites and message boards written by leg amputees and it’s apparently not terribly pleasant to wear a prosthetic, especially when you’re first getting used to it.
I won’t be weight-bearing on it immediately, but I’ll have to be careful I don’t get pressure sores or rub my stump raw, and it’ll make my muscles ache like fuck and my stump smell funky.
” He sighed. “It wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t busted both my legs at the same time, you know?
I feel like I can’t even start getting used to my prosthetic until my other leg is fully functional, and I have a ton of physio to do before that leg works right, either. ”
I reached out and took his hand with my free one, giving it a squeeze. “You’re making progress, though. Within a few months, you’ll be totally on your feet and the chair will be a thing of the past.”
He winced. “Not really. The blogs I’ve been reading also say that I’ll want to keep a chair on hand for days when I can’t stand my robo-leg.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t realized that. I guessed I could see how sometimes it would just be easier to roll than to walk, but I wished it didn’t seem to depress him that he couldn’t trash the chair. “Well, still. You’ll mostly be on your feet. Just think of the sex we could have then!”
He gave me an odd look, and I mentally ran back through my words to find where I’d lost him.
Oh. Oh, I’d implied that we’d still be doing this months from now.
Maybe he thought of this as a short-term thing, just for while he was recovering.
“I mean,” I backpedalled hastily, “the sex you could be having then. With whoever.”
His odd look changed into a frown. “Luc…”
I waved a dismissive hand. “You know what I mean. Doesn’t matter.”
His frown deepened, but he didn’t argue with me. Instead, he ate the last bite of his cereal and checked his watch. “I should go get set up; it’s 8:15.”
“Oh, yeah, go.” I waved him off and took another bite of my apple, which I’d been neglecting in the midst of all my jumbled thoughts. “I’ll try not to make any noise while you’re on the phone.”
“Appreciated.” He backed his chair up, then hesitated, looking like he couldn’t decide whether to leave the kitchen or not.
He shifted his weight from side to side for a few seconds, then seemed to make a decision.
He shot toward me, tipped his head, and pecked me on the lips.
He was gone before I could react, which was probably good, because I had no idea how to react to what had just happened.
That hadn’t been a let’s have sex kiss, or even a you’re hot kiss.
That had been an I’ll see you tonight, honey kiss.
An I’m comfortable in this relationship and with giving affection kiss.
What the fuck was going on? Was Max trying to tell me something? Had he just felt like it was the polite thing to do? Was I supposed to start giving him little kisses like that, too?
Head spinning, I finished my apple and threw away the core, then made a cup of coffee for Max, added cream and two sugars, and brought it out to where he sat at my desk.
He offered me a distracted smile when I set it down, already more focused on whatever was on his screen than on what was going on around him.
It wasn’t until I was back in the kitchen making my own coffee that it occurred to me that Max wasn’t the only one making oddly relationship-like gestures.
Who makes their fuckbuddy-slash-roommate a cup of coffee exactly the way they like it and delivers it to them, all without being asked?
What the fuck are you doing, Lucas?
***
Max was on the phone when I left for work that afternoon, so I could only give him a wave on my way out, which he returned with a roll of his eyes in the direction of the phone.
“No, sir,” he said into his headset, “I’m just saying that if you press and hold the power button for ten seconds, we can see if that resets your system and -”
I smiled and shut the door behind me. Poor guy; we’d see how excited he was about this job tomorrow morning.
I managed to keep my mind away from the crazed-gerbil thoughts during my commute to work, but by the time Rufus and I were doing rig check before our shift, it was all creeping back in again.
Finally, Rufus stopped counting packaged dressings and turned to me. “Ok, out with it.”
“What?” I mumbled distractedly, half my brain focused on checking an oxygen tank’s pressure and the rest busy with wondering whether Max and I were actually in a relationship neither of us realized was there.
“Something’s going on with you.” He shoved my shoulder playfully. “You and loverboy get in a fight?” Rufus didn’t know we’d been hooking up, but he’d taken to calling Max that anyway based on his belief—admittedly not totally misguided—that I had a massive crush on the man.
I jotted down the oxygen pressure, not looking at him. “Don’t call him loverboy.” Ignoring that, Rufus reached over and yanked my clipboard out of my hands. My pen dragged along the rig check sheet, leaving a long line of ink that drifted off the edge of the page. “What the hell, man?”
“Your brain is only half here,” he said insistently. “Maybe less than half. Whatever it is, you need to sort that shit out before our first call, because you know you’ll need to be able to focus then. So I’m offering: want to talk it over?”
I scowled. If I talked about it out loud, it would feel like I was acknowledging that it was definitely a problem. “I’m fine.”
He hummed skeptically. “Do I need to sic Jules on you?”
That got my attention. Rufus’s boyfriend was a force to be reckoned with, and not one whose questions I wanted to have to face. “No!” I yelped, causing Rufus to give me a knowing look.
“Then talk to me, Lucas. Get whatever it is off your chest.”
I sighed deeply and took my clipboard back from him. Turning away, I took out the jump kit from the cabinet it was stored in and started doing inventory. “It’s stupid,” I said without looking at him.
“Mmhm.” He went back to counting dressings, mumbling the numbers out loud every ten. At thirty, he spoke up again: “If it’s got you this much of a mess, it’s not stupid. Just tell me! Get it off your chest!”
I poked at a package of airways. Where did I even start? “Max and I -” I started
“I knew it!” he crowed.
I stopped and directed an exasperated look at him over my shoulder. “You want to hear this or not?”
He waved a hand, urging me to go on.
“Max and I,” I began again, “have sort of been...hooking up.”
I heard him slam the dressing cabinet closed excitedly. “I knew it!” he said again.
“Rufus.”
“Sorry, sorry. How long have you been hooking up for? What constitutes ‘hooking up’? I need to know these things. For...science.”
I sighed. He was just going to keep pressing, wasn’t he? “It’s been going on for a little over a week,” I admitted. “And...everything.”