Chapter 15 #5
There’s a pause. “Well, I should hope not.”
Memory returns in a rush, and I stiffen. “Mac?”
“That’s me, baby. Close your eyes for a second.” I obey, and there’s a click. When I open them, the room is lit by the warm glow of a lamp. I look up at Mac, who’s hovering over me.
“What time is it?”
“Midnight. I needed to wake you.”
“Why?” I whine, sounding like a horrible two-year-old.
His lip twitches, but he looks too harrowed for it to turn into a smile. “Just to check you’re alright. You were groaning in your sleep. It’s time to take some painkillers. Do you need the bathroom?”
I consider that and nod. I start to move and groan. “Help me up?”
“Of course.”
He lifts me as gently as he can, but I’m still wincing by the time I’m standing upright. “Shit,” I say, resting my head on his shoulder.
He stiffens as if surprised, but then pushes my hair back gently. “Is it feeling much worse now?”
I nod and then reluctantly pull away. He helps me into the bathroom and is only banished when I issue a stern warning. “I’m fine. I’m not peeing in front of you.”
“You’ve done a lot of things in front of me.”
“Not this .”
“Okay, but I’m standing outside the door.”
“Make sure it’s closed.”
I limp over, do my business, and then wash my hands in the sink.
I look up, glad of the low light in the room, and grimace.
I look terrible . My hair is wild, scratches are red against my skin, and I’ve got the beginnings of a black eye that’s puffy and sore.
I prod it experimentally and wince. I become aware of various sore spots on my body, and when I touch my hair, I feel a lump on my skull.
I consider getting dressed but can’t bear the idea of putting those clothes on again. All of a sudden, I want a shower. I reach into the stall and start it.
There’s a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
Mac steps in. He’s removed his tie and jacket, and his face is drawn white with tiredness. “You want a shower?” he asks gently. His voice is low and intimate, as if he knows I can’t stand any loud voices right now. “I’ll stay in here in case you fall over, but I’ll turn my back.”
I frown and wince again when pain flares. Mac hovers and I gesture to the shower, wanting to smile but knowing it’s not a good idea for my bruised face. “Get in with me.”
“What?”
“Come on. I’ve seen you naked more than anyone else in this world.”
“Are you sure?”
“Because of what happened tonight?” I ask.
“I hate that I brought you here, Wes. I hate that when we first met I used you for sex. And tonight, because you were here, and the position I put you in—that I’ve been putting you in for months —ended with this result.
” He gestures at my bruises, his eyes dark and stricken.
“You and only you should have a say in who touches your body.”
I shake my head, keeping the movement small. “I understand what you’re saying, but all that has nothing to do with me wanting you—and needing you—here with me right now.”
He studies me for a few seconds and then changes the subject. “I got you a new set of clothes.”
I don’t want to know how he managed that, so just give him a grateful smile.
He helps me into the shower, and I hiss as the water hits my cuts and emerging bruises. But I still turn gratefully into the hot spray, feeling like it’s washing away the events of tonight.
The shower door opens, letting in cool air, and I turn as Mac steps in. I gesture at his boxers. “Take them off,” I say briskly.
“Yes, but?—”
“Off, if you’re only wearing them for my delicate sensibilities.”
He grumbles but slips off his boxers and throws them out of the shower stall.
“Alright?” he asks.
I nod. I feel utterly weary again, as if I could fall down and sleep where I am.
He picks up the shower gel. “You look so tired, baby.” I should ask him about all the endearments, but they feel so nice, I just want them to continue. “Will you let me wash you? Would that be okay?”
I edge closer and smile up at him. “Yes, please.” I try to smother a yawn. “I’m so tired.”
“Quick one, then.” Despite his words, his hands are gentle and his attentions slow and sure. I turn into his hands feeling the tender care in them—so different from the other hands I experienced tonight.
Before I know I’m doing it, I cup his face. He looks up from his inspection of my bruises, his eyes startled.
“Don’t let me hear you say again how you used me,” I say firmly.
“But I did.”
I shake my head. “Listen to me very carefully. You have been nothing but good to me, and I’m grateful for everything you have done. I may regret many things in my life, but you will never be one of them.” Despite my best efforts, I can’t keep the sadness out of my voice.
He stares at me for a long few seconds, and then, to my relief, he nods. “Let’s get you dried and into bed.”
I get out obediently, standing still as he dries me carefully. The care and concentration on his face makes my heart twinge, but I need to learn how to start ignoring my heart where Mac’s concerned.
He produces some pyjama shorts and a T-shirt still in their packaging. The fabric is super soft on my sore body, and I let him dress me, feeling him drop a kiss in my hair as he finishes. “Climb into bed,” he orders.
I hesitate, but I’m allowed to be weak for just a little longer. In this quiet room, it’s as if we’ve stopped time. Tomorrow, all the problems brought up by tonight’s events will still be there, but here and now, I’m taking what I need. “With you?”
He hesitates. “I’m sleeping in the chair.”
“Don’t be silly. Please.”
“You never need to say please for that. Climb in, and I’ll be in soon.”
I slide into the sheets, feeling the duvet settle over me, and I huddle into it like it’s a cave.
Within a few minutes, he’s back in a new pair of boxers.
He slides in, settling against the pillows.
I feel his hand stroke down my side, and then he rubs my back.
The motion is gentle and lulling and full of so much care it makes my eyes hot.
Why can’t I have this? Why did I have to have my illusions about him shattered tonight?
Whenever I try to see a way forward for us after this, my thoughts get jumbled.
All I can think of is violence and pain, and the fact that he’d kept another man before me and never once mentioned it.
Was that because he cared too much about Brandon, or too little?
My head hurts when I try to make sense of it all.
I cuddle against him, feeling him stiffen. “Hold me like you don’t care,” I whisper.
“I can’t .” The words are jagged and impassioned.
“Damn you,” I say quietly.
The futility of trying to be with Mac suddenly hits me, almost as painful as the blows I’d taken earlier. I hold my breath, trying to keep from crying out.
Here we are, finally spending the night in each other’s arms, and look at the circumstances.
I know Mac cares for me in his own way. I can feel it in his touch.
But that care won’t be enough to break through the challenges between us.
We’ve never had a real relationship. And my love was built on a foundation that, like this club, was built on faulty ground.
Love can’t grow from a transaction or an unequal exchange of power and money.
I’m not sure Mac will ever understand that. And suddenly I know what I have to do.
“Hold me,” I say again, and I feel his arms band tight around me.
We lie there in silence, and I imprint everything about the moment in my memory for later. I feel his warm and shower-damp skin against mine, the flutter of his eyelashes against the skin of my shoulder, and the soft sound of his breathing.
His breaths lengthen and even out, and I stay still, making the most of this memory.
Then I edge away, holding my breath as he stirs. But he’s as exhausted as I am, and his breaths even out again. I quickly and painfully put on the clothes he left for me on the easy chair, then, finding a pad and pen on a table, I tear off a sheet of paper and write quickly on it.
I can’t do this anymore and I know you’ll be fine with that. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Goodbye.
I take one more look at him. He’s lying in sheets that smell of us, his body long and pale, his hair dark against the pillow.
I fix the image in my head, before I turn away.
He’ll be awake in an hour or so, but I don’t think he’ll be surprised that I’ve gone.
I also know he won’t follow me. I quietly leave the room, and shut the door carefully behind me.
I blink in surprise when I step into the dimly lit corridor and find Julian asleep on a chair outside the door. He comes awake with a jerk.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Waiting for you,” he says steadily.
“How did you know I’d be leaving?”
He rolls his eyes. “I know you. Are you ready to go?”
I hesitate. “I won’t be back. Do you know that?”
“I do. But I don’t think that impacts us. Do you?”
“No. So what happens next?”
“Who knows, babe.”
I look back at the door. “I don’t know what hurts more—my black eye or my heart.”
He takes my arm. “I can put an ice pack on your eye, but I can’t do anything about your heart.”
“Just be my friend, eh?”
“That I am.”
And then we turn and leave.