Chapter 8 #2
Austin frowns, but the expression is about confusion now, not pain.
He lets go of my hand, making a swirling motion in the air, like he’s writing something with a pen, or else casting a spell.
When I don’t react fast enough, he sighs heavily, then holds his hand up to his ear like he’s talking on the phone, then points at me.
“My phone? You want my phone?”
He nods and his motion changes to jabbing at the air, maybe like he’s badly typing a message.
I fumble for my phone, but manage to get it out and open the notes app, before setting it right in front of his extended finger.
Watching him type is excruciating. He moves slowly, and every so often even the simple impact of his finger on the screen is enough to make him flinch. Finally, though, a question forms.
Race. I won?
I choke on a new sob.
“Don’t worry about it. It was a stupid idea. I didn’t think it would . . . that you would . . . who won doesn’t matter.”
But he frowns and punches some more at the phone.
Itly. Quali?
Then he points at me. It takes a second to decipher what he means.
“Did I qualify for the Olympics?”
He nods once, then watches me expectantly.
“No, I fell. You won. You’re the one who qualified. Remember?”
He frowns some more, brows bunching toward the centre of his face. He points at himself, then makes a circular shape over his chest, which I finally realize is meant to be a medal. An Olympic medal.
“Yeah,” I say. “You won. You’re going to the Olympics.
I fell. Didn’t finish. Remember? You said .
. .” The rest of the sentence dies in my throat.
He asked about the race, and I assumed he meant our little match after the photoshoot.
But if he doesn’t remember that he qualified, did he mean yesterday’s race? It feels like a lifetime ago.
“You remember the Big Final, right?” I ask. “You came first.”
I expect him to smile. Maybe give me a thumbs-up.
Instead, Austin stares upward, blinking rapidly.
His chest rises and falls in time with the hiss of the breathing machine near his bedside, and I want so badly to put my hand on his chest like I did on the hillside, to make sure I could still feel his heartbeat, but I’m afraid of hurting him.
Finally, he gives a gentle shake of his head, and my breath stops for what feels like the hundredth time today.
“You don’t remember the race?” A weird sensation shudders through my body and I mask it with a smile.
“In that case, you were a disaster. Flamed out before qualis. It was a tragedy. Your worst performance this season. You’re lucky you have me because I was awesome.
First in every heat and then the Big Final .
. .” My tale fades away, because he’s watching me with the same direct gaze, but there’s no laughter.
No rolling his eyes at my blatant lies. I swallow a lump of dread that lodges in my throat.
I could tell him anything. That Canada had been disqualified from all of sport.
That aliens had landed on the mountaintop and abducted us.
He doesn’t seem to be able to tell the difference between fact and fiction.
I squeeze his hand a little tighter, then brush a hand over his forehead, like I did in the woods while we waited for help. His frown deepens.
“I love you, Grimm,” I say, voice cracking slightly.
He raises his finger, tapping at the screen some more.
Lov Zed
Cold fear blankets my shoulders and I ask the question that will confirm the worry that gnaws at my guts.
“Do you remember last night? The bar? Karaoke? Do you remember . . .” My moment of bravery snuffs out and the question shrivels on my tongue. He’s looking at me, brow still knit tight in confusion, but when I don’t speak again, he shakes his head some more, and a single tear slips from his eye.
He doesn’t remember. Any of it. He said he loved Zed. Not Bear.
And what does it matter? I’m being incredibly selfish. I want him to remember coming his brains out on my dick when he can’t even breathe without a machine. Who cares about anything else?
I have to cough to clear my throat. “It’s okay. It’s fine.” Not to worry. He’s full of painkillers and other drugs. I’m lucky he remembers my name.
The lump rises painfully in my throat again and I swallow hard, but it won’t go away.
I can’t breathe. It’s like the panic attack in the hotel room.
I clutch my hands tightly in my lap, forcing my face to stay neutral.
Austin can’t see what I’m feeling. Not now.
Not like he is. He’ll remember. When the drugs wear off and the pain subsides, he’ll remember what happened.
He said he’s been in love with me for ages. He can’t forget that.
My smile hurts as I watch him. Slowly, he lifts his hand, pointing again. I hold the phone for him as he types.
You stay
“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah. I’m not going anywhere. Don’t worry.”
We sit in silence. His eyes flutter closed, which is good because it means he can’t see me cry.
It’s more controlled than it was a minute ago.
Soft snuffling sounds as tears slide over my cheeks.
I should go. I wanted to see him and now I have.
There’s nothing I can do for him. But I can’t walk away.
So I sit there, holding his hand while he sleeps.
Eventually, I sleep too. After everything, there’s no way to keep it away forever.
My head bobs up and down as I try to get comfortable in the chair, but every position is impossible.
Somehow, I doze for a bit and dream about Austin.
He’s touching me. Kissing me. His hands roam over my body.
I’m so hard. So needy. If he would keep going a little more, I would come, but every time I get close, he disappears, leaving me to call for him.
Then he’s back and we start over, but we never get to the climax that—
A soft sound jerks me awake. At first, in my sleepy brain, I think it’s Austin, snuggled up against me and grinding gently as he silently asks for my body again. But then I blink and remember we aren’t in the hotel room. We’re somewhere entirely different and more awful.
Austin groans again, and it’s not from pleasure. He’s awake, but his face contorts and his body stiffens with pain. I can barely stand to look at him.
“Let me go get the nurse,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”
But as I stumble to my feet, the overhead light clicks on, making me stagger backward. Before my vision can clear, a shaking, sobbing form throws itself at me.
“Cedric. Oh my god, Cedric. What happened?”
The nurse from before, the one with the slutty glasses, is standing in the doorway.
“Everything okay?” he asks, shutting the light off again.
“I think he needs something for the pain,” I say, before turning my attention to the weeping woman in my arms.
It’s Austin’s mom. Donna. I’ve known her for more than half my life.
She’s driven me to races, fed me dinner.
I know the smell of her house and the place in the back row of her minivan where I scratched the seat with a pole while packing up after a race in the Laurentians.
I hid it with my coat for the whole drive home because I was sure she would make me pay for the damage, and I was a fourteen-year-old kid with no money because I’d spent it all on a new pair of ice blue skis for the winter.
When I finally admitted what I’d let happen, she’d hugged me and told me she’d raised three children and scratched minivans came with the territory.
“It’s all right,” she said. “I could never be mad at you. You’re like my own kid.”
I squeeze her, repeating the same thing. It’s all right. All right.
Finally, she lets me go to sit in the chair I just vacated. The nurse must have topped up Austin’s morphine or whatever, because his face is relaxed again and his eyes closed.
“Where’s Patrick?” I ask, looking back to the door like Austin’s father might appear at any moment.
She shakes her head. “He couldn’t make the drive.
Not with his back the way it is. We’d have had to break the trip up and .
. .” She looks up at me. Her whole face is puffy, like she’s been crying for hours.
From Ottawa to here is at least a six-hour drive with no stops.
She must have got in the car almost immediately.
“They called us this afternoon. They said there was an accident and that he was going into surgery.” Her voice breaks as she stares at her son.
After a few more minutes she holds out her hand, and I take it.
She presses it to her cheek. “I’m so glad you were here, Cedric. So he didn’t have to be alone.”
My hand shakes in hers, but she doesn’t let go.
Suddenly I feel like I’m nine years old all over again.
I want to tell her everything. How it’s my fault.
The race. That I didn’t recognize his call for help right away.
That I didn’t have my phone. I want her to absolve me like she did with the stupid minivan, but this and that aren’t even close to being the same.
I may have ended Austin’s racing career. She can’t forgive me for that.
“I didn’t want him to be alone,” I say, voice wavering.
She squeezes me again. “Of course. You’ve always been his best friend.”
I nod. That’s me. Reliable best friend. Her other son, even if I have a family of my own.
As I stand by my best friend’s side, with the woman closer to me than almost anyone besides my own parents, I’ve never felt lonelier in my entire life.