Chapter 21 #2
I raise one shoulder in a shrug like he did to me earlier. “It’s always been easier for me to focus on those around me instead of paying much attention to myself.”
He shoots me a wink. “We’re gonna work on that.”
I park and round the corner of the house to find Phil holding a ladder for Javi.
“Sorry I’m late, guys.”
Javi looks over at me, flashing an easy smile. “It’s not a problem. Phil and I are competent most days.”
Phil asks me to switch places so he can start feeding wire to Javi, and I jump in and steady the ladder.
Half an hour later, Taylor opens the back door.
He makes no move to step onto the porch, but I feel him watching me.
A quick glance tells me he’s changed into a pair of his own shorts…
and he’s forgone the shirt. His hair still looks like rumpled bedhead, and I have an urge, a strong urge, to drive my fingers into it again.
But he also looks paler than when we arrived, and he’s leaning heavily on the doorframe.
“Taylor, what’s wrong?” I ask without thinking about our audience.
I really don’t care that Phil and Javi can hear me, and I’m not ashamed that Tay and I showed up together.
I just know they’re going to want to talk about it.
But I don’t focus on that for long because Taylor’s injured, and he’s clearly not good at taking care of himself.
Taylor answers with a question of his own. “Do you have my medicine? My headache is back, and it’s killing me. Way worse than it was yesterday.”
Concern for his condition takes over my rational brain, and I begin patting my pockets frantically, hoping I didn’t leave the pills at my house.
Coming up empty, I let go of the ladder and swipe my keys from the top of my toolbox.
“Uh, boss?” Javi says from somewhere above me.
I don’t look up as I answer. “Yeah, Jav?”
“My ladder’s in the grass, and uh, I’m a little unstable up here.”
I look back at the abandoned ladder.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Phil, can you grab that? I need to check my truck for something.”
Phil barely has his hand on the equipment before I’m running around the side of the house. It’ll be grossly ironic if I take time off from the fire station so I don’t injure one of those guys only to cause harm to my own employees.
I blow out a relieved breath when I find what I’m looking for in the cupholder. Racing up the stairs to the front porch, I don’t bother knocking—because the sound would undoubtedly make his headache worse—and I barrel through the front door like I own the place.
“Tay?” I call quietly. I’ve never used his nickname before, but getting this medicine to him is important, and using his whole name to find him would take too long.
I don’t have time for unnecessary syllables right now.
“In here,” he replies from a room to my left. I dash into the kitchen, grab some water, and begin unscrewing the cap on the medicine bottle, entering the living room a minute later when I stop dead in my tracks.
Taylor’s whole body is tense, like he’s trying to stave off the pain by firing every muscle he has because relaxing hurts too much. I had a migraine once and remember deploying a similar tactic.
“Sit up just enough to swallow these.” I hold my hand out, and when he makes no joke about swallowing, I know he’s in pain.
As he leans forward to take the pills, I slide onto the couch behind him, letting him lay his head in my lap. He lets out a grunt as he tries to get comfortable, and I begin massaging his scalp, his face, and the parts of his neck and shoulders I can reach.
It’s a thing of honor and beauty to be someone he trusts in this moment. To be the person whose hands he needs to relieve his pain. Let me be what you need in this moment.
Well, I’ll be damned.
Maybe we can be good for each other.
Taylor says nothing, but his muscles slowly begin to relax beneath my touch.
I lose track of time, solely focused on watching his muscles loosen one by one, tracing shapes and letters on his lineless forehead and cheeks as he sleeps on me peacefully, when suddenly the back door crashes open, making me murderous.
Thankfully, Taylor doesn’t stir.
“Boss?” Phil yells from the kitchen.
“Phillip!” I shout in a muted whisper. “Lower your fucking voice!”
Phil comes into the living room a second later. “Why are we whisperi…” he trails off as he spots Taylor in my lap. Phil’s eyes hold a thousand questions.
“It’s a long story. He has a concussion. Jet-skiing accident. It was my boat’s wake he was trailing.”
Phil nods his head. “That was lucky, I guess.”
“Yeah. Sorry I abandoned you guys out there, but he’s in a lot of pain and I couldn’t leave him.”
“It’s all good,” Phil says, keeping his eyes on me and free of judgement. “Javi got the wires in. You want us to go ahead with the light fixtures and the fan?”
“Please,” I reply. Phil nods and turns to go. “Hey, Phil?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll give you and Jav my cut for this job, but, uh, I probably won’t be much help until he’s better.”
Phil nods at Taylor. “You take care of him; we’ll take care of the patio.”
Phil’s easy answer and acceptance of what he sees before him give me a glimmer of hope. Like maybe this twenty-year age gap and sudden same-sex attraction aren’t all that strange after all.
But that’s because Phil knows me. He knows my story. He knows how hurt, damaged, and lonely I am. The rest of the world will see a predator. A grown man with a sick attraction. They’ll call him a midlife crisis or a cry for help.
I’m growing more certain by the day that Taylor is neither of those things for me.