Chapter 4
Jamie
The party has come to an end. Most of the guests have already left; only a few diehards remain, clinging to one last drink.
I step out onto the patio to get some air.
I drank a little too much, which I rarely do, but I feel entitled to make an exception, just this once.
After all, I’m off tomorrow, and even though I know I’ll pay for it during training on Tuesday, I don’t really care.
Even the Captain allows himself a break now and then.
I sit down and stretch my legs, swirling the last whiskey of the day as I savour the silence and solitude of the outdoors. Before me lies the open countryside, the street lamps of the avenue twinkling below and the stars burning bright in the clear, cloudless sky.
I finally loosen my tie and toss it onto the small table beside me. Despite the cool air, I shrug off my jacket and roll up my shirt sleeves to my elbows. I no longer have to maintain the facade; I can simply relax and enjoy these final moments of tranquillity before heading to my room.
I can still hear music from inside. I glance back at the lounge’s glass window and see Ian and Riley still dancing. The brothers are now slumped in their chairs at the table, deep in conversation, likely sharing thoughts about the day as one large, close-knit family.
I look ahead once more, relax in my chair, and close my eyes as I lean my head back. Light footsteps break the night’s silence as they approach. Assuming it’s one of the O’Connors, I don’t bother turning around or opening my eyes.
“Is the party over? Is it time to put the kids to bed?” I ask.
I hear a faint laugh, then his voice.
“Are you referring to the three little pigs?”
I instinctively open my eyes and sit up straighter in my chair. The Doctor is sitting in a chair close to mine.
“The three little pigs?” I turn to look at him.
He shrugs and stares straight ahead.
The Doctor is holding a glass as well, but he isn’t drinking; he just swirls the liquid. From the colour, it looks like the same drink I’m having.
“And your son?”
“I think he’s hitting on one of Riley’s colleagues.”
I smile and turn my gaze back to what’s in front of me.
“So, Captain, how are you feeling?”
“Hmm?”
“Your sister and Ian…”
“As long as he acts like a man.”
“Right. Testosterone first.”
“He’s not that bad, but he fucked up now and then. After all, he’s an O’Connor.”
The Doctor raises the glass to his lips just as I turn to look at him again.
He pauses for a moment, then I watch the liquid slide down his throat, his neck still constrained by his shirt and tie.
After a day like this, he doesn’t flinch, while I can’t wait to strip off these uncomfortable clothes and finally breathe.
“Nice speech, by the way,” he says, glancing at me. “You and Riley must be very close.”
“We are.”
“You can tell. It’s just the two of you, isn’t it?” he asks discreetly.
“Uh-huh.”
Don’t dig any deeper, Doctor. You don’t know what you might find.
He nods thoughtfully but doesn’t pursue the subject. He remains silent, his gaze fixed on nothing.
“Are you staying here tonight?” I ask, not even sure why I’m doing this or why we’re having this conversation. I don’t understand why I’m letting my guard down, or why I feel like doing it right now, least of all with him.
“Yes.”
“And… er… alone?”
I can see his blush even in the moonlight.
“With Evan.” He takes a sip. “You…?”
“Alone,” I reply quickly, as if I might run out of breath.
“No conquests?”
“What?”
“Come on, Captain. Your reputation precedes you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Everyone is aware of your… success.”
“You’re not talking about rugby, are you?” I ask, instantly regretting the question.
The Doctor gives me a half-smile, then stands and turns away. “Well, it’s been a long day.”
He heads inside, and I search for any excuse to keep him with me a little longer.
I don’t want to go back to my room.
I don’t want to spend the night with my own thoughts.
I don’t want to be alone.
“Doctor?” I call out to him, and he stops.
I quickly catch up with him as he turns towards me.
When I get in front of him, I realise I’m shaking and feeling awkward, completely out of place.
Maybe it’s the emotions of this day, the feeling that I’ve lost everything important in my life, and the sense that everyone else can make it. Everyone except me.
Or maybe I just like the Doctor.
I don’t know how the fuck it’s possible.
And I don’t know how to make him like me back.
He raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to speak as he looks intently into my eyes.
His eyes look magical in the moonlight, as if they could hold my whole world and make it more lovely, more livable.
But I know it’s not just his eyes. It’s the alcohol, the atmosphere of this damn day.
It’s the way I can’t breathe when I’m close to the Doctor, and I can’t breathe when I’m not.
It’s the fact that I want the wrong man, and that there’s no way to stop wanting him except to have him in my bed — possibly this very night — before this insane thing becomes a destructive obsession.
I step towards him and raise my arm, brushing his shaggy jaw. His eyes widen with confusion.
I can’t look into them any longer, or I won’t be able to go on.
Before reason returns and the alcohol wears off, I take the wrong step: my hand slips behind his neck. I pull him towards me, and my mouth crashes into his.
The Doctor remains motionless, but my gesture does not frighten him. I am the one trembling, afraid I like this sensation too much: his warm, wet mouth; the taste of whiskey on his lips; his hot breath filling my lungs.
I am also afraid he does not like it at all.
I press myself against him, desperate to control what I’ve started. His hands press gently against my chest, as if to keep me at a safe distance, but I persist in my madness.
The Doctor parts his lips, overwhelmed by my boldness, and I slide my tongue into his mouth.
Christ.
In that instant, my world melts away. Everything shatters in the heat of his kiss, crumbling into useless dust. Jamie, The Captain, is about to drop to his knees on the grass, breathless and weak, overwhelmed by the storm raging through his body.
I try to resist, to fight its fury.
To remain standing.
And then, irreversibly, I fall.
I slide my other hand behind his neck, pinning him against me. His fingers clutch at my shirt as I explore his mouth, intoxicated by his taste; desire floods through my body.
The Doctor doesn’t retreat. Finally, his tongue tangles with mine, and as I feel it seeking mine, I press against him, desperate to ease the ache throbbing between my thighs.
I breathe into him and he into me, overwhelmed by this moment, by the desire to take it to the next stage, possibly in my room, with him leaning over me as I beg for his thrusts. The urge to have him for this night — just this one night — or my mind will no longer be able to go home.
Just as I think I have him in my grasp, the Doctor pulls away, gently but firmly pushing me back, his palms pressed to my racing heart. He composes himself, trying to mask his breathlessness, but he fails.
I know you enjoyed it, Doctor, and that you can’t wait to do it again.
He clears his throat, then crushes my pride and shatters my confidence. “I will not be one of your one-night stands,” he says, calm and impassive. “It doesn’t work that way with me.”
I stay silent, knowing that if I say a single word, I’ll only make myself look even more pathetic.
“I’m not impressed by your muscles, your pretty face, or the fact that you are… who you are.” His tone is harsher this time, almost annoyed. “I’m sorry you haven’t found anyone to end the night with, but you will not write my name on the wall of your conquests.”
He smooths his suit, turns away, and quickly disappears inside the venue.
I stand outside, incredulous, because I can’t believe I actually kissed the Doctor, tried to get him into bed, and got rejected.
I can’t believe the Doctor rejected me.
I can’t believe how I feel, knowing he doesn’t want me.
The Doctor doesn’t want me.
And knowing this only fuels my eagerness to have him as soon as possible, so I can rip him off, like an old band-aid, from my mind, my thoughts, and everything he is capable of clinging to, without causing any pain.
Without leaving any marks.