Chapter 10
Jamie felt bad that Caleb was sleeping on the couch. It did make him more comfortable, though.
Not because he didn’t want to sleep with Caleb. That actually sounded really nice—to be held in those strong arms, against his warm, broad chest.
But it was also fucking weird, right? Because Caleb loved Jamie. And Jamie didn’t even know Caleb. He also couldn’t seem to be normal around him. Anytime Caleb was in the room, Jamie’s legs turned to Jell-O, and his brain stopped working
So instead of sleeping, Jamie sat up for hours, thinking in circles about what the hell he was going to do. How were they going to coexist like this? Live together and act like Jamie knew Caleb? Or start from scratch, and Caleb would pretend not to know everything already?
Round and round his thoughts went until he got a headache and had to do some deep breathing exercises to keep from panicking.
“Fuck this,” Jamie muttered as he threw the covers off himself. His brain felt foggy, and he had to take a piss.
The loo was on the far side of the room. Trying not to wake Caleb, Jamie crept around the bed in the dark. Before he could reach the loo, his foot caught on something hard and he pitched forward.
He flung out his hands to break the fall, but instead crashed into the wall, knocking a picture frame loose. It hit the ground and shattered.
“Jamie!” Footsteps sounded from the other side of the door.
The light flicked on, and Jamie blinked against the sudden brightness.
There was a prickle in his palm. Caleb stood in the doorway, wide-eyed and rumpled.
“Jesus, are you alright? What happened?” He dropped to his knees, eyes scanning Jamie’s face.
“I’m sorry,” Jamie squeaked. “I was just trying to get to the loo. I didn’t want to wake you, I—”
“It’s okay,” Caleb said calmly. He ducked his head to Jamie’s eye level and studied his face. “Hey, look at me. Do you know where you are?”
Jamie nodded. “Yeah. Your—erm, our flat.”
“Did you hit your head?”
“No.”
“Where does it hurt?”
Jamie glanced down at his hand and quickly squeezed his eyes shut. “Uh, just my hand.”
“Stay right here, okay?” Caleb rushed into the kitchen and came back with an emergency kit. He whipped it open and started to clean Jamie’s hand.
Bile rose in Jamie’s throat from the slimy feel of the blood. The room tilted.
“What day is it?” Caleb asked.
Jamie swallowed. “Tuesday.”
“Okay. Good.” Caleb’s eyes met his again. “Stay with me, J. Eyes on me, alright? Don’t look at your hand. I know you hate blood. Just look at me.”
“It’s just—there.” Jamie pointed at the small puddle of blood he’d made on the floor. His vision started to blur.
“Here.” Caleb quickly stripped off his T-shirt and covered it. “Better?”
Jamie nodded slowly as Caleb rummaged around in the kit. He wore soft-looking joggers and no shirt, the definition of his muscles catching the light streaming in from the living room.
The nausea began to fade, and Jamie made himself focus on Caleb—not the blood.
Specifically, Caleb’s face. Because he didn’t want to ogle the man who was being nice enough to take care of him.
It would be rude to stare at the defined ridges of lean muscle, or the definition of the abs that trailed down into his gym pants, leading directly to…
Right, not ogling.
Caleb scrunched his eyebrows in concentration as he gently opened a small bandage. He pressed his lips into a tight line, the muscles in his jaw twitching slightly. Bloody hell, his jaw was cut. Jamie had the absurd impulse to reach out and brush his knuckles along it.
“You’re good at that,” Jamie slurred, not realizing that he was swaying a bit.
“It’s my job, remember?” Caleb winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I know you don’t remember.”
“Actually, yeah. I remember you’re an athletic—ow,” he hissed through his teeth as Caleb wiped the cut.
Caleb looked up apologetically and said, “Sorry, I should have warned you. I just need to clean it with alcohol so it doesn’t get infected. It should be fine now.”
Caleb quickly and efficiently bandaged Jamie’s hand. With a sigh, he sat back on his heels. “Do you have any neck pain?”
“No.” Jamie rotated his neck slowly. “Feels fine.”
“Are you sure? Did you get dizzy and fall?”
Jamie’s heart sank from the concern etched all over Caleb’s face. He was such a dick for making him worry. Again.
“Yeah. I’m sure,” he said with as much conviction as he could muster. “I feel fine, Caleb. I’m just clumsy. That’s all.”
Not looking convinced, Caleb started to pack up his emergency kit. In a moment of weakness, Jamie admired the way Caleb’s back muscles rippled as he cleaned up.
“You said you remember that I’m an athletic trainer,” Caleb asked, jolting Jamie from his stupor. “Do you—what else do you remember about me?”
“Oh, um. Well, I remember meeting you. At the pub. I remember that whole night, actually.” His cheeks heated, and he looked down at his fingernails.
“You do?”
“Uh, yeah.” He swallowed hard, because now all he could think about was that night. The feel of Caleb’s warm hands sliding along his lower back. Those talented lips sliding over the head of his cock and swallowing it…
“Do you remember anything else? About me?” Caleb’s eyes were so hopeful.
Jamie wanted to say that he remembered things.
Like the first time Caleb came to the house and charmed the pants off his mum.
Or that he remembered when Caleb spent two hours convincing Pippa that he was good enough for Jamie.
Or the time he trained for an eighty-kilometer bike ride to surprise him for his birthday…
But that would be a lie. Jamie didn’t remember any of those things. They were simply stories that Pippa told him.
“No. Just… that first night.”
Jamie looked up to find Caleb a bit closer, his eyes studying Jamie’s face. The air in the room felt thicker now, and Jamie wasn’t sure if he was still dizzy from the blood or from the arousal coursing through his veins.
“What do you remember about… that night?” Caleb’s voice had taken on a husky quality, making it hard for Jamie to think.
“You… uh, I remember you wore a Chelsea shirt.”
The corner of Caleb’s mouth twitched.
“And, um, we walked to your flat. And we, uh, talked about, well, books…” The ability to speak was getting more and more difficult.
Most likely due to the blood that should be going to his brain now being redirected to his cock, which was filling the more Caleb leaned in.
Or was Jamie leaning in? It was hard to tell, but there were only a few inches between them now.
“What else do you remember?” Caleb rasped, eyes lingering on Jamie’s lips.
“I, well, I remember…some other things,” Jamie squeaked. His entire body was on fire. Every part of him. Screaming at him to close the distance and give himself over to Caleb. His eyes drank in the lust and arousal on Caleb’s face, and then to his bare, muscular torso.
He noticed a scar on Caleb’s shoulder and, just for a moment, he couldn’t help but stare. It looked serious, starting on his back and circling around to his armpit. Was it from surgery?
He regretted staring, because Caleb leaned away and said, “I should go.” He pushed himself up to stand.
“Oh, I, but—”
“I’m glad you’re okay.” Caleb grabbed the aid kit and rushed to the door. “Call if you need anything, okay?”
Jamie took a deep breath and swallowed down all the apologies he wanted to make. There were too many, anyway.
“Okay,” he said, giving the T-shirt on the floor one last glance before he climbed into bed. He’d clean the blood up tomorrow.
Caleb snuck into their bedroom early the next morning and cleaned the blood from the floor. It wasn’t difficult. They had hardwood or LVP or some other easy-to-clean floor in their apartment, and he knew that Jamie would stubbornly try to do it himself.
It was the least he could do. He felt like shit for how he’d acted last night.
Getting that close to kissing Jamie. What the fuck was he thinking?
Jamie was still recovering and had just fallen and cut open his hand.
Jamie was confused as hell about everything in his life, and the last thing he needed was Caleb coming onto him and making him feel pressured to do something he wasn’t ready for.
Caleb’s head was so fucked these days. Overjoyed to have Jamie home, safe and healthy and in their space. But it was also torture, not being able to hold him at night and breathe him in, or kiss his lips and tell him how much he loved him.
He sighed and glanced up at the bed. Brown curls splayed over the white pillow, and Caleb waited to make sure he could see the rise and fall of his chest before leaving.
He’s alive. That’s enough.
After quietly clicking the door shut and tossing the bloody paper towels, he turned on a TV show and started cooking breakfast. He got lost in it and didn’t hear the door open until Jamie was right behind him.
“What’s this?”
“Oh!” Caleb jumped and almost dropped the egg pan. “Holy shit.” He pressed a palm to his chest and realized he was still shirtless. “Uh, eggs.”
“I’m sorry.” Jamie nervously stepped back. “I thought you heard me.”
“No, no, it’s okay. I was kinda in the zone. I get like that when I cook. There’s coffee.” He nodded to the French press that he had just prepared.
“Thank you,” Jamie said, eagerly pouring himself a cup and adding a heap of sugar. His curls were sticking out in all directions, and he had on his reading glasses. He swiveled on the stool and stared at the television. “What show is this?”
“It’s called Dandadan.”
“It’s a… cartoon?”
Caleb smiled. “Yes, it’s called anime. You actually… really like it.”
“I do?” Jamie sounded horrified, and Caleb remembered having this conversation years ago.
“Yeah.” Caleb chuckled. “Trust me, give it a shot.” He plated their eggs and toast, then pulled the sriracha out of the fridge for himself. Sliding the dish over to Jamie, he said, “Eat up.”
“Wow,” Jamie said, swiveling back around. “Do you usually cook for us?”
“Yeah, usually. I love to cook. And you…” He bit his lip to keep from saying suck at it.
Jamie’s cheeks flushed. “Oh, I know. I’m a moron in the kitchen.”
An adorable moron.
Caleb sat down and dug into his food, trying to keep himself from staring at Jamie’s sleepy face. He loved him like this—soft and cozy. He wanted to hold him to his chest and never let go.
“Is that good?” Jamie eyed the sriracha suspiciously as Caleb drizzled it over his eggs. “On eggs?”
“Yes,” Caleb said. “But it’s too spicy for you.”
“Mm, makes sense.” Jamie was a wimp with spice, the sweetheart. He wanted to like it, but even a little bit of heat had his eyes watering. He pressed his glasses up his nose and went to town on his plain eggs.
“So, I know I said I had the next few days off,” Caleb said. “But my assistant athletic trainer is sick. So I might have to go in tomorrow.”
“Oh.” Jamie scratched his head. “That’s fine. You don’t have to, like, entertain me.”
“I thought maybe you’d want to come with me. To practice. It will be super chill; it’s just a captain-led practice. Some of the women bring their kids sometimes. It’s actually pretty fun.”
You used to come all the time.
“At the Chelsea stadium?” Jamie asked.
“Yeah. Again, super chill. Doctor Wilson said you could go out a bit, as long as it isn’t stressful. And it’s supposed to be pretty nice tomorrow. Cold but sunny, I think.”
Jamie chewed on his lower lip, then took another sip of coffee. Caleb knew the telltale signs of Jamie’s nerves. The way he picked at his fingernails or sucked his top teeth. He was doing all of them, currently, and Caleb tried to tamp down the little bit of hope that was inflating in his chest.
“No pressure—”
“Okay,” Jamie said with a nod. “Yes. I’d like to come.”
“Okay.” Caleb couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face. It stayed plastered there even as Jamie turned back to the TV and cautiously watched their show.