chapter eight
October 2007
“I made breakfast.” Seb’s voice, although light, had an air of exasperation to it that Jay could hardly blame him for.
“Ain’t hungry.” Jay’s muffled reply was shrouded by the mound of soft pillows that he had his head buried amongst.
The soggy remnants and bitter, stagnant scent of tears smeared into the soft cotton had become an all-too-familiar wakeup call for Jay over the past few months. He’d obviously fallen back to sleep and lived in another reality for a while. One where he wasn’t broken. Damaged. At the ripe old age of twenty-four. The scratching of metal poles along the curtain rail had snapped him back to reality, and the usual morning throbbing pain caused his outright depressive mood. Can’t snap me outta that, can it?
“I didn’t ask if you were hungry.”
Jay didn’t move. He couldn’t breathe under the pillows. Certainly not for long anyway but he vowed to remain there until he could be alone again. He couldn’t face Seb’s pissed-off face, or worse his sympathetic, let-me-look-after-you one. Seb, unfortunately, had also become all too familiar with Jay’s tactics and was obviously waiting it out until he came up for the essential oxygen.
Eventually, Jay scraped his head to the side and sucked in the cool air. Peeping open one eye, he prepared for whichever Seb waited for him at the end of his bed.
Seb looked like he’d been punctured. “You need to get up. I’ll help.” He stepped forward.
“I’m fine lying down.”
Seb shuffled back and chewed his bottom lip. The usual appearance of a man who was treading on egg shells. Jay had put them there, yet couldn’t muster the strength to clear them up.
One operation hadn’t immediately fixed the problem on his knee, and the couple of months suggested recovery time had now crept by with no real progress to Jay’s damaged anterior cruciate ligament—a rather important part of his knee that enabled for a pain-free walk, let alone sprint running. So they’d gone for full-out physiotherapy and rest, that Jay had taken to mean he shouldn’t move. Or that was what his crippled self-confidence was telling him.
“Put some clothes on and come downstairs.” Seb slid open the walk-in wardrobe.
“There was a time you wanted the opposite of that.” He had no idea why he thought that would be the best thing to say at that moment. Or any moment, for that matter. So he shoved his head firmly back between the pillows to avoid the catastrophic response he knew would spill forth any moment now.
Seb yanked a T-shirt out from the wardrobe so hard that the hanger slipped off the rail and landed on the floor with a clang. “You can face me when you say shit like that.”
Jay curled his hands into the sheets, digging his balled fists into the mattress and pushed up. Twisting around, he brought his good leg under him. Searing pain shot through from his left knee up to his spine and he sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. First thing in the morning was always the worst. Then he noted the time on the bedside clock. Okay, so late afternoon was now his first thing. Gone were the six a.m. runs. He grunted, making it into a sitting position to face Seb at the end of the bed. Being out of breath hurt more than his battered knee joint.
“Do you need the pills?”
Jay shook his head.
“I’m trying, Jay. Tell me what you need me to do and I’ll do it.”
“Haven’t you got somewhere you’d rather be?” Jay tried to widen his eyes to make that statement more of a flippant question, but his crusted eyelids prevented him from achieving it.
“Like where?”
Jay shrugged. “Rehearsals? The studios? Wherever else it is you go all the time.”
“Fuck’s sake, Jay. I asked you. I fucking asked you! You said, go. You said you wanted to deal with this on your own. So I kept gigging. I’ve got a career too.” Seb paused, swallowing, possibly realising he shouldn’t have let that tumble out. “Sorry.”
“I know you have.”
“I’m here now. And you need to move. And eat.”
“Sorry, when did you get your physio degree? Before or after the other one you didn’t complete?” Jay bit his lip, wondering why he hadn’t clamped down on his tongue. Pain and frustration had created a monster of him.
Seb stomped over to the chest of drawers, cracked open the bottle of painkillers on the side and shook two out. He held them out open palmed to Jay.
“I ain’t takin’ them.”
“Why not?”
“You know why.”
“These aren’t your problem.” Seb curled his hand into a fist. “Maybe I am.” He grabbed Jays jogging bottoms lying on the floor and chucked them at him.
Jay caught them, holding onto the garment as if it would prevent the fallout. It didn’t. “Seb—”
“You keep being a prick about this. I can take it.” Seb twisted and marched out of the bedroom, his feet stamping down the stairs and into the kitchen shaking the open doors of the wardrobe and Jay’s resolve.
Bollocks.
The water from the exploding shower taps splattered onto Seb’s jeans. He cursed, twisted the taps off and grabbed a tea towel to wipe himself down. After slapping the cloth on the counter, he curled his hands around the sink and leaned forward to gather some inner peace.
He was completely, fucking, helpless and at a loss what to do next. His options to deal with this morning’s encounter ranged from punching Jay in the face to wake him up from his stupor, to throwing him over the kitchen counter and fucking the dejection out of him. Neither of which he knew was the right thing to do and would probably only serve to make him feel better in the short-term rather than dealing with Jay’s decline into his heavy depression. Plus, he’d been there and it never worked. He shuddered.
The past couple of months, he’d sympathised, offered support, and had steered clear of complaining at the lack of intimacy that Jay had put down to the pills he’d been taking, yet Jay had never turned to him. Seb had a shoulder for him to cry on, but it was still bone dry. He was losing hope that this was all about the injury and Jay not being able to play football. It was about him. And that hurt beyond belief. He didn’t know how to counter that.
Inelegant stomps from out in the hallway followed by insufferable grunts of agony snapped Seb to. He cleared his throat and shook himself, washing up the pans in the sink to conceal his frustration at being so inept to deal with this. He’d never been a carer. He’d always been the one to be taken care of—by his father’s money, by Yulia, by Stephen. By Jay. He was trying to step up, before Jay came to the realisation that Seb was just one more useless limb he didn’t need to lug around.
Jay limped into the kitchen and rested against the counter. Seb remained with his back to him, his chest tightening with what was coming next. Why did he fear his boyfriend’s presence all of a sudden? Maybe that had been why he’d accepted to be away for so long during Jay’s recovery time, because it was easier for him not to have to face it. Guilt surged through Seb. What a bastard. I can’t even help the man I love. Surely this wasn’t how it was meant to be. Not this soon in their relationship?
Grabbing the knot inside him, Seb rammed it right down in his stomach to forget it was there and finally turned around. Jay twisted one of the stools out from under the counter and sat, straightening his leg out and rubbing his knee. Seb swore he did that out of habit than because of any real pain, but he daren’t ever say that. Pretending not to notice, Seb pushed over a plate along with cutlery but without accompanying words. Apologies didn’t come easy to him, and he wasn’t sure he should offload his own guilt on Jay right then. That wasn’t fair either. Jay tugged the plate toward him and grabbed the fork, but pushed the overcooked eggs and undercooked bacon carelessly around.
Ignoring it, Seb sat and dived right into his and scrolled through the open laptop next to him.
“I’m sorry.” That had been said in a whisper and straight at Jay’s plate, but Seb peered up anyway and clung on to the words with renewed hope.
Head bowed, Jay shoved the eggs around the porcelain. He looked defeated and Seb couldn’t hold it in any longer. He had to do something, regardless of any rejection that he’d been all too used to the past few months. Willing that ball of rage in the pit of his stomach to dissolve, Seb staggered up from his seat. Sliding his hands onto Jay’s shoulders from behind, he rested his chin on his head and inhaled the scent of Jay’s unwashed, tousled hair. After a moment, Jay twisted in the stool. He spread out his legs and slipped his hands onto Seb’s hips to tug him forward. Staggering, Seb fell between Jay’s open legs and wrapped his arms around his neck.
Jay buried his face into Seb’s chest, holding him close. He inhaled, as though he was breathing Seb in for the first time. Running his fingers through the base of Jay’s hair, Seb tugged at the strands, forcing Jay to look at him. When he did, and those sad blue eyes met with Seb’s, Seb kissed his forehead and willed for that kiss to be Jay’s kiss of life. Of love. Of everything he needed to get himself out of the dark clouds.
“You’ve got to stop this, baby. It’s killing me.” Seb spoke lightly, a conscious effort not to fuel any looming argument. “Us…you.”
“I know.”
Seb sighed and closed his eyes, content to let Jay cling to him. It was the most body contact they’d had in weeks without Jay pushing him away. His vibrating mobile phone interrupted the moment, but Seb ignored it.
“Ain’t you getting that?” Jay slipped his arms away, leaving Seb cold.
“Whoever it is, they aren’t as important as you.”
Leaning forward, Seb kissed Jay’s lips. It was a brief and light, but, fuck, it sent ripples of anticipation through Seb. Especially when Jay kissed him back. It had been too long since he’d felt the connection, the yearning, the familiar touch. If there had been any recent kissing, it had felt cold and distant with Jay’s injury and the month of anguish to recover from it. But the warmth emanating from Jay’s dry lips compelled Seb to want more. He needed to know that his Jay was still in there and wanted to come back out.
He eased his tongue into Jay’s mouth and Jay opened up, physically, and Seb hoped, mentally. He allowed their tongues to curl together for just a moment before Jay hesitated and pulled back out. Slumping forward, Jay rested his forehead against Seb’s chest.
Fuck. Disappointment surged through Seb. His rage wasn’t for Jay, not really. It was for that fucker who’d slammed his studded foot full force into his lover’s knee and in damaging it, seemingly beyond repair, had potentially ended not only Jay’s football career, but robbed him of the confidence and self-esteem that Seb had fought so hard to help him win.
Dragging his hands through the back of Jay’s hair, Seb hugged him to his chest, hoping to coddle away the torment. He kissed the top of Jay’s head before pulling away and reaching for his phone to check the incoming message.
“Shit.” Seb shoved in the remaining food on his plate.
“What’s up?” Jay popped a piece of toast into his mouth and struggled with swallowing it. Regardless, Seb believed the eating to be a good sign.
“I have to go out again.” Seb hated that he had to leave just at the point he might be getting somewhere with Jay. “We’ve got the go-ahead for that central London location. Y’know, the new video? But we have to scout it now.”
Jay nodded and reached over the counter to grab his own phone that he’d ignored for days. Sighing, Seb brushed Jay’s shoulder blades as he passed him to walk towards the exit.
“Seb,” Jay called, faintly, but enough that Seb picked up the plea in his name. “I love you.” His lips curved into a despondent smile and he laughed, shaking his head in some absurd display at mocking those vulnerable words that Seb had been craving.
Seb ached. Those words weren’t said in the usual casual, carefree way. They weren’t lip service to a relationship that had survived through separation, through class division, through family abandonment and two high-profile careers, amidst all the prejudice. They were a call for help. That was his Jay, asking him for help. Wasn’t it?
Rushing back, Seb cupped Jay’s chin in his hand and lowered his head to look him in the eye. “I love you too.” He dug his fingers so hard into Jay’s skin he could leave bruises. “So. Bloody. Much. You remember that. If nothing else, remember that I love you.”
Jay wrapped his arms around Seb and held him close, snuffling into his shirt. Seb clasped his arms around Jay’s neck, holding him steady.
“We’ll get through this.” Seb was trying to convince himself, as well as Jay. He hoped he pulled it off. “We will. You will.”
Jay sniffed, swiping a hand under his nose and squaring his shoulders to shrug off the vulnerable display. “Go on. I’m all right. I’ll see ya laters.”
Seb didn’t want to go. But he needed to.
So he did, feeling as though his legs were made of lead.