To: Dylan Mitchell

From: Gabe Foster

 

One Month Later

The firm knock on the door startles me from my position under my desk where I’m fiddling with the printer wires. I jerk and bang my head hard. “Shit, bollocks, fuck!” I mutter, and then still and raise my head apprehensively, wondering who’s at the door that might have heard that.

I’m greeted with a deep, masculine chuckle, and for a second I worry that it might be Richard, but then I remember he’s avoided me since that night like I have leprosy. I relax as I see Henry standing at the door.

“Thank God it’s you,” I mutter as I stand up and smile contentedly when the printer whirrs back into action.

He looks instantly interested, his hazel eyes gleaming. “I’ll admit that many men have said that before, but not usually in an office situation. Why?”

I shake my head and tsk disapprovingly. “Because I can’t let bad language loose like that here.”

“Dylan, I’ve heard you use bad language many times before.”

I shrug. “Well, Gabe didn’t mind …” I trail off.

He smiles. “I’ve heard him use it a fair few times as well, most noticeably when you spilt tomato juice down his light-grey Armani suit.”

“It looked like he’d been shot,” I say fondly, remembering the tantrum. Then the subject matter sinks in, and I stiffen. “Why are you here?” He starts, and I grimace. “I’m sorry, that was a bit abrupt. Why are you in the building?” I smile. “Selling your life story?”

He laughs. “Too many litigious stories there I’m afraid for any publisher to be comfortable.” He pauses. “No, actually I stopped by to see if you fancied grabbing lunch with me?”

I stare at him and he shifts. “Why?”

He smiles and makes a helpless gesture. “Can’t an old friend take another old friend out for lunch?”

“They certainly can,” I say levelly. “And if we were actually friends that would make perfect sense.”

He looks slightly hurt. “Aren’t we friends then, Dylan?”

I sigh. “You’re Gabe’s friend, Henry, and I was just his assistant.”

“Not just his assistant,” he says sharply. “Unless they’ve changed the job description for that particular career while I haven’t been looking.” He smiles wolfishly. “I may become much more involved with hiring new staff if that’s the case. So many men, so little time.”

“Well, I’m afraid Gabe would be shit out of luck,” I say coldly. “He’s fucked most of London. There can’t be that many left to employ.”

He stares hard at me, and for a second I think he’s going to give me a cutting reply. He is Gabe’s best friend, so I’d expect nothing less, no matter how much I like him. But then he relaxes and holds his hands up pleadingly. “Just one lunch, Dylan. That’s all I’m asking for.”

“Why?”

“I need to talk to you,” he replies, clearly unwilling to say more, and I shrug.

“Okay, one lunch.”

Half an hour later I stir in my chair at the wine bar he’s brought me to. It’s in the basement of the offices of a big firm of lawyers and is consequently very busy. I shoot a quick, surreptitious look around to check that Gabe isn’t lurking. I’ve got a feeling that he often used to meet Henry here.

“He’s not here, and he’s not coming.” Henry’s voice breaks into my perusal of the room.

I turn back to him. “I thought you were going to try some sort of silly stunt to get us to talk,” I admit, lifting up my glass of wine and taking a deep gulp.

He shakes his head. “I admit I considered it, but I like it here. I’ve no wish to get thrown out when the furniture starts flying around.”

My head shoots up. “That would never happen.”

He shrugs, looking at me intently. “Anything’s possible with you two. When there are deep feelings involved, anything is possible, including property damage.”

I set my glass down sharply. “There aren’t deep feelings, Henry. Don’t be ridiculous.”

He leans forward challengingly. “Really? Don’t bullshit me, Dylan, because I’ve been in the same room as you two many times. It’s like there’s an invisible string connecting you and him. You even think alike. Sometimes the tension was that strong I needed to leave. I’ve never seen any two people who were more meant to be together.”

I gape at him, unable to see where all this is coming from. “You sound like you’ve been reading Mills and Boon.”

He shakes his head looking almost disappointed in me, and I feel a sudden, brief sense of shame for denying what we had. I sigh. “Okay, you obviously know that there was something, but when it’s as one-sided as our relationship was, it can’t last. It’s like running a car without fuel. Eventually, it grinds to a halt.”

“But it wasn’t one-sided,” he says, leaning forward in agitation. “I wish you could see how he really feels about you. It’s so clear if you’d only look. If you’d only take the time.”

“I did take the time, and it was extremely clear how he felt.” I’m stung because I thought he’d come to commiserate, not criticise. “It was clear when he told me that I was good for a clandestine fuck, but nothing else. It was abundantly clear when he tried to make me shag another fuck buddy of his so that I could get my pesky feelings out of the way.”

“Shit.” He sits back and runs his hands over his hair, the dark-red strands glinting in the light. “That’s not the full picture. I just wish you could -” He breaks off in agitation. “It’s such a fucking mess, Dylan.”

“It’s not a fucking mess,” I say clearly. “It was a fucking mess, and now it’s over.”

“Really, because you don’t look so good, and my best friend looks like death warmed up.”

Against my will that goddamned, fucking concern springs up in me. I wish it would just fucking die, but it won’t, and against my will, I ask, “Is he ill? He didn’t look well the last time I saw him.”

A flicker of relief crosses his face, almost too quick for me to catch it. “Yes, I heard about that in all of its gory detail. Not his finest hour.”

“Not mine either,” I mutter. I look up. “Is he ill, Henry? Tell me now.”

“He’s not good,” he says in a low voice. “He misses you.”

I shake my head and lean back, agitated. “Why? Why the fuck does he miss me, because he had me, Henry. He had all of me right in his hand, but he opened his fingers and threw me away. So why the fuck should he miss me, and why the fuck should I even be bothered?”

“Because you don’t know the full story,” he bursts out passionately and loudly, making nearby tables look up at us before they go back to their conversations. Lowering his voice, he leans towards me. “Listen, I’m going to take a risk and tell you something.” He looks torn. “I’m breaking a confidence here. A confidence I was very honoured to get, because Gabe doesn’t tell anyone anything about himself that might make him vulnerable.”

I shift uneasily, torn between wanting desperately to know anything that might explain the enigma of Gabe Foster, but equally worried about the fact that it’s private. Concern wins out. “Don’t tell me anything if it’s private. You’re the only real friend that Gabe has. I’d hate for you to lose each other over this. He needs you.”

He smiles, a real, gentle smile that reaches and warms his eyes. “Now I know I should tell you, because you really care for him and see him, so I know it’s safe with you.”

“Is it about his time in care? Because he’s already told me about that.”

He looks surprised, his mouth gaping open for a second. “Fuck, he never tells anyone about that.” I feel a loose tendril of warmth around my heart, and squash it quickly. Henry stares at me. “Did he tell you why he was in care, Dylan?”

I shrug. “He told me his mum and dad died, and his grandmother was too infirm to care for him. Was it something like a car accident?”

He looks sad. “I wish. That would have been better for Gabe.” He shakes his head, and seems to gain resolve. “His dad killed his mum, Dylan.”

Shock slams into me and my hand jerks, knocking into my glass and making it wobble alarmingly. Henry catches it and sets it right, staring down at the glass and tracing its stem absentmindedly.

“He was a very powerful financier, made a lot of money. They had it all. An apartment in the city, a villa in Italy, and a beautiful house in the country. That was their main home, and Gabe’s mum stayed at home with him. Apparently, they were happy for a while and wanted Gabe to have a childhood away from the city. Then the recession happened, and his dad lost a lot of money. There were accusations of insider trading, and he started to drink. Apparently, he’d always drunk heavily because the city has those sort of machismo traditions, but it became an addiction. Steadily, he started to grow paranoid, and they began to argue a lot. He’d accuse her of being unfaithful to him, telling her he knew that she was planning to leave him and take Gabe. He accused her of sleeping with old work colleagues, even the bloody local landlord, and no matter what she said, it got worse.”

“Gabe witnessed all this?”

“Some of it. He witnessed a lot of the major arguments. The rest of it he found out from reading court documents when he was emancipated from care.”

“What happened then?” I whisper.

He winces. “Apparently, he’d been drinking for two days straight, and she’d finally had enough. She packed a bag for Gabe and herself and was going to take him away. They actually managed to leave, but Gabe had left his teddy bear behind. He was only a little boy, and he was attached to it and cried, so his mum went back. She made him stay at the gate, but I’m afraid that when he heard the shots, he ran straight back into the house.”

My mouth dries and my stomach heaves. “Did he see anything?”

He takes a deep, almost desperate gulp of his wine. “They were both dead when he got there. His dad had shot her as soon as she walked in the house, then turned the gun on himself. The neighbours heard the bangs and called the police. The police found Gabe sitting by his mum’s body.”

“Oh my God, he never said anything,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “Don’t take it personally. He doesn’t talk about it at all. The only reason I know is because we shared rooms at uni and he had a few nightmares. We were already friends by then, and he felt close enough to tell me. He was shaken that night, enough to need a friend.” He smiles sadly. “It was the last time we spoke about it. He never mentioned it again and acts like I don’t know, but I can’t forget it and I wanted you to know, Dylan, because it’s the reason for everything. He doesn’t trust love, and he doesn’t want it, because to him, it’s death.”

I think back to that night on the farm, when he’d woken from a bad dream and made love to me so furiously. It was the start of him drawing away, and looking back, it had probably been brought on by being with my family. I wince. That happy family setting must have been like grinding salt into a cut for Gabe, who’d never had it himself.

For a brief second, I’m filled with this absolute resolve to go to him, to find him and soothe him. But then I remember the awful things we flung at each other the last time. So many horrible things had been said, and he was so final at the end. He doesn’t need soothing anyway. He lives a strong, inviolate life now, threatened by nobody and keeping his feelings locked away like a miser with gold. I can’t help him if he doesn’t want that help. He had the chance to confide in me in Devon, and instead ran away. Why the hell would he need me turning up out of the blue now?

Henry, being the good lawyer that he is, reads my feelings immediately and slumps. “It hasn’t changed anything, has it?” he says dejectedly. I put my hand on his and shake my head sadly.

“No, I’m sorry, but it can’t change anything, Henry. Thank you so much for telling me. It explains a lot, and in some ways, it makes the way that we parted easier to deal with. But at the end of the day, the only person that can change anything is him. I could go to him now and demand something from him, knowing that he might need it, but you know him, Henry, he wouldn’t take it. He’d close up tight like a clam, and probably say something poisonous to send me away. We said enough poisonous things the last time we saw each other. It was pretty clear that it was fully over for him.” I sigh. “And my heart can’t take that again.”

He sighs sadly and sits back. “I know you’re right, Dylan. He didn’t mean anything that he said. He was just so angry.” He holds up a hand as I start to protest. “I know he had no right to be angry, and I know you weren’t doing anything and so does he. Maybe he needs to heal himself first, and then maybe, just maybe, he’ll come round. If he does, will you see him?”

“You have no right to ask that,” I say firmly, shooting him a smile to make sure he knows I’m not angry with him. How could I be, when all he wants is for his friend to be happy?

However, I’m not convinced he’s right in that I’m the missing piece in Gabe’s life, the one thing he’s been searching for. I think of the time apart with no phone calls or messages. Gabe doesn’t seem to be looking that hard at the moment.

***

That afternoon, I walk out of work and groan. “Not you as well. Is the universe actually trying to fuck up my day?”

Jude looks up from where he’s leaning against one of the pillars outside the building, and grins. “Well, good afternoon to you as well, my little snuggle buns. I thought I’d brighten up your day by walking home with you.”

“Why?”

“Such a suspicious boy, and what did you mean not me too? Who else have you seen?”

His tone is far too innocent for me to believe after all these years. “Fuck you, Jude.” I shake my head. “You rang Henry, didn’t you?”

He looks on the verge of arguing, but then shrugs gracefully and gives me one of his wide smiles. It doesn’t work on me, but a woman passing by collides with a post while staring at him. “Well?” I say dangerously.

“I didn’t exactly ring him per se.” I stop and raise my eyebrow. “Okay, I might have run into him at Vibe last night. And we might have had a long chat about the stupidity of our mutual friends.”

I feel weary and off-balance after my conversation with Henry, like my life is out of whack. The trouble is that I know what I need to right it, and I can’t ever have that, and I feel this sudden, deep anger towards Gabe. It’s totally unjustified because I can’t blame him for being the way he is, not when I know what he went through. Thinking of that doesn’t stop the feeling of rage inside me, but it cools enough for me to push it away and remember what he was like on Valentine’s Day. I need to remember that to strengthen my resolve.

I shake my head at Jude and start walking again. “I’m not stupid, but I definitely would be if I went back to him and got involved in that situation again. I’d be stupid if I ever told him I loved him again, only to have him reacting like I’d got fucking herpes.”

A woman walking past us gasps, and Jude turns to smile to her. “He hasn’t by the way,” he shouts, and then catches me by the arm and stops my forward momentum. “Look, I know he hurt you and behaved like a complete twat.”

“Yes, he did,” I interrupt, “And I’m puzzled as to why it suddenly seems like you’re advocating for him.”

He shakes his head indignantly. “I’m not advocating for him, Dylan.” He pauses. “Look, what he did was really shitty, but you didn’t talk to him last time.” I open my mouth, but he holds up his hand to stay me. “Shouting and yelling at each other isn’t talking.” He shrugs. “I know I said some harsh things about him when you split up, but I was wrong about him.”

“Why?”

“I thought he was using you and I hated him for that, for not seeing what he had. I saw it as him taking what he wanted without any care, and still being ready to move on at the next opportunity.” He bites his lips thoughtfully. “Now, I don’t think anything about your relationship was carefree for him. I think it went against everything he stood for, but he still did it.”

“Why?”

He shoots a sharp glance at me. “I think he was in love with you, Dylan. The man who spent two hours telling me funny stories about you, and wanting to know whether you were okay, isn’t the prick he appeared to be. He cares a lot about you, and he’s hurting. I could see that, and after talking to Henry last night, I know it’s true.” His voice gentles. “He misses you, Dylan.”

I scoff. “He misses me organising his life for him. He can get another piece of ass anywhere.” A pain hits me in my heart. “He’s probably dick deep in half of London by now.”

“He isn’t,” he interrupts. “Henry said that he doesn’t go clubbing anymore. All he does is work or sit at home. His concentration is for shit, and he does nothing apart from bang on about you.” His voice softens. “All I’m saying is that the man you want, the one you’re in love with, he cares about you and he’s miserable without you. Isn’t that everything you ever wanted?”

I stare blindly at the hordes of commuters, not really seeing them. “I did want that, Jude. I’d have given anything for him to care about me, but that was before he tried to pimp me out for a threesome.”

“He couldn’t go through with it though, could he?”

“I know that,” I say patiently, “But it was his first reaction when he thought I was starting to care for him.” I laugh humourlessly. “Most men would give chocolates or flowers, he just wanted to give me another dick to play with.”

“Henry said he’s tortured by what he did.”

“But he still did it though, didn’t he?” I say simply and then sigh. “I’ve seen him in his previous relationships, and they were all like this with the men kept at a distance. I don’t want that.” I pause, and then say sharply, “I also don’t want to talk about this anymore please.”

He sighs and nods, and we join the crowds of people flocking down into the underbelly of the underground. “I fucking hate rush hour,” I say sourly over my shoulder to him, as we go down the stone steps.

He shrugs, grinning at me. “For your next go round why don’t you try for a nice daddy? Get yourself treated well.”

I open my mouth to chat shit back at him, but at that point I feel a sharp blow hit my back and feel myself pushed forward. I reach out an arm to the rail to try and stop my fall, but my weight carries me forward, and the next few seconds are a whirl of blurred impressions and pain as I bump down the stone steps. I land on the floor in a flurry of arms and legs and feel a gut-wrenching pain. Then my head bangs hard into the stone floor, sending spangles across my vision, so I close my eyes automatically.

I must have blacked out, because when I open my eyes it’s to find Jude and an old lady bending over me with concern written all over their faces. “What happened?” I say groggily.

“Oh, thank goodness,” the old lady gasps, and Jude puts out a hand to stop me lifting my head.

“No, stay there for a second, mate. You had a bad fall and knocked yourself out. Lie still.”

“What happened?”

“I’m so sorry,” the old lady flutters. “It was all my fault. I missed a step and fell onto you.”

That must have been the weight that hit me. “Are you alright?” I murmur groggily, turning my head slightly and then cursing at the immediate, slamming pain. “Fucking hell that hurts. Sorry,” I immediately apologise to the lady.

“No need to be sorry,” she says sweetly. “My husband was in the Navy. I’ve heard more bad language than you’ve had hot dinners. Anyway, this is all my fault, and in answer to your question I’m absolutely fine.” She smiles. “You sort of cushioned my landing, sweetheart, so thank you.”

“It was my pleasure,” I say. Ignoring the pain in my head and body that’s now making itself felt, I look around. I’m lying on the floor at the foot of the steps, and as per usual, nothing is stopping the London commuters. They surge past us, stepping around me, and a couple of times over me. It reminds me of a nature programme I’d watched once, showing a colony of army ants on the march and ravaging everything in their way. I suppose at least the rude commuters aren’t eating me. “Okay,” I groan. “I need to move.”

Ignoring Jude’s protests, I hold out my arm, and he grabs me, hoisting me up to a sitting position. My head throbs sickeningly, but red-hot, blinding pain shoots down my leg, and I gasp out a curse. “Shit, stop.” He hovers worriedly. “Okay, I don’t think I’m moving. I think I’ve broken my leg.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s the same pain as when I broke my arm when we were fifteen.”

He gets out his phone. “I’m going up top to phone for an ambulance.” I start to protest at the embarrassment, but he shakes his head. “Dylan, we can’t move you. You’ll need strapping up and some painkillers before they can even try. So I suggest that unless you want to just lie here, being stepped over by complete strangers until you claim your pension, or get a medal from the London Underground, you let me ring the ambulance.”

I gasp. “Oh shit, work. I’m supposed to be back there at eight tonight for a book launch. Can you ring Morna for me?” I feel in my pocket for my phone, which luckily has survived the fall. “Her number’s in there.”

He takes the phone, and stares down at me for a long second. Something is working behind his eyes that looks very much like calculation, but before I can say anything, he simply nods and is gone, leaving me with the old lady for company.

The next few hours are a whirl of activity and embarrassment, as everyone on the Jubilee Line is treated to the sight of my getting gas and air, before being strapped to a trolley and lifted out. The activity stops however as soon as we get to the hospital. It’s extremely busy, so Jude and I settle down for a long wait in our cubicle.

We’ve been sitting there for an hour when I sigh. “That was so embarrassing.” He nods and grins happily, so I shoot him a sour look before continuing. “I can’t believe London Underground were so huffy about me resting my broken body on their floor. You’d think I was staging a sit in.” I shudder. “And all those people staring.”

He snorts. “Never mind, you’ll have forgotten it soon.”

“I highly doubt that,” I say sourly. “I saw you filming me while I was screaming like a little girl.” I look at him beadily. “That’d better not end up on Facebook, Jude.” He shakes his head, diverting the subject, so I know it’s already on there. “How many comments?” I sigh.

“Two hundred and forty so far,” he says happily. “They’re not all horrid either.”

“I bet there are more trolls on there than in ‘Lord of the Rings’,” I say gloomily, and then look closely at him. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, why?”

“You’re jigging about like you’re waiting for something.” A thought strikes me. “What have you done?” I demand, leaning up on my elbow. “I know you, Jude, and you’ve got a guilty look on your face. I know you’ve -”

I’m interrupted by the sudden sound of a commotion outside. “What on earth is that -” I start to say, but the voice rises, and I gasp as I recognise who that voice belongs to. “Oh my God,” I whisper. “You didn’t ring him. Tell me you didn’t ring him.”

He sniffs and says primly, “Well I could tell you that, but let’s face it I’d be lying, and you know what they said about lying at Sunday School.”

“This is not bloody funny -” I cut off because the commotion is getting nearer.

I can hear a woman’s voice saying, “Sir, I am going to call security if you don’t stop. You cannot come back here unless you are with a patient.”

“I am with a patient,” he says in a very loud voice. “I just need to find him first.”

“Sir, I did tell you about patient confidentiality.”

“And I told you it’s fine if you want to abide by that, but I do not choose to do so. So instead I am going through this casualty ward, opening every curtain until I find him.”

“Oh my God,” I groan. “Go and get him, before he pisses the staff off so much they put my leg on the wrong way round.”

He gives me a startled look. “I’m not sure that you should have any more of those painkillers, Dylan.”

“Jude!” I warn, and he throws his hands up.

“Okay, I’ll go.”

He goes to the curtain, but before he can open it, it swishes back so forcefully that the rods nearly come off the wall, and Gabe’s face appears.

“Oh my God,” he gasps. “Baby, are you okay?”

He’s dressed in a navy blue pinstriped suit, with his tie at half-mast as if he’s been tugging at it. Sweat is beading on his forehead, and he half falls into the cubicle, followed by a very ticked off nurse who looks at me. “Are you okay with this man being here?”

“Of course?” I say nervously, and she huffs and draws the curtain closed with a sharp jerk.

“Great,” I groan. “That’s put us back another couple of hours.”

He doesn’t answer me, instead, coming towards me. He astonishes me by running his hands gently through my hair, before bending over and nestling his face into my neck and giving a great sigh. Before I know it, my arms have come up to encircle him and pull him close.

I’m dimly aware of Jude leaving, but my attention is drawn, as it likely always will be, to the man in my arms. “Gabe,” I say, but he shakes his head, rubbing his face into my neck and gifting me with his warm, spicy scent. I inhale it greedily. It feels like aeons since I’ve been near him like this.

We stay silent for long minutes as I stroke his hair, and then I become aware of him trembling slightly, a shudder running finely through his body.

“Gabe?” I ask, pulling lightly at his hair. “Gabe, are you okay?”

He sighs and raises his head, and I gasp as I get my first real look at him. He looks awful, with dark circles under his eyes, and a pasty white complexion. “Gabe, what is it?”

He shakes his head, coming down to sit carefully on the side of the bed, and running his hands tenderly and lightly down my face. “I was so worried,” he says hoarsely. “God, it was awful.”

“What was?”

“Jude rang me, and all he could say was that you’d had an accident on the Underground, and were waiting to be taken to hospital. I walked out of a meeting, didn’t say anything. They’re probably still there waiting.” He rubs his eyes, and I see to my astonishment that his hands are shaking. “I had so many fucking gruesome images flash through my head, and I didn’t know how you were. I didn’t know if you were -”

He shudders to a stop, and I reach for him, all anger gone in that second in the desire to soothe him. Seeming to sense my mood, he immediately shifts nearer. “I’m okay, Gabe, I promise.”

“But what happened?”

We’re interrupted by the curtain sliding open, and Jude edging back into the cubicle. “Sorry. I’d have stayed out there, but the nursing staff were all glaring at me, so it was a tad uncomfortable.” He hands a cup of coffee to Gabe and puts one on the side table for me.

“Oh God,” I sigh, but Gabe waves his hand.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll call someone and we’ll get you seen privately.” He looks around and shudders. “My God, don’t touch anything, Dylan. You might catch one of those flesh-eating bugs.”

I sigh and say patiently, “I would have to have an open flesh wound to catch one of those.”

He looks me over anxiously, running his hand lightly down my side. To my embarrassment a visible shudder runs through me, making Jude smirk, but Gabe looks worried. “Where does it hurt?” he asks anxiously.

“It’s my head and my leg,” I sigh, closing my eyes as my headache comes back with a vengeance.

“Lie down,” he says hoarsely. “I’ll call and get you seen.”

I open my eyes and grab his hand, making him immediately still, and his eyes close as if he’s in pain. “I am not going private, Gabe,” I say firmly. “I’m staying with the NHS. It was fought for by my ancestors, and we need to support it.”

“Your ancestors were farmers,” he says smoothly. “They were likely digging up turnips, so we will do what my ancestors did instead, which is pay for good service and complain when we don’t get it.”

Jude snorts, but I glare at them both. “Listen to me very carefully, and think hard about what happens if you go over my head to do something for me that you think is right. What is my normal reaction?”

Gabe slumps slightly. “Not favourable?”

“No, to put it mildly. Now, you need to go out there, apologise, and lay on the charm.”

He nods obediently. “Okay.”

“Pretend they’re customers who are paying by the hour,” I suggest.

He shakes his head at me. “You make me sound like a fucking hooker.” He takes a sip of his coffee and shudders as if he’s been tasered. “Jesus, that is foul.” He snatches mine and Jude’s cups away and slings them dramatically into the bin.

“Hey!” I protest.

“You’re not drinking that,” he says firmly. “We’ll get you something decent, like a nice latte or something.”

I sigh. “Good luck finding that here. Now go and make nice.”

He grins a piratical grin at me. “I’ll charm them so well, they won’t know what’s hit them.” And then he’s gone, the curtain swishing closed behind him.

Jude looks at me and sniggers. “He’s adorably high-handed where you’re concerned, isn’t he?”

My eyes slide closed. “With anyone.”

“No,” he says thoughtfully. “Only you. He really can’t be bothered with anyone else, unless they’re connected to you. You’re all he sees.”

I would have liked to argue, but I feel very funny and my head hurts badly, so I let myself drift off to sleep.

I come awake I don’t know how much later, to find Jude asleep in his chair and Gabe talking into his phone. “Okay, Alistair, you’ve got the correct coffee order, and could you call in and pick something up for us to eat? Stop at Harpers. Dylan loves their flatbread sandwiches. He’ll have a chicken salad and hummus on rosemary bread, and get Jude and I whatever they’ve got left.” He pauses. “In fact, just get a load of sandwiches. There are a lot of people waiting here with relatives who can’t leave them. You’ve got my credit card haven’t you, so use that.” He pauses as if listening and then nods, making me smile because he often does that on the phone, forgetting that the other person can’t see him. He starts talking again. “He’s fine, Alistair. Thank you for asking. We’re just waiting to see the specialist. Please make sure that you sign me out of the office for the next week. If anyone questions it, tell them it’s personal leave. I’ll ring Magnus myself.” He clicks the button to end the call, and then sighs and runs his hand down his face, and I frown because he looks weary.

“Was that your new assistant, and please tell me that he’s not running all over London getting coffee?” I ask sleepily, and he jerks and turns to me.

“Of course he is. I can’t leave you, and yes that’s Alistair.”

“Ah, my replacement.” He winces. “You’re a lot nicer to him than you were to me.”

“I don’t spend my whole time lusting after him, and then making myself be distant the way I did with you,” he says absentmindedly and comes forward to push his hand gently into my hair. “How are you feeling, sweetheart? You look so tired.”

For a brief second, I let myself arch into his touch, and avoid mentioning his endearment. I’m injured so it shouldn’t count. “So do you, and what do you mean about being attracted? I irritated you for years.”

He shakes his head, his face gentling and making me stare at him. “Never. You’ve never irritated me. You’ve challenged me and made me laugh, but irritation is far too bland an emotion to fit the range of the ones I have for you.”

I stare at him, but before I can answer, the curtain is pulled back, and a weary-looking doctor walks in, making Jude wake up with a snort.

“Ah, Mr Mitchell,” he says. “How are you?”

“My head still hurts,” I say slowly. “But the painkillers the nurse gave me have taken the edge off.”

“Well, you’ve got yourself a concussion.” He takes out a slim penlight and shines it into my eyes.

“What does that mean?” Gabe asks anxiously.

The doctor smiles. “There’s no need to be worried. Dylan shook his brain about a bit, so he’ll have a bad headache for a couple of days. Our main concern is your leg, Dylan. There’s a break in the lower part of your tibia. We’re going to put a temporary cast on it, as the leg will normally swell a bit. In a week, the orthopaedic doctor will need to see you again to properly assess the damage, and most likely at that point, we’ll put a proper cast on it.”

I groan. “How long for?”

“About six to eight weeks normally,” the doctor says, grinning sympathetically.

“Well, that’ll make the Underground fun.”

“You won’t be on the Underground,” Gabe says firmly. “I’ll put a car and driver at your service.”

“You can’t do that.” I’m scandalised. “What a waste of money.”

He grins, all teeth and attitude. “My money, so my waste don’t you think?”

I shake my head and regret it, as the pain clangs brightly.

The doctor looks at me kindly. “You’re going to have a very nasty headache tonight, and maybe for the next couple of days. You’re also going to need somebody to stay with you, as you’ll need to be woken several times in the night to ensure you’re fine. I’ll give you some painkillers, but they’ll be generic over the counter meds because you can’t take anything stronger with a concussion. Now, have you got anyone to stay with you, because if you haven’t, we’ll have to keep you in?”

“He’s coming home with me,” Gabe says decisively.

“I am bloody not.” I turn wildly to Jude. “Jude can stay with me. He’s at home.”

Jude shoots a quick look at Gabe that he thinks I don’t see. “No, can do,” he says casually. “I’m at an industry party tonight, and Paul already told me that my presence is obligatory.”

My splutter at the traitor is cut short when he bends down and gives me a big hug. “Well, now that I know you’re okay, and as Gabe’s here, I’m going to head off.” He seizes my chin and kisses my cheek. “Love you, babe.”

“Love you too.” I smile and accept his hug. “Sorry for such a long afternoon, and thanks for being here.”

“No, thank you,” he says seriously. “It’s rare nowadays to see you acting as an OAP stunt mattress, but I don’t think you’re very good at it so maybe stick to the day job.”

Gabe smiles and shakes hands with him, and then they hug briefly. I narrow my eyes. When did they get so close? For a second I feel almost jealous, then tell myself off heartily. I must be feeling worse than I thought because neither Gabe nor Jude would ever do that to me.

The doctor who had been standing patiently watching us like we were on the set of EastEnders, stirs. “Are we settled?” he asks gently. “Are you going home with this gentleman?”

“He is,” Gabe says firmly.

“Okay then, Dylan. We’ll get this temporary cast on, and then you can go home.”

“Not my home,” I correct him slowly, feeling the urge to close my eyes again.

Gabe says something, but my eyes are too heavy to open.