Chapter Eleven

Pain Relief

The keys clanging down on the glistening black-glass coffee table sent shivers up Ollie’s spine. He flinched as Elliot slid off his leather jacket, fluffing it out and hanging it on the back of one of the breakfast bar stools that divided the living space from the kitchen. Dr. Rawlings’ Victorian town house was a fully refurbished, modern, open-plan home set over three floors in one of the leafier parts of London. Only a consultant’s salary could afford the type of luxury he lived in. Ollie had only ever been on floors one and two. The third floor was off-limits. Was that where the doctor hid his secret family? Ollie fully expected the doctor to emerge one day with a wife and three kids who had been locked up there in the attic until he saw fit they could roam in his world. Perhaps they were only allowed access to the house when Elliot, and of course Ollie, wasn’t there. And that was the reason Ollie was never allowed to leave anything behind!

Two years Ollie had been in and out of this house. Or, more accurately, the master bedroom. The first time, Ollie thought he’d struck gold. A doctor, an extremely good-looking and well-mannered cardiology consultant and surgeon, had invited him back for dinner after having met him during one of Ollie’s student placements. The dinner had been candlelit, the conversation fascinating, the table manners impeccable. And while Ollie couldn’t completely admit that the act of falling into bed with someone on a first date was particularly out of character for him, he was rather surprised that Elliot had wanted it to end that way too. Back then, if either of them had been in more trouble for what they’d done, it would have been the doctor. Ollie had been a mere student nurse. Easily led, easily manipulated, and easily prone to listen to a sob story.

And, boy, did Dr. Rawlings have one. He’d laid it on especially thick that night, no-holds-barred as they lay together in the aftermath on his luxurious cashmere pocket-sprung mattress on his king-size bed, engulfed in the goose-feather duvet deep enough for Ollie to bury his misdeeds in. The doctor was married to his job. The children in his care needed him far more than anyone else. He didn’t have time for relationships as no one could accept him for who he was and the hours he put into his work saving the lives of children on a daily basis. His parents hadn’t accepted his homosexuality, and so he lived a lie to keep them happy and their heads held high at Sunday Mass. After they’d died, Dr. Rawlings found he didn’t know how to live the life he’d buried for so long.

Ollie had fallen a little bit in love with him under the heat of the covers and the passion in his words. He’d accepted what he said wholeheartedly. Who wouldn’t? The man was a hero. He had pumped with his bare hands the hearts of little children who would have otherwise succumbed to the harsh fate of disease and congenital defects. And Ollie could understand wanting to please his family, even if it had meant hiding who he really was. Luckily, his own coming-out story had been rather uneventful. Perhaps his parents had already had far too much tragedy and misfortune to really care all that much, but he knew his mother and father were wholeheartedly accepting, although he had heard his mother’s sobbing coming from her bedroom after his announcement. Tilly couldn’t have children due to the cancer having attacked most of her body, so with Ollie being gay, any hope of biological grandchildren had been thwarted.

Elliot had convinced Ollie that what they had was special. He showered Ollie with gifts and declared time again that he needed time, patience, and understanding. Along with that came the secrets, the denial, and the agreement that what they did was between them. Ollie couldn’t leave any trace of his visits because the doctor often brought other consultants back to the house—offering a place to stay for out-of-town doctors who might be supporting him in a newly developed operating procedure or a particularly challenging patient diagnosis or, more often, to learn from one of the best pediatric cardiologists in the country. Ollie had accepted that. For a while.

Roughly a year in, when Ollie’s father’s signs of dementia were getting progressively worse and his mother had been struggling to cope with both him and Tilly at home, Ollie had called it a day. He needed to support his mother, he needed a job, and he needed no complications. Moving back home to Hertfordshire on finishing his London-based university course meant he would need a job out of the city. Therefore, his arrangement with Dr. Rawlings had to come to an end. And he’d been rather relieved at the fact. Having a secret boyfriend had taken its toll.

It was Elliot who had suggested the care home. The best in London, its price tag evidence of its status. There had been a job vacancy in the St. Cross cardiology ward, and Ollie, if he applied, would be more or less guaranteed the position. Elliot had an enormous amount of sway among the hospital higher-ups. He was well regarded, practically the face of St. Cross. His efforts for the hospital didn’t stop at saving children’s lives. Dr. Rawlings had raised much-needed funds for the refurbishment of several wings over the years. His annual fundraisers were the highlight of the hospital calendar. He was chair of several committees—many of which Ollie had no idea what they did or serviced. Dr. Rawlings was everywhere, known by everyone, with a huge influence and an all-powerful status. Ollie couldn’t really have ever said no. Unless he had been told to.

Elliot had offered to make the down payment on the care home, which, being a short stroll from the hospital, meant Ollie could see his father daily. Elliott would act as guarantor if Ollie and his mother could keep up the monthly payments between them. It had all sounded a little too perfect. And on agreeing to the proposal, Ollie had had no idea what he was really letting himself in for. Relieving his mother of all the torment and struggle she had hoped she’d left behind when receiving the news of his sister’s remission didn’t seem that much of a burden for Ollie to shoulder. Until the arrangement had become less about romantic dinner dates and more about simply bending over.

He had tried to put an end to it more times than the most recent. Each time he was reminded that he couldn’t afford the care home without a guarantor and making his father move to somewhere else would only bring on further illness, not to mention anxiety for his mother. So each time, Ollie caved. He got sex, so what was the big deal?

But now there was Jacob.

“You can take your coat off, Oliver,” Elliot said over his shoulder, crouching at his built-in wine rack. He slid out a bottle of red wine and popped it onto the breakfast bar counter.

Ollie unzipped his puffer jacket and slipped it down his arms. He looked around for somewhere to throw it, hoping to find a valuable antique or expensive art sculpture he could knock over in the process. Giving up, he draped it over the leather chair adjacent to the coffee table.

“Wine?” Elliot held up a crystal goblet.

“No, thanks.”

Elliot clapped the bottle down, and Ollie noted he poured two glasses anyway. Maybe his imprisoned wife upstairs would drink it once Ollie had gone. Because there was no way he was spending the night. The day. Whatever. Elliot picked up both glasses, and his heavy intake of breath bounced off the white walls as he sniffed at the striking deep-purple contents. He held out a full glass to Ollie, then leaned in and kissed his neck. Ollie closed his eyes. He took the glass only because it was in danger of spilling over him with how lecherous Elliot was being, and leaving yet another impossible-to-wash-out stain on his T-shirt. As soon as the doctor’s coarse tongue began to lick up his neck, Ollie shuddered.

“You smell divine,” Elliot whispered into his ear.

Ollie cursed himself that he’d instinctively dabbed the Givenchy cologne on his neck when he’d changed back at the hospital.

“Live to serve.” He’d meant it to come out as facetious, but the words were true. It was why Ollie was there, after all.

Elliot chuckled, a deep sound that resonated along Ollie’s spine. The hairs on Ollie’s arms and the back of his neck stood to attention. But it wasn’t the same pleasurable reaction he’d gotten the previous day when Jacob’s breath had made him tingle. The doctor’s heavy breathing felt decidedly more bristling, and Ollie’s skin crawled, the hairs obviously trying to help it leap away from his body.

Elliot trailed his lips across Ollie’s ear, to his cheek, and finally found his mouth. He tried poking Ollie’s open with his tongue, but Ollie backed away, shaking his head.

“I thought we were talking.” Ollie wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Fine.” Elliot waved his glass, gesturing toward the black leather sofas surrounding the coffee-table. He strolled over to one, sat with a heavy slump, and took a sip of his wine. He waved an impatient hand to one of the other seats.

Ollie edged around the one he’d hung his coat over and sat. He placed his wineglass on the table and eyed the doctor.

“I knew this day would eventually come upon us,” Elliot said with a smile. He swished his glass before taking another mouthful.

“What day is that?” Ollie tapped his fingers on the hard armrests. He never did understand why the sofas in this place were so damn uncomfortable. They’d probably cost a fortune, and, yeah, they looked sophisticated enough and matched the black-and-white decor, but they certainly weren’t the sort of sofa where one could kick back and indulge in a movie on the ridiculously large plasma screen hanging on the wall. They also weren’t particularly comfortable to be naked on when the leather stuck to sweaty flesh. Ollie shook his head to mask the second shudder of the morning.

“The day you found someone else and wanted to end this union we have.” Elliot crossed his legs and tapped a shoe against the glass tabletop.

“I haven’t found anyone else, Elliot,” Ollie lied through gritted teeth. “I’ve just had enough. I had enough months ago, but you blackmailed me back then. If you’re going to do it again, can we cut to the chase? I’m rather tired.”

“There’s a perfectly good bed upstairs should you want to relax.”

Ollie slammed back in his chair with a snort. He shook his head and took in all the sculptures and artwork, the only details that prevented the house from being an empty shell. On his first visit to this place, Ollie had thought they were quirky and rather elegant—artefacts that he’d thought might help explain the doctor’s interests outside the hospital. Ollie hoped to use them to delve into the man’s mind a little. He’d soon found they were items picked up at random in some boutique shop recommended by whoever did Elliot’s interior design. Elliot didn’t have attachments to possessions—not like Ollie and his watch. People were also part of that category.

“I love you.”

Ollie snapped his gaze from the brushstrokes of the latest painting on the wall to the doctor. Elliot remained in his poised position—legs crossed, wineglass clutched in an outstretched hand perching on the armrest and the other hand splayed on the sofa cushion beside him. His eyes were eerily still for a man who had just uttered those imperceptible three words.

“I beg your pardon?” Ollie replied.

“Oh, come off it, Oliver.” Elliot uncrossed his legs and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I love you. Isn’t it obvious?”

“Erm, no.” Ollie shook his head at the absurdity.

“I’ve been sleeping with you for two years,” Elliot stated. “I do not sleep with anyone else. And I am rather disturbed by the fact that you have been.”

Ollie stood in involuntary protest. “No I haven’t.”

He wasn’t sure how convincing the statement came across, especially with the tremble in his voice, which, if he could feel, Elliot could probably hear. Apart from Jacob, it was true. Ollie hadn’t been with anyone else. He’d had opportunities, sure. He’d had the odd cheeky kiss or two in a nightclub or bar, but he’d always known better than to follow through with anything more. Jacob had been an exception to that. And Ollie wasn’t sure if that hadn’t been a really bad judgment call. Like the one he’d made in this house two years ago.

“Sit down, Oliver,” Elliot demanded, waving his glass before taking another lingering gulp.

Ollie sat and gripped the armrests once more, digging his nails into hard leather. His heart hammered, tightening his chest with every breath. He was having difficulty understanding where this conversation could be heading.

“Do you love me?” Elliot asked, plainly.

Ollie met his stern glower across the coffee table. Elliot raised his eyebrows with the question and his perfect poise didn’t falter, as if he had simply inquired if Ollie took milk with his tea. Ollie swallowed and licked his drying lips. The silence was unbearable. Ollie rather wished he had the bleeping of machines to drown it out. All he could hear was Elliot’s breathing and the occasional bubbles popping in his glass of red wine. The fact the wine wasn’t sparkling went someway to prove how deathly quiet it really was.

“I probably did once,” Ollie offered. “But I’m afraid it was chipped away every time you sent me from this house like a low-rent whore. Until, eventually, all I had was indifference. Which has now merged effortlessly into contempt.”

Elliot’s sharp intake of breath and the increased tapping of his foot was the only indication that those words had affected the man. His face remained as blank as ever. He finished his glass and set it on the coffee table. A last drip of liquid slithered from the rim and over the bowl, making its final descent down the stem to land with a circular splodge on the black glass. Ollie wondered whether to go tell the man to get a coaster. Red wine circles were a bitch to get out. He knew that.

“So what do we do?” Elliot finally asked. The question and its delivery reminded Ollie of when the doctor would ask his fellow medical professionals about a patient’s perplexing adverse reaction to standard medication. It didn’t seem an appropriate response from someone who had just been told he was hated by the man he was supposedly in love with.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Ollie said.

“I shall rephrase.” Elliot slipped his foot to the floor and leaned forward. “What do you want from me, Oliver?”

Ollie took a deep breath. He was still riddled with unease at this conversation. He supposed what Elliot expected him to say was Ollie wanted them to be finally be out in the open—to declare their love to the world, to act as a proper couple. To stop being sent from this house as nothing and to be allowed, at least, to keep hold of his possessions should he accidentally leave them in the bathroom after a shower. Trouble was, Ollie didn’t want any of that. What he wanted was to feel something. Resolutions never worked out, anyway, did they?

“I want you to leave me alone.” Ollie’s heart hammered with the fear of it all, once again reminding him how alive he was. But after what he was going to say, he wondered for how long. If ever there was a man who knew how to cause death in the most accidental of ways, it would be a heart doctor. “I want you to sign off from being the guarantor on my father’s care home. I want to switch shifts so we never have to work alongside each other. And I don’t want you to ever touch me again.”

Ollie paused and waited for any type of reaction. When there was only a stone-cold stare, Ollie thought he might as well go the whole hog.

“And I want you to compose a letter stating Daisy Monroe mustn’t leave the country until she becomes a legal adult to switch care to a standard hospital.”

Silence.

Ollie grabbed the wine he hadn’t planned on drinking and guzzled the lot. He gripped the glass to give him something to use as a weapon should he need it.

“Well then.” Elliot finally stood, curling his fingers into the knot on his tie and ripping it apart. “I guess you’d best be going upstairs.”

* * * *

Ollie kicked the front door to his flat shut, threw his loafers off to bounce against the wall, and dragged his coat down his arms, dumping it on the floor with a huff. He marched with heavy steps through his flat and straight to the bathroom, where he stripped out of his clothes and avoided checking his reflection in the mirror. Placing his glasses on the windowsill, he switched the shower on to maximum heat and stepped in to scald his skin.

His body was red raw when he emerged. The hot water and excessive scrubbing at least added some color to his pasty complexion. Perhaps he’d leave it a few days before cashing in his tanning voucher. He collapsed onto the bed and wrapped the duvet around him to turn himself into his usual human sausage roll and shut his eyes, attempting to block out the images assaulting his mind. He’d made many mistakes in his life. But the past couple of days had hit his all-time top worst-moments list. And it was only the second week of January. Lucky he wasn’t going to be feeling a thing, not anymore.

He snorted at his own stupidity and tried to wriggle under the pillow when his house phone’s shrill carried down the corridor. His carefree voice that didn’t know the torment of time to come rang out its usual cheery message, and Ollie awaited the beep.

Silence. Click off. Long bleep. Thank fuck.

Ollie closed his eyes once more and started to count down from one hundred—a surefire way to get ridiculously bored and eventually switch off. He’d got to eighty-seven when the flat’s buzzer interrupted his descent. He held his breath. Whatever parcel was being delivered to another recipient in the block could be answered by someone else. But the buzzing continued on a relentless loop. Ollie exhaled heavily, dragging himself out from the bed. He jumped along the corridor, still wrapped in his duvet, and hit the Answer button.

“What?”

“Ollie?”

That voice was unmistakable and more than a little unexpected. Ollie’s voice caught in his throat, and he shook his head, believing he must have dozed off some several numbers back. Until the second uttering of his name rung out with renewed urgency.

“Jacob?” Ollie finally questioned into the speaker.

“Yeah,” came the reply. “I—”

“How the hell do you know where I live?” Ollie shrilled, realizing he was now most definitely awake.

“I’m a hacker, Ollie,” Jacob replied, deadpan.

Ollie narrowed his eyes and muttered under his breath. Jacob’s spelling of Budgie had obviously been the correct one.

“You hacked into my bank account?” Ollie’s voice was now so ridiculously high-pitched he was sure downstairs’ breaking-their-tenancy-agreement dog would think Ollie was calling to him.

“No. That’s overstepping the mark. Although it might have been easier.”

“Then wh—”

“You might want to set your Facebook to private,” Jacob said. “Nice picture, by the way.”

Ollie shook his head fiercely. “My address isn’t on that, Jacob.”

“I know, but when you didn’t answer your mobile number—that’s on full view for anyone FYI—I got your dad’s name and hacked the care home,” Jacob replied. “I’ve called all the numbers on their list. No answer, except for the one I think may have been your mum, but I hung up. So this was my only option. Can I come up?”

Ollie hung his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had no idea what to say. He wasn’t exactly in the best condition, body and mind, for guests. Especially Jacob. He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to face the man to be despised so soon, or have to lose everything, including his self-respect, in one fell swoop. The entrance buzzer rung out again—Jacob obviously believing Ollie to have either fainted or legged it. Ollie lifted a trembling finger and hit the button to unlock the main door.

“I take it you know which flat?” Ollie called into the speaker.

The slamming of the downstairs entrance door shook the entire building in an affirmative answer to his rhetorical question. He cursed under his breath and ran back into his bedroom, throwing off the duvet and scrabbling for something to put on his naked body. Hopping into a pair of boxers, he heard a light tap on his flat door and gave up on finding anything else. He jogged out to the hallway and unlocked the multiple catches and chain to yank it open.

Jacob’s penetrating blue eyes caught him first. They widened in surprise and scanned his entire frame.

“What?” Ollie grumbled. “It’s technically my bedtime.”

“Sorry.” Jacob shook his head, his hair falling in tassels around his face. He swiped it back, and Ollie noted the effort it took him to keep his eyes fixed on Ollie’s face. “It’s just…”

Jacob gave up on saying anything further. And evidently abandoned trying to keep his eyes northward. He stepped in the door, slid a freezing-cold hand onto Ollie’s bare hip and kissed him. He dug his fingertips into Ollie’s skin, deepening the frenzied kiss. Ollie was squeezed against Jacob’s fully winter-wrapped warm body as he stumbled into the flat and the door clicked shut behind him.

Ollie kissed back for a brief moment, reveling in the sweet taste of Jacob’s mouth and the firm grip the man had on him. Jacob roamed both hands around to his arse, but before Ollie could allow himself to be picked up again, he wriggled free and stepped back, slapping a hand to Jacob’s chest.

“Calm your shit,” Ollie demanded.

Jacob stepped back. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “It’s just, you, I don’t know, I can’t—”

Ollie couldn’t help but smile. Whether or not the guy was a player, he was bloody good at making Ollie feel number one when in his presence. He just had to remember there could well be a string of number ones.

“Go sit your arse in there.” Ollie waved toward the lounge area. “I’ll get some clothes on.”

Jacob trundled off toward the living room, not before giving Ollie a not so subtle once-over. Ollie shook his head and shot back into his bedroom. He rooted around in his drawers and settled for a loose pair of joggers and a T-shirt. He didn’t mean to go for the tightest one he owned…it just happened to be the one on top of his pile. He padded barefoot out to the living room and continued on to the adjacent kitchenette.

“Coffee?”

Jacob sat hunched over on his fabric sofa. Ollie only had the one sofa—a second-hand two-seater at that. But at least his was infinitely more comfortable to lounge on. He’d not had sex on it before and cocked his head in thought as Jacob nodded, then shook it off and focused on making the coffee. Mugs in hand, he inched around the small living space and handed one to Jacob. He sat beside him and blew into the hot liquid. Jacob twisted in his seat and placed his mug on the coffee table.

“What happened with the doctor?”

Ollie shrugged and took a large gulp of coffee. Having caffeine this late in the day wasn’t going to help him get his much-needed sleep before his next shift. Now running on empty, he counted the hours until his four days off where he could get his body clock back on track.

“Are you in trouble?”

“No more than usual,” Ollie replied, doing his best to not let anything seep through his features that would give him away.

Jacob placed a hand on Ollie’s knee and slid it up to his thigh. The heat from Jacob’s hands through the thick cotton of Ollie’s jogging bottoms felt as though his skin was on fire. Perhaps it was still due to the scalding-hot shower.

“Ollie.” Jacob’s penetrating blue eyes were filled with deep remorse. “I’m sorry if my actions have caused you hassle. I’m sorry for putting your job at risk. I’m sorry for everything Becky said to you.”

Ollie exhaled a weary breath. He placed his mug down on the floor beside him and slipped a hand onto Jacob’s.

“It’s not your fault,” Ollie said. “I’m a big boy. No one makes me do the things I do.” Ollie paused, knowing that wasn’t strictly true. The past few hours were evidence of that.

“Becky won’t be saying anything about it. I can assure you. I’ve convinced her it wasn’t you.”

Ollie glanced away and bit his thumbnail, undecided on how he felt about that. Relieved that the mother wouldn’t be filing a complaint about her daughter’s nurse but wounded that she could so easily accept Jacob had been sleeping with another random man. And that was exactly what he was. A random man.

“I guess I’m the one who’s sorry, then.”

Jacob frowned, and Ollie let out a long sigh, wiping the clammy sweat over his forehead. He really didn’t want to elaborate any further. Even admitting his failure to himself was hard enough. But as Jacob sat there waiting for him to explain, Ollie knew he had to give something. “I can’t help you.”

The look in Jacob’s deep blue eyes made Ollie regret what he had to say. He could do it for his mother and he could do it for himself. But something made him unable to go through with it for the man in front of him. And he couldn’t help wonder why that was.

“I couldn’t get Elliot to write the letter for Daisy. And I’m pretty sure, after today, I may be under a disciplinary, anyway. Regardless of you sacrificing your custody position for Daisy.”

Jacob sucked in a breath, emotions playing out across his face—him trying to piece together what it all meant. Jacob couldn’t know what all that really meant, and so Ollie needed to give him something more.

“Elliot likes favors in return,” Ollie said. “Normally, I’ve obliged. Today, however, I struggled to go through with it. I doubt my departure from his house will go unpunished. So I really am deeply sorry, Jacob, but I can’t help you keep Daisy here.”

Ollie swallowed, suddenly realizing what that could all mean. Jacob losing Daisy to Ireland would leave him home and heartbroken, and Ollie would be there to pick up the pieces. No longer having to play second fiddle to Jacob’s daughter, Ollie could be his number one. The blood drained from Ollie’s face. That hadn’t been the reason he’d finally been able to say no to Elliot, had it?

“Is that why you think I’m here?” Jacob asked, his voice low and quiet. “Because I want you to get me the damn letter?”

The hurt in his eyes fired on all cylinders. Ollie shrugged. He didn’t really know what to think anymore. His mind was mush.

“Ollie. I want you. I came here for you. And you know what? I’m so glad you didn’t go through with anything that doctor asked. Jesus Christ, Ollie! Is that what’s been happening?”

“Jacob—”

“You are worth more than that. And you were right. You do deserve to be treated as number one. I only wish I could do that for you.” Jacob shifted to lock his gaze onto Ollie. “I know Becky made you think otherwise about this. I don’t blame her. Everything I did to her was unforgivable. I don’t expect her to get over it. I can only do what I can now to prove I’m a decent father. A decent man. I haven’t been with anyone else in a really long time, Ollie. So if you want assurances on that front, I can give you it. I know this is fast, I know this is unexpected, but I feel something, here. The question is, do you?”