Chapter Four
~Bailey~
“What time is the game?” I asked.
Nolan insisted we should have dinner before. We ended up in a sports bar not too far from the stadium, within walking distance. We shared a platter of loaded nachos before devouring steak and shrimp and a few beers and listened to the live band playing in the back corner of the stuffed to capacity bar. We talked about work, mainly mine, as usual.
“Half an hour, you want to go now?”
“May as well,” I agreed, that way we could take our time and enjoy the walk.
The basketball game was terrific, nothing compared to being right there to catch all the action. My team won, of course, meaning I got to choose where we would be going on our next date, leaving Nolan with a mystery to solve. As we drove along the main drag, my mind whirled with ideas for a perfect date, something that would wow Nolan. His hand all of a sudden slipped into mine, surprising me and pulling me from my brainstorming. My eyes moved from our linked hands to Nolan’s perfect profile and the heartfelt smile that was spread across his face as he concentrated on the road.
“Would it be alright if I took you home?” Nolan asked, squeezing my hand.
“Yeah. Sure. You got an early start tomorrow?”
“Nope, I’m off tomorrow.”
“Oh.”
I had hoped the night would have lasted a while longer. But we had agreed to nothing more than drinks and the game, and I couldn’t be selfish by taking up all of Nolan’s time, though I wanted to. Tonight, I had discovered that Nolan Brahms was a busy man and if I wanted to be part of that busy life, I had to squeeze in where I could. Sad, but true.
Totally distracted by my thoughts, I had not realized the SUV had come to a stop. Surprised when I looked out the window expecting the coffee shop and we were sat in a driveway facing a decent sized bungalow with a nice front garden. A Charger SRT Hellcat was parked at the side of the house, very impressive. It was too dark to see the house properly. From the outdoor lighting, I could tell the paint around the windows and front door was cracked and peeling, but it was nice, it had real charm and curb appeal.
“Is this your place?” I asked, kind of mind blown actually.
In my mind’s eye, Nolan was the embodiment of a doctor, modern and minimal, low-key and neutral when it came the colors, patterns and his life. A typical condo dweller. All the pieces of his puzzle should have fallen nicely into place. Never would I have imagined him living in a rundown house, with a purple metallic sports car in the driveway and a white picket fence. Okay, so there was no fence, but you get the gist.
“Yeah,” Nolan gave me a single lifted brow gaze. “What did you think I meant when I asked if I could take you home?”
“Obviously the wrong thing,” I answered embarrassed as we climbed from Nolan’s SUV and he met me at the walkway, taking my hand in his.
If nothing else came of this evening, at least I was well aware that Nolan was a romantic by the way he attended to me.
~
~Nolan~
“And once I’m finished with the kitchen, I want to add on a conservatory. The salesman said they’re all the rage in Britain,” I told Bailey, who seemed genuinely captivated while I gave him the tour. Either that or he was putting on one hell of an act. The last thing I wanted was to bore him into never coming back. “You want something to drink?”
“What do you have?”
“Everything,” I took his hand, a convenient excuse to touch him again, and led him to the dining room just off the kitchen, separated by squared pillars and two small built in shelves. “Rum, rye, vodka, gin, shit whiskey in case my buddies drop by and some of the good stuff for real guests. I also have red and white wine and a magnum sized bottle of champagne to celebrate with, once the renovations are complete.”
“I suspect it should be well aged by then,” Bailey joked. He had the kind of laugh I could listen to for hours, cheery and contagious. “A rum and ginger would be great.”
“Help yourself, smart ass.” I opened the lid on the antique buffet, revealing my snazzy little custom-built liquor cabinet. “I’ll get ice.”
“Most of the furniture in here is antique, are you a collector?” Bailey called out.
“Well, the plan was to decorate the house with furniture to match the year it was built. This particular style house was built in nineteen-sixteen. You’d be surprised how easy it is to find pieces for that year in decent condition. Still, I had to keep my good old leather sectional, comfort over style, you know?” I came into the room with a small bowl of ice, handing it to Bailey. “Leave your drink for now and I’ll show you the pièce de résistance I picked up at an estate sale a few weeks back.”
I had to admit, I was like a kid in a candy store when it came to my house and what I bought for it. I had even researched appliances, right down to the kettles of the day and snatched myself an old claw tub from a junkyard. I managed to find a company to refurbish it like brand new complete with faux gold claw feet.
My bedroom was located at the rear of the house. I directed Bailey out into a small hallway off of the dining room and past the washroom, into the bedroom and stood to the side so he got the full effect.
“Wow, that’s one impressive piece of furniture.”
“Spectacular, isn’t it? And the mattress is like sleeping on a ten-inch stack of cotton,” I told him, yanking him over to the bed and shoving him so he fell onto it, bouncing a few times as he burst into laughter. “Was I lying?”
“No, it’s definitely a little piece of heaven. This thing must weigh a ton though, is it a reproduction?”
“Nope, it’s the real thing handcrafted from solid oak,” I bounced onto the bed beside Bailey, rolling onto my side and rested my head on my hand, watching Bailey staring up at the canopy. “Would you like to stay?”
“Overnight?” Bailey’s brows rose, a glint of a smile on his face. “I don’t have a change of clothes or a toothbrush.”
“So, I have toothbrushes and I’ll find you something to wear,” I offered, not giving him an excuse to leave. “Unless you don’t want to stay, don’t feel any pressure.”
There was a slight tug in my gut, because in a weird way it was as if Bailey belonged here at this very moment in time. It was like Deja Vu and I was reliving the most wonderful dream.
“No, I want to,” Bailey was quick with an answer, rolling onto his side so we lay face to face. A warm thrill skated over my skin. “It’s just… well… you said you wanted to take it slow. And there is something you should know about me that could be a deal breaker. You might not want me after you know what it is.”
Unless it was something perilous, I couldn’t imagine me not wanting Bailey. Although, we were basically strangers and he could be revealing something totally off the wall. Honey, I’m an axe murderer, would suck to hear. I didn’t know him and he didn’t really know me at all. I had quirks. I wasn’t always the easiest person to get along with, and I had some bad habits that put people off. I smoked on occasion, usually when I was nervous or drinking on poker night, and I bit my nails, drank too much coffee, and because of a deviated septum, I sniffed a lot, which pissed people off and also caused me to snore.
“Again, if you’re not into staying, I’ll understand.”
“I’m not against staying the fact is… there’s only one way to put it… I’m broken.” Bailey’s mocha brown eyes focused on mine as he continued, “I have a disability. Actually, I’ve never let it stop me so in all reality it’s more of an ability… I’m fucking this up. I get edgy when I talk about it.”
“You’re not fucking anything up, keep going. Tell me about this ability of yours. Does it have anything to do with your limp, because it’s barely noticeable?”
“Obviously it’s noticeable if you noticed,” Bailey smiled sweetly and all I wanted to do was kiss him again.
“Don’t stop now.”
His limp was barely noticeable, it was cute, he was cute, and it made him perfect to me.
Chewing the inside of his cheek, Bailey let out an uneasy titter while shaking his head. I placed my hand over his and gave it a reassuring squeeze, a silent show of encouragement.
“One night while I was on patrol, I pulled over a car for a busted taillight. It was a routine stop like any other. I got out of my car, put on my hat… and instead of unclipping my gun like I had done a million times before… I’ve played it over in my mind nearly every night since, a million different scenarios and they all end up the same, with me getting shot.”
“Oh my God!”
“I lost my left leg just below the knee. Thank the forces that be, the kid was a shitty shot.”
“Shit!”
“You can say that again,” Bailey snorted. “The thing is, my lack of a leg is kind of off putting for most people. It’s just that if we’re going to have sex, it could be awkward.”
“We don’t have to have sex,” I sucked in a breath of courage before informing Bailey, enjoying the puzzlement on his sweet face. “I just don’t want the night to end. We can have a few drinks on the front porch if you like or watch some TV, just talk. I would rather you were here than home alone without me. We don’t even have to share a bed, but I’d like to. Are you okay with that?”
I knew it sounded bizarre from the moment the words slipped past my lips, and rolled my eyes imagining what he must be thinking of my invitation. Come to my house and spend the night, but we won’t fuck if you don’t want to… and I’m a freak who is just too insecure to let anyone in, so don’t get too attached.
“You want to cuddle and shit?”
“Do you have a problem with cuddling?” I swept a clump of stray hair from Bailey’s eyes. God, he had magnificent hair with that disheveled just fucked look.
“No, not at all. I happen to be a devout cuddler, just so you know.”
Bailey was magnetic and the idea of being cuddled up close to him in the dark tickled me, like a million fingers crawling along my spine.
“If you can handle the fact that I’m not a whole person.”
“Don’t talk crazy,” I scolded. “I’m sorry you got shot and had to go through that kind of trauma, but it certainly does not make you a lesser person. At least tell me the asshole that shot you is doing jail time.”
“She was, but it ended very badly,” Bailey blew out a sigh. “She committed suicide. Seems she had been running from someone when I pulled her over. She panicked, shot me, ended up in jail and slit her wrists.”
“That’s sad, I’m sorry,” I sat shame-faced. “Desperation is a dangerous emotion. Unfortunately, you paid a hefty price for this woman’s anguish.”
There was a long silence, except for the odd crackle of the house settling, a moment to think of how life could change in the tick of a heartbeat.
“I went to her funeral,” Bailey broke the silence, my eyes darted to his, my brows furrowed in question. “Forgiveness is a strange thing, Nolan. It’s easier to move on or simply forget, to sweep things under the rug… but I couldn’t let her soul leave this world without forgiving her. That’s fucked up, right?”
“Actually, it’s really fucking touching.”
“So, it doesn’t creep you out that I’m lying on your bed and part of me is missing?” Bailey asked, causing me to laugh out loud at the sudden transformation in his tone.
“Don’t be absurd. All I see is a very handsome man on my bed with the most incredible shade of brown eyes I’ve ever seen. Would it make a difference to you if I was missing an arm or a hand or something?”
“No, but how many people do you know with only one leg?”
I twisted the corner of my mouth and allowed my brows to knit together, pretending to be in deep thought, counting off each finger of my one hand. I was being daft on purpose, pleased that it made Bailey laugh. He had such a great laugh.
“Just you.” I smiled. “Why?”
“Want to see?”
“No.” I used a nonchalant tone while I maintained eye contact.
“No?” Dare I say Bailey looked disappointed? “You are creeped out.”
“Curiosity is one thing, needing to know is another thing all together. Honestly, I guarantee it won’t change how I feel about you. So, it can wait until we’re both ready.”
“Okay,” Bailey agreed with a wink as he rolled from the bed. “How about we have that drink then?”
We had a few drinks while watching reruns of, as strange as it sounded, COPS. Bailey pointed out all their faults and we laughed. He had one hell of a sense of humor as he pointed out all the mistakes the officers made, how they could have ended up like him and what he would have done differently, but all with a comedic tone. Then I fired up the barbeque. I sent Bailey inside to grab us a few beers and he returned with my guitar. I hadn’t played it in years. It had found a home on a stand beside the fireplace and I had all but forgotten it was there.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Bailey handed me a bottle of beer and took a seat, resting the guitar on his knee. “Do you play?”
“Can’t remember the last time, that thing must be seriously out of tune.”
Bailey plucked at the strings, humming as he carefully turned each tuning peg. The tinny sound of each string eased until it sang a tone that sounded familiar and clean. He started playing a tune, a soft easy melody.
“I don’t recognize that, what is it?” I asked, flipping the burgers and taking a swig of my beer.
“Beats the shit out of me,” Bailey snickered. “I can’t read music to save my life. I play by ear. Well I make it up as I go, it’s all bullshit in my head that comes out of my fingers.”
There was a free-spirit living within everything Bailey did and said. I liked Bailey’s easiness, his carefree what-the-fuck attitude. He was younger than me by at least five years. I think I liked knowing that more than I should have. He could teach me a thing or two about relaxing and enjoying life a bit more. I was going to love getting to know him better. All I was worried about was if he could handle me.
A few hours later, I climbed under the covers, wearing only a pair of cotton pajama bottoms and nervously waited for Bailey to come out of the washroom. He grabbed a pair of my pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. I was almost positive they wouldn’t fit him. He had a shower while visions of him naked in my shower danced in my head and I had to press my palm against the semi I needed to keep under control.
My mind wandered to images of Bailey with one leg. Admittedly, I was a bit apprehensive about seeing it, or should I say not seeing it, for the first time. I spoke the truth when I said that it was not going to change anything. Regardless, I didn’t know another amputee or what to say or do. This was delicate ground I wasn’t ready to tread upon. I found myself questioning how to properly address his lack of a leg. Shrugging it off would be wrong not to mention insensitive. My gut instinct told me to treat him like anyone else, why would I consider treating him any other way? I was relieved when he came into the bedroom with a smile on his face and my mind could rest.
“They fit.” Bailey held out his arms.
I had always been an over thinker. College had trained me as a therapist to never jump to conclusions; the thought process was major in my line of work. Bailey stood for a minute and stared, until I pulled back the covers and patted the pillow beside me. He leapt onto the bed facing me, licking across his bottom lip, my eyes following the tip of his tongue slowly skimming back and forth.
“Are you okay?” I asked, because from the way he was watching me he clearly had something on his mind.
“I won’t be able to sleep unless you have a look, you need to get the initial shock over with… for my sake, okay? I don’t sleep with my prosthesis on. It’s uncomfortable and can cause problems.”
“If that’s what you need,” I said, tossing the covers back sitting with my legs crossed Indian style, my palms slapping my thighs. “Then, let’s do this.”
Bailey gradually rolled up his pant leg exposing his prosthesis. My eyes trailed along a white sport sock he was wearing, to flesh colored material. He rolled down his sock, enough for me to see what looked like a tattoo of the Tasmanian Devil with its tongue comically hanging out, and his lower half whirling like a cyclone. As he uncovered the remainder of the prosthetic limb, I was enticed by the name ‘Zippy’ written within the outline of a banner.
“Zippy?” I asked, with one brow lifted and my mouth curled into a half smile.
“My brother gave me that name,” he laughed. “He could never catch me, pissed him right off.”
“You run?” I asked, giving my forehead a thud with the heel of my hand for being tactless. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”
“Stop! There is one thing we need to get straight from the get go,” Bailey seriousness dazed me. “I don’t want, nor do I need your sympathy, ever. For years I’ve had to deal with this. I moved away from home because I was being babied and treated like an invalid by my family. I won’t have you doing that, too!”
Bailey began rolling down his pant leg. I grabbed his hand stopping him. Speaking gently, I began rolling up the pant leg and kept going while Bailey watched me with a guarded eye, until the edge of the prosthetic leg ended and pink flesh was revealed.
“How far do you run?” I asked, touching my palm to his cheek with a smile. “Have you set any records?”
“I try to run three to five miles a day, sometimes more, sometimes less. It depends on the weather, of course.”
“Do you have one of those fancy running prosthetics, like that Oscar Pistorius guy used when he tried out for the Olympics?”
I could tell Bailey was beginning to loosen up after my upsetting him. I decided the best approach was to simply ask questions. He could always tell me to mind my own business if I got too nosy. I was sure he wasn’t too shy to tell me to fuck off either.
“Paralympics,” he corrected me, “and yeah I have one. It took a bit of getting used to, but it’s far more comfortable to run with. This is my fancy dress foot,” Bailey said, as he removed the limb and pulled off the sock, showing me the toes. They did look fancy and I ran my fingers over them. “See, it’s got toes with toe nails, plus it’s got a ball and socket in the ankle, makes the limp less noticeable and the socket is cushioned for comfort. I also have one for climbing, cycling and doing the cha-cha.”
We laughed as he leaned over and placed it on the floor. He was wearing a white cotton sleeve about four inches below the knee, hesitating to remove it.
“This is it, there’s no turning back,” Bailey warned me. I think he was more nervous than I was.
“Stop teasing me and take it off big boy,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood, watching while trying not to stare.
Undeniably, it was odd not seeing a foot where a foot should be, but it wasn’t repulsive or stomach-turning by any means, it simply wasn’t there. And as I said before, it made no difference to me. If anything, it compelled me to take care of Bailey, even though he had told me outright that wasn’t what he wanted. It must have been the nurturing part of my soul imploring to take over.
When the stocking was removed, Bailey massaged the rounded end, giving a thankful moan.
“Does it hurt?” I grimaced at the thought.
“No. Think of it like taking off your shoes after a long day, just uncomfortable and itchy as fuck.”
“What do I call it? I mean, I don’t want to insult you by calling it a stump or something rude.”
“It’s a residual limb, or just a limb. But I won’t be insulted it you call it a stump, a lot of people do.” Bailey rubbed his limb with his palm. “It’s dry and itchy tonight.”
“I’ll be right back,” I told him, jumping from the bed. “Do you have any allergies?”
“No, what are you up to?”
“I have this cream from my dermatologist, for super dry skin. I use it on my feet it makes them feel like silk. May I?”
“Sure,” Bailey eyed me absorbedly, as I sat down and uncapped the tube, squeezing a small amount into my palms.
Rubbing the cream into both hands, I looked for reassurance in Bailey’s eyes before placing both hands on his knee and slowly working them closer to the end of his limb, trailing nearer to the scars that looked like meticulous rows of stitching.
“Tell me if I’m hurting you, okay?”
“You are not hurting me, it feels nice actually,” he practically purred. “No one has ever done this before, other than nurses and doctors, and my mom. You don’t seem scared at all to touch me.”
“Scared? Why would I be scared?” I questioned. “There are so many scars. I’d do this every night for you… if you liked.”
“I would let you, but too much lotion and shit isn’t a good idea. It can do more harm than good,” Bailey laughed, wrapping his hand around the nape of my neck, pulling me closer and kissing the tip of my nose. “I’ve had too many reconstructions to count on both hands and toes because of infections caused by moisture. Why don’t you put that away and come to bed?”
We laid there, side by side, holding hands in the dark, as the clock beside the bed peacefully ticked out a soft melody and my eyes grew heavy.
“I’m glad you stayed,” I turned my head and kissed Bailey’s shoulder.
“I am, too.”