Somebody to Love (Crazy Little Thing Book 3) Read online

  “Hey. It’s been a long time.” His voice was just as shaky as his smile.

  “It has.”

  “The, ah, nurse called me last night. I’m still listed as your next of kin.” He scratched at the back of his neck, clearly as uncomfortable as I was. “I came as fast as I could. Are you…”—his eyes traveled over to my shoulder—“are you in any pain?”

  I shook my head. My shoulder was the last thing I was thinking about.

  “Good. That’s good. Look, Maxim, I’m—”

  The door opened, and Macalister rushed inside the room looking like death warmed up. He spotted my sleeping roommate and kept his voice down when he spoke. “Thank God you’re okay. You’re okay, right?”

  I nodded and grinned at him. Remy cast his eyes down and his jaw ticked. The two of them never got along.

  “Fucking ace. Someone was supposed to tell me when you woke up, yet he must have conveniently forgotten.”

  Remy stood up, his fist clenched at his side. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back later, Max.” Without sparing Macalister another look, Remy left the room, closing the door behind him.

  “God, how is that guy still such a fucking dick after all these years?”

  I hummed and tried to sit up higher. Macalister ended up helping. “I woke up first. Not long ago.”

  “You’re still defending him, I see.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Yeah—not convinced. I’m dropping this for now because you’re all drugged up and almost died, but we are so revisiting this discussion, dude.” I nodded, and he continued asking me how I felt and if I wanted anything. When I answered that I was fine and didn’t need anything, he told me that all of our close friends and some of our baseball teammates were in the waiting room. They’d been waiting all night, so I had Mac bring them in in small groups to not disturb the other patient.

  Bryan, Elijah, Dubhlainn, and Blake came in first. Seeing everyone was wonderful, even though Blake cried, and I wasn’t comfortable being the center of attention. Elijah understood that more than the others, what with his anxiety. After they made sure I was all right, he tugged on Bryan’s sleeve, suggesting they leave and let me catch up on my rest. Bryan nodded at his fiancé and dragged Blake out with them. Dubhlainn stood facing me in Macalister’s embrace.

  “I don’t know what I’d have done if you’d died, Maxim. Mac would have driven me fuckin’ mad, and I probably would’ve ended up killing him,” Dubhlainn said with a smirk.

  “Is having a morbid sense of humor an Irish thing? Or are you just being a dick to me?” Macalister asked.

  I snorted a laugh over their exchange, though I was fairly certain Dubhlainn was teasing. It was too easy with a guy like Macalister.

  “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, love.” Dubhlainn angled his head up and met Macalister in a kiss, then turned his attention back to me. “I’ll keep this guy out of your hair for a few hours. I can’t promise anything beyond that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Oh, come on. I’m allowed to worry,” Macalister whined as he was dragged toward the door. They bid me a final farewell before they exited the room. The only sound that remained was the beeping from the machines. I tried to shift again and let out a groan when a jolt of pain shot through my shoulder. Feeling thoroughly defeated, I relaxed into the uncomfortable bed and waited for Remy to come back. Although I still didn’t know what I’d say to him when he did.

  If he did.

  Three

  Remy

  Maxim was kept in the hospital for three more days while his shoulder was monitored. On the second day, a physical therapist introduced herself and showed him a variety of exercises he’d need to keep up with to maintain a full range of motion in his shoulder. Failing to do so would likely result in stiffness, which would be painful. I sat back and quietly listened to every word the physical therapist said, knowing Maxim wouldn’t retain all of the information with the painkillers in his system. All of it would be included in writing, but I felt better hearing it straight from a professional.

  As soon as I’d heard that the injury would keep him off of work for four to six months, and he’d be in a sling for around six weeks, I’d made the decision to stay in Chicago to take care of him. I hadn’t told him yet. I hadn’t even explained why I was there at all. I’d like to say that his friends or staff kept getting in the way, but that would be a lie. I was scared to tell him; if he turned me away—which he had every right to do—I’d have nothing. Less than that. I’d be nothing. I was fine with that a few days ago, though now I wanted to be there for Maxim. I’d failed him ten years ago because I was a fucking idiot. That fact still remained, but I could do this for him. My debt to Maxim could never be paid in full, even if I had a lifetime to try. I’d do the best I could until he recovered, then I’d have to leave him again—for good this time.

  The American Express I’d “borrowed” from the man who’d essentially rented me had been cut off. I used the last fifty bucks in my wallet to keep myself fed during Maxim’s stay. I slept in his room when the cute young doctor allowed it, and out in the waiting area when he didn't. By the third day I was more than ready to get Maxim home. His drugs had been dialed back and he was walking around more, which was a relief to see. His flow of visitors stayed consistent, and I kept my distance to avoid fighting with Mac. Stressing out Maxim or getting thrown out of the hospital wasn’t my goal, so as much as I didn’t like it, I waited. It also gave me an excuse to avoid the tough chat we needed to have.

  No matter who he was talking to, I constantly felt the weight of Maxim’s gaze on me. His brown eyes tracked my every movement, even if he tried to be discreet about it. I knew he wanted to talk to me, but he wouldn’t until we had proper privacy. Maxim didn’t like talking about tough shit on the best of days; doing so in a public place would be a nightmare for him. We’d have plenty of time to talk if he’d let me take care of him.

  On the third day after his surgery, he was prepped for discharge. His cute doctor returned to let Maxim know about his medications and recommended doses. Maxim’s roommate had been discharged the day before, and I saw this as my chance to broach the subject of me going home with him. The cute doctor finished up his questions and even managed to get Maxim to laugh before he headed for the door. He cast me a small grin and nodded toward Maxim before he left, and it occurred to me that the tension between us wasn’t as subtle as I’d hoped it was. Of course it wasn’t. I was acting sketchy as hell—not a lover, not a friend… not anything, yet ever present.

  I took a deep breath before I got up and dragged my chair closer to Maxim’s bed. He was sitting up, slowing rotating his good shoulder. I didn’t even pretend not to ogle the way his muscles flexed when he moved. He was so much bigger from when I’d seen him last. Being so stagnant was probably killing him. I sat down in front of him with a huff and an awkward smile.

  “What is it?”

  “No small-talk bullshit—okay. I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I’d like to look after you while you recover. I know you don’t need it, and I’m probably the last person you want it from, but I’d like to help if you’ll let me.”

  Maxim’s brow furrowed. “Why would I take that the wrong way? I don’t hate you, Remy. I’m glad you’re staying.”

  I should have told him I wasn’t planning on staying, and I knew I was an asshole for not being upfront about it. When he looked at me with hope in his eyes, I didn’t have the heart to shit all over that. It would be worse down the road when I did leave, but in that moment I just couldn’t tell him. He might not hate me yet, though I was sure he would.

  “Remy,” he said, snapping me from my drifting thoughts.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “I asked you if you had a place to stay.”

  “Not yet. I’m still working out my money situation.” Vague, but I wasn’t in the mood to get into the intricacies of my broke status.

  “If you weren’t planning
on something else, you could stay with me. My apartment isn’t huge or fancy, but it’s more than we had before.”

  If it was possible for a look of panic and regret to erase words from existence, Maxim was doing a fantastic job of it. We used to live together in a shitty studio apartment when we were kids. My affluent parents didn’t have a problem with me being gay, though they had a huge problem with me dating below my station. The Kincaids had old money and were a shipping and textile force back in the day. My father was an accountant now, though the family fortune was more than enough to ensure none of us had to work. He’d always stressed the importance of being a self-made man before being rewarded with the family’s money. They’d cut me off when I didn’t break up with Maxim, and that small apartment was all we could afford. It’d been enough for us.

  I could probably crawl back to them and be alleviated of my money problems, but fuck that. Staying with Maxim held infinitely more appeal. And he’d never judge me. “If you’re sure about it, I’ll stay with you.” Nothing would make me happier. “It’ll make it easier to look out for you,” I added, trying to make it sound like a logic-based decision. As if I’d ever made those.

  Maxim gripped the mattress on either side of him and nodded. There was more he wanted to say, though I doubted he’d say much more today after the slip he’d just made. I used to be the only one he’d talk to. I didn’t expect that to still be the case.

  When we first met at a summer camp, he was the quietest, shyest eleven-year-old boy I’d ever met. He had no friends and was teased and tormented over the stupidest shit. He was already taller than them, though he never fought back. The scar on his upper lip was from a cleft lip surgery, and those little assholes bullied him over it. Since then, he’d always tried not to draw attention to himself. My brazen little ass had ignored that and adopted him as my new best friend. I’d fought kids twice my size who had even dared to look at him sideways.

  It had taken two weeks before he’d said a word to me. After that, he spoke more and more, but only to me. I’d felt like the luckiest kid in the world because he’d chosen me; I had to be special. No one else had made me feel like that, so I clung to him as much as he did to me, and we were inseparable for the rest of the summer. We’d kept in touch via email and phone calls during the rest of the year, but those summers together were what I longed for most.

  “I’ll leave it to you to tell Mac. It’s no secret that guy hates my fucking guts.”

  Maxim hummed and nodded, smirking at me.

  “And don’t tell him I called him Mac. It was a slip, and it won’t happen again.” Everyone except Maxim called him Mac, though Maxim was partial to using full names for everyone aside from me. I did it purely to piss the guy off.

  I made myself scarce while Maxim delivered the news to Mac, using the time to freshen up in one of the bathrooms on the next floor. After several days without a shower, I was in a pretty grungy state. Mac was already gone when I returned. Maxim was in the middle of changing into fresh clothes Mac had likely brought for him. I felt like a leering pervert for watching, yet I didn’t make any effort to rip my gaze from his exposed back. The white bandage against his tanned skin reminded me that I was there to help, not ogle.

  “Let me help.” I stepped around the bed and stood in front of Maxim, who gently nodded his head once. I carefully removed the sling, as the physical therapist had shown us, then fed each of his arms through the sleeves of the pullover sweater. He’d already changed into a pair of sweatpants—thank fuck. I had a feeling it was going to take me a while to get accustomed to being around Maxim in various stages of undress, and then there was bathing—clearly I haven’t really thought this through.

  Whatever. I’d do whatever Maxim needed, and I’d deal with it. I filled Maxim’s prescriptions in the pharmacy downstairs before I ordered us a cab. Uber would have been cheaper, but I didn’t have a working credit card anymore.

  Maxim had insisted that his friends all leave so no one had to witness him being wheeled out of the hospital. He didn’t protest in front of the nurse, though I could tell he felt on display in the wheelchair. Once we were in the backseat of the car and he’d given his address, he relaxed against me. He was still doped up to manage the pain, so he was tired and a bit foggy. I helped him out of the cab and into his apartment, taking him straight to bed. Then I noticed that this was a one-bedroom unit. The living room was large and uncluttered. That was probably where I’d help with his shoulder exercises in a few weeks. The bedroom wasn’t overly big. A king-sized bed took up most of the space, along with one nightstand and a tall dresser. The wall across from the door had a big window, though the dark brown curtains were closed. There was a closet by the door, which looked decent enough.

  I tucked Maxim into his bed and made sure his shoulder was cushioned with all the pillows I could find before I set out to snoop—for lack of a better word. The apartment was clean yet spartan. Maxim was never fond of frivolity, and this apartment clearly demonstrated that. When we lived together before, I’d done all of the decorating. The overall lack of décor would have normally driven me crazy, but now it had me smiling to myself. Maxim seemed to be the same person I’d known intimately, and that was comforting.

  I was hungry but too drained to care. I found a blanket in the hall closet, took a glass of water to Maxim’s bedside, and then stretched out on the black leather couch. Four days of exhaustion and shit sleep knocked me out within minutes, and I dreamt of a shy boy with the darkest brown eyes I’d ever seen.

  Four

  Maxim

  I was surrounded by pillows, but otherwise alone in my bed, when I woke. The pain in my shoulder was searing and far more intense than anything I’d felt during my hospital stay. I turned on my bedside lamp with my good arm, taking notice of a glass of water and the white paper bag with my prescription drugs on the nightstand. I had no recollection of putting them there, so Remy must have—

  Remy. Where was he? He wasn’t in bed with me, so I figured he was on the couch or had gone out. My head still felt a bit foggy, though I was much more lucid than I’d been in the hospital. I hadn’t been thinking clearly when I suggested Remy stay with me. While I wouldn’t mind sharing my bed with him, it hadn’t occurred to me that he wouldn’t want to. It was foolish of me to overlook telling him I only had a one-bedroom apartment. I mainly had the drugs to blame for my oversight, and I hoped I hadn’t made things more awkward between us.

  At the hospital Remy had acted like nothing was wrong—we both had. I wanted to believe that everything would be all right—that he’d finally come back for me—though I knew better than to get my hopes up. Remy never did anything with a specific reason. He didn’t always explain himself, but he always had some sort of self-justification. I didn’t believe him entirely when he said he’d come back to take care of me. I could tell there was something else, but I didn’t have the energy to pry it out of him. It would come out in time.

  I sat up, and immediately regretted that decision when it jarred my shoulder. I gritted my teeth and hissed through the pain, though it got better once I was leaning against the headboard. Not much, but enough that I could breathe without wincing. It was going to be a long few weeks without pain management, though it was better than living in a daze.

  I got up, used the bathroom and brushed my teeth, then found Remy asleep on the couch. His lips were slightly parted, and his bleached hair was messily lying across his forehead. It looked so soft, and before I knew what I was doing, my fingers were brushing it back from his face. He looked like his twenty-year-old self—like the guy who’d left me—while he slept. I swallowed hard, then pulled his blanket up higher around his shoulders before heading for the kitchen. I didn’t have much food: onions, carrots, condiments, and some chicken and veggies in the freezer. Although it was enough to make one of Remy’s old favorites: chicken fried rice. Chopping onions and chicken with one hand was going to be a pain, but I had to figure out how to take care of myself. Remy was here now, but
I knew that could change at any moment—just as it had before.

  Remy woke up while I was frying the rice, chicken, and vegetables. It was pretty loud, and I felt sorry about waking him, though I was happy to see him standing in the entry to the kitchen, grinning at me.

  “Is that chicken fried rice?”

  I nodded at him, biting back a dopey smile.

  He stepped closer and peered into the frying pan with a full smile. “You remembered.”

  I nodded again and scooped up one of the carrots I’d cut into stars—just the way he used to like them. I held the fork out for him to take, but he leaned forward and took the carrot with his teeth while I held it. My eyes were practically glued to his mouth while he chewed, then his throat while he swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed beneath the tattoo on his neck. It looked like a raven or crow, though instead of a mass of heavy black ink, there was a lot of negative space and purple highlights. The wings spread out up under his jaw on both sides, yet it didn’t look harsh, if that was the right word. It was a beautifully designed piece that I wanted to trace with my fingertips. Then again, I wanted to touch every inch of him.

  A flush colored the negative space between the dark lines, and I looked up to see his cheeks were pink as well and his eyes were looking off to the side. Shit—I’d been caught staring. I stirred the rice one more time, then shut the burner off. My movements were already awkward with my left hand—having Remy in close proximity made me even clumsier. When reaching for bowls in the cupboard, I almost knocked over the whole stack, and then I managed to whack my good arm into the side of the fridge.