by Anyta Sunday
"I'll start on dinner then." Yep, have everything ready, so the entertaining part of the evening would be over. Quick-as-a-flick.
Paul fished out the key Karl had made for him. His eyes lit up. "Gillian would go mad!"
A brief moment of nerves whisked his gut thinking of his Lamborghini on the streets without him in it. Paul's excited face stopped it. "Totally."
All in a rush, air whistled past his face as Paul lightly kissed his cheek. "Later then," he said, and hightailed out of the apartment.
Before the door clicked, Karl heard himself yelling, "Don't park her on a corner." All the while holding a hand to Paul's still-tickling kiss.
Charlie swooped into the room. "Is there anything to eat? I'm hungry."
"Well, dinner won't be too long. Would you like an apple?"
"How 'bout a cookie?" The monkey even batted his lashes.
"If you're hungry, you'll eat the apple."
"What about half an apple and half a cookie?"
Chuckling at the boy's negotiation skills, Karl shook his head. "Good try, buddy. But I'm making dinner right now, okay. In a little while you can have some of Charlie's special sour cream, right?"
Charlie moped back into the lounge.
Half-way through chopping Portobello mushrooms, his cell beeped. With one hand he fished for the phone and jammed it between ear and shoulder. Will's voice rumbling down the line almost made him drop it.
"Will?"
"Hey, Karl. Merry Christmas." Such a smooth voice.
"Um, thanks. To you, too." A crackle in the reception. Or maybe Will's breath. "Why are you calling?"
"Is this weird for you? I'm sorry, I just thought—"
"No, it's fine. I want us to be on talking terms again."
"Good . . . Me, too." A pause. "Well, I called to wish you the best. I—I like that we're mailing each other now. I don't know, perhaps this is too pre-emptive, but me and a . . . friend of mine will be down your way February. I wondered if you'd like to, I don't know, meet up?"
Karl swallowed. "Um," did he want this? Not really. Maybe. Yeah. Yeah, maybe, "I think we could do that."
"Okay, well, good. It's a couple of weeks after your birthday. The twentieth . . . "
After chatting a little while longer, they hung up with the promise to call again soon. Strangely enough, despite some awkwardness, he meant it, too.
Once Karl slid the mushroom and nutty-pastry pie into the oven, he checked the time. Paul had been gone a half-hour. He'd be there already. He scrolled through his contact list. Found the name. Dialed. Five rings and it picked up.
"Gillian, if you're making Paul wait for you, I'm not giving you the recipe for this chocolate soufflé we're having for dessert."
Gillian guffawed. "It doesn't take me that long to get ready. He's just not here yet. There's a butt-load of traffic to contend with out there, so I wouldn't plan on us getting back to your place before seven."
Karl reached over to the oven and switched it off, opening the door. "Well, call me, or get him to call me when he arrives so I can estimate a proper time to get this pie baking."
"Ohhh, pie. Can't wait. Later, bye."
"Ciao."
Karl gathered the ingredients to mix a bread salad. He ripped open a packet of pumpkin seeds to lightly fry and let cool.
Beep-beep, beep-beep. His phone. He laid down his Culinary Heaven pan. Smiling, because he knew he'd hear Paul's voice. "Yep?"
"Karl?" Damn. Bad connection. Made Paul's voice sound off—almost wheezy.
"Karl . . . sorry . . . " His words tunneled, weak, through the phone. It didn't help it was so loud where Paul was.
"Just get back as soon as you can. Dinner is almost ready."
"So sorry . . . your car—"
Sirens drowned out his next words.
"Paul, it's really hard to hear you."
A raspy crackle came down the line.
"Call back in a few. Try for a better connection?"
No answer. Or he couldn't hear one.
Karl was about to end the call, when a crisp feminine voice cut through the bad connection. "Sir, can you hear me? Sir?" Karl frowned, his pulse beginning to hammer in his temples.
"Paul? What's going on there?"
The woman's voice again. More distant. "We're moving you, sir. We need to get you to hospital. Don't try to help—"
His cell slipped. Clattered as it hit the tiled floor, at first sharp, and then suddenly everything slowed, sound faded. Everything seemed to blur, except one single thought.
Hospital.
15
Green light, right
KARL STARED AT the phone, his feet rooted to the floor, his mind racing. Oh God. Paul.
He blinked. What happened? Would he be okay? Karl slowly lowered into a crouch and picked up the cell. Dialed Paul's number again with shaky fingers. Could he have misunderstood something? Possible. Right? He hoped so.
Someone answered. A stranger's voice. They spoke; he could hardly hear them, except for the words car accident and St Joseph's. He shoved the cell in his pocket. He needed to get to the hospital. Karl shook his head. Was this really happening? He grabbed his key. Frowned. Chucked it to the counter, found the one to the Volvo.
"Charlie, come out here please." He had to get him ready.
When the boy didn't respond, Karl strode into the lounge, flicked the movie off, ignoring the sudden cry. Tucking an arm around him, he picked the boy up and moved to the kitchen. Maybe the boy shouldn't go. Maybe he should stay with Natasha in reception? Karl didn't know how bad it was.
Oh God, how bad was it?
His heart raced, blood pulsed in his ears. How bad?
Might be too much for Charlie to see. Hell, it might be too much for him to see. He didn't do well in a crisis, much less when blood was involved. And not just anyone's blood. That thought was too much to contend with; he shook it off. Focused himself on whether Charlie should come or not. It was late. But what if it's the last chance for him and Paul . . . How could he think that? No, Paul would be fine.
Still, better if Charlie came with him.
He pressed firmly on both of Charlie's shoulders. "We're going to the hospital. Your papa"—his voice croaked, he coughed to continue—"had a little accident." He hoped it was little. It was little. Surely. Paul had rung him. Rung him. "We're going to go see him and make sure he's okay."
Charlie looked into Karl's eyes. "Is papa okay?"
"I hope so." Karl stood abruptly, fished in the pantry for the jar of cookies. Grabbed a handful and stuffed them into Charlie's pockets. "For the trip. Now, let's get your jacket on and get moving."
Charlie buckled into the car, Karl jumped into the front seat. Fired the engine. Now to St. Joseph's. The boy kept asking something, but he only caught half of the words. His mind kept skittering, like he was losing his focus. Why did it bubble inside?
Traffic inched. Karl grieved at how long it was taking to get across town. Another red light. He gritted his teeth, felt the grooves in the wheel dig into his palms.
He beeped the horn when the light changed, and the idiot driver in front didn't move. He readied to roar across the intersection when they approached. Yellow light. He jerked into a brake. It would've been calling it close. He couldn't risk something like that. Not with Charlie in the car. Not considering . . . Paul.
Beautiful Paul. His gray eyes only an hour before searching his own . . . The wonderful smile, dimple begging for attention, his laugh . . . then those lips meeting his with an electric buzz. The quiet moan that had slipped from his mouth. The need to feel him closer. Wrap his arms around his torso, press their chests together. His cell rang. Gillian.
"What's happening?" Her voice sounded worried.
He mumbled what he knew. Her sharp intake of breath had him swallowing hard. He was glad to disconnect.
Cars beeped at him. Green light, right.
More beeps.
Come on! He was on it. Jesus. "Merry fucking Christmas back at you!"
<
br /> Charlie sniffed and whimpered under his breath. Fuck! Why couldn't he keep his mouth shut?
Everything was wrong. This was all wrong. Karl reached a hand to the back seat. "Charlie? Sorry. I'm sorry. It's okay, okay? It'll be all right. We'll all be all right. We'll be fine." His voice started shaking—that bubbling feeling rising again. "Just fine."
He glanced at the boy in the rearview mirror. Charlie was nodding his head, but his breathing stayed irregular. "She-sha, she-sha," he whispered. "Make Papa better."
Karl's eyes burned until the road fuzzed. He blinked. Needed to concentrate. Though right now, he wanted to pull over, take Charlie in his arms, and rock him till he calmed.
His cell beeped again. A text. Anonymous.
At a pause in the traffic, he read. In small accident. Am OK. Light whiplash and fractured arm. Concussion. Look after Charlie. Will ring when you should come to pick me up. Sorry. Paul.
His grip slackened on the wheel. The next free space, he pulled over. Rested his head on the wheel. The bubbling churned inside—he needed it to settle. It was making him stupid. Keep it together, man. A belt clicked. A little hand rested between his shoulder blades. Little puffs of cookie air on his cheek. "Is Papa okay?" he sounded unsure, but hopeful.
Karl crushed the boy to his chest. Hairs tickled his nose. "Papa's going to be fine. Your magic works, Charlie. It works so well!" Thin arms hugged him back.
"It'll be okay, Karly." The strength of this boy. So caring. . . .
His brain was foggy even though Paul said he was fine.
Said he was fine. Somehow, he still needed to see it. Hearing wasn't enough; he and Charlie needed to know. Karl sniffed and pulled himself together, giving Charlie a comforting smile. Or he hoped it was.
He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the side mirror. Pale. More than he'd seen himself before. No wonder Charlie worried; he had to keep it together. Be strong for him. He rubbed the boy's back. "Thank you, Charlie. Your hugs are magic too."
Charlie smiled and clambered into his chair. Karl waited until he heard the click. Checked the boy in the mirror once more, and turned on the ignition. "Let's go get Papa."
* * *
Almost midnight. Five hours of sitting on a hard plastic chair, the back of it digging into Karl's back, his butt tingling with numbness. Chip packets, long since fallen to the floor, crackled as he straightened his leg.
He lightly ran a hand over Charlie's hair like he'd been doing the last hour. The boy took a sudden deep breath, and Karl paused, not wishing to wake him where he softly slept, head on Karl's lap. With his free hand, he flicked open his cell, hoping for a reply to the message sent to that same anonymous number.
Seeing small goose bumps on Charlie's arm, Karl carefully shrugged out of his pullover and laid it over him. Maybe it would have been fairer to Charlie to go home, but, no, he just couldn't.
Inside, the hollowness continued to tug, to widen; each passing minute he wondered if Paul had played his injuries down, perhaps they were far more serious. Each time someone walked into the waiting room, his head snapped to attention. Hope quickly faded into nausea; calming excuses and nightmarish images battled in his mind.
A wheelchair came through the door; Karl's heart leapt into his throat. Not him. Thank God.
Charlie whined a little as he snuggled into Karl's jumper. Karl swallowed. "Thanks for being here little buddy."
Air stirred. He lifted his tired, hopeful head. He blinked, wanted to rub his eyes to be sure it was really Paul there. He jumped to his feet, startling Charlie awake.
"Papa!" Charlie yelped.
Karl stood frozen, his gaze jumping past a nurse to Paul. He scanned Paul's body, stomach plummeting at the sight of the wheelchair and cast on his right arm. Charlie leaped onto his papa's lap. Paul patted Charlie's head, smiling. He acknowledged Karl with a nod, but didn't bring the smile with it.
Charlie asked something.
"Just until someone picks him up," the nurse answered him "Your Papa's fine. A couple of days bed rest and four weeks of the cast, and he'll be as good as new."
As good as new. Paul was fine. Would be fine! His legs buckled and he fell onto the plastic stool again. Karl grabbed his jumper, squeezing, forcing himself to regain control. He wobbled a smile and met Paul's glassy eyes. "Let's get you home, then."
Paperwork. Prescriptions. After-hours pharmacy. All the things that needed to be done blurred by. The drugs they'd given Paul slackened his movements. He barely spoke. But that was because of the drugs. And he was probably just too tired to smile. Or raise his head to look at him.
Karl drove slowly through the now almost empty streets. Charlie slept soundly in the back. Paul rested his head against the window, staring out into the darkness. Karl flinched as his tooth pierced his bottom lip. He smudged the blood into his mouth. Just too tired.
Still, the silence begged him to break it. Or maybe something in his gut did. "How are you feeling?"
A long wait. Karl frowned. And then Paul's soft sigh. "I'm so sorry, Karl. I know what that car meant to you."
What the—"Is that why you're all moody?" His words came out sharp. "Who gives a f—about a car, when you could've—" All the horrifying images of the night rippled though his mind. "—could've been . . . " His vision blurred. He gripped the wheel. "Someone rammed up your tail, it's not even your fault!" He took a breath. And another one. "It was never about how much it was worth."
"Yeah, but I was too close to the car in front. And it's the sentimental value of the car that makes it worse. It was special to you. And it's totaled. The day you give me your trust, give me something that means that much to you and look what happens." Paul turned his head on the window so his forehead rested on the pane. Could he get any further away from Karl while still in the car?
The rest of the drive, they sat in silence. Back at home, Karl laid Charlie into bed and met Paul, slumped over the kitchen table. He wanted to see a smile. See a smile just for him. He could've lost that today.
"Are you in pain? Do you need some pills?"
Paul shook his head. "I'm tired, though." He glanced at his cast.
Karl held in a disappointed sigh. "Let's get you to bed, then."
Darting to his room, Karl quickly shucked out of his clothes, keeping on his boxers, and donning a T-shirt. He met Paul in his room, sitting on the side of his bed fiddling unsuccessfully with his shirt buttons.
Karl went over, plucked Paul's hand away. Knelt on the floor in front of him and gently tugged it off, sucking in a breath at the red line running diagonally over his chest. "Oh God, Paul, I'm so sorry." His hands shook as he touched to one side of the mark. He teased a little hair between two fingers as he continued to stare at it.
It wasn't until Karl looked up into Paul's face, he noticed the damp cheeks. Karl brushed his hand over one. "What can I do?"
Paul gripped his hand. "Nothing. I'm just so—so tired, and . . . "
"And?"
"I'm sorry I was so moody."
The simple apology had Karl near tears again. He leaned in and kissed Paul gently. "You get a free pass. Today." Then pulled Paul's good hand so he stood. Linking fingers into Paul's waistband, he undid his pants, crunched them to the floor, and made Paul step out. While Paul attempted to tug his comforter down, Karl folded the pants and laid them with his shirt on a chair.
Paul groaned in pain and cursed. "I hate sleeping on my left."
Karl chuckled and slid in next to the wriggling body. "Better get used to it. You've got at least four weeks more of that thing. Stay still and I can massage your back, if it helps get you more comfortable?"
Paul quickly settled down, and Karl smiled. So, he liked a massage, did he? Paul's Mmmm confirmed it, when Karl rubbed small circles into his shoulder blades and either side of his spine. He made sure to touch every part of bare skin, feeling his smile strain his lips at each encouraging murmur. Karl stopped a moment to rub an itch from his nose, and Paul wriggled again.
As he conti
nued prodding Paul's back, the night's events replayed in his mind. He moved in closer to Paul, his breath stirring his hair. "You remembered my number." Must have, to message him from someone else's phone.
Paul's head moved. Was that a nod? His tired voice hummed out of him, somewhat slurred. "Memorized it."
"You did?" His words fell out a whisper on Paul's neck.
A soft reply, "I memorize everything . . . about you."
Karl rested his head against Paul's upper back. Was this all Paul talking, or were his meds really kicking in and he wouldn't remember this in the morning? "Really?"
Another move on Paul's part. "Your brown eyes have little flecks of blue in the middle." Paul's voice came out tired, but . . . happy? "Just enough, so that when you wear green, they look green too."
Karl swallowed. He didn't even know that.
Paul yawned deeply, and at the end of it all twisted, and mumbled, "Like to see you before you go to bed."
Slinking over, Karl held his breath, only releasing it as he laid his head on the other side of Paul's pillow, the casted arm between them. A leg inched to his, and Karl, taking it as an invitation, hooked his leg around it. Paul shifted so his good arm reached out and grabbed a fist of Karl's shirt. "Thank you, Karl."
A smile. Karl savored the moment, drinking every etch in, even how the shadows fell in the room onto his face. Beautiful.
Paul traced the smile on his face with his finger. He stopped on the middle of his upper lip. "I want to memorize the inside stuff too, and I d-don't want to w-w" he paused a moment, collected a tired breath, "don't want to waste another opportunity."
Karl's stomach curled in on itself, warmth and energy rising up his torso with it.
Paul tapped Karl's lip, his lids drooping. "Tell me everything, Karl. Please. Everything. From the best moment of your life, to the most embarrassing, to how you chipped your tooth."
A long yawn trickled out of Paul.
Stroking Paul's hair, Karl leaned in and kissed him. "I will, Paul." He drew back. "But that one's not for tonight. Another time, promise. Now sleep, handsome."
"Hmmm, handsome, huh?"