by Rachel Ember
“Honey,” Jay’s dad said from the chair beside Jay’s hospital bed, his elbows braced on his knees and his dark hair ruffled, “why don’t you go get some more ice for Jay’s water?” He nodded toward the plastic cup and straw that Jay had been supplied with shortly after being admitted. She pressed her lips together like she suspected her husband was only trying to distract her, but sighed, snatched up the cup, and left with it.
“How’s your pain, kiddo?” Jay’s dad asked when they were alone, reaching out to brush back Jay’s hair. Jay let his phone slide across his lap so that it landed safely out of his father’s line of sight, just in case, though he didn’t think he’d have been able to see anything from where he was sitting.
“It’s not bad.” Bearable, anyway. He could feel the swelling, hot and throbbing and heavy. He remembered the moment where simply falling the way he’d learned how to at five years old would have kept him from ending up here, and sighed in exasperation. “I can’t believe I did this.”
His dad shrugged. “It’s a college game. You play hard. Shit happens.”
Jay’s father was always the laid-back one, and his mother was always the tense one. But Jay noticed something now that he didn’t think he ever had before—a certain forced calm in his father, with a rigidity in the set of his shoulders. He was a lawyer, and maybe he didn’t spend as much time in the courtroom as Jay’s mom, but he definitely knew how to conceal his emotions. And how many times had he played the calm, soothing one to Jay’s mother’s more anxious parenting style? Until now, Jay had never realized that act wasn’t necessarily a reflection of the intensity of his feelings.
“I’m going to be okay, Dad.” Jay felt a little spike of alarm when his dad’s gaze skated over his wrapped arm and then hastily away, like it hurt him to see it. “It was—”
“A crack, not a snap,” his dad said with a sardonic smile, but when he met Jay’s eyes, there was timid relief in his smile. “I know you’re going to be okay. I’m sure you will be.”
Jay heard his mother’s voice from the hallway, along with the low murmur of an older man’s voice, and as they grew closer, Jay could make out some of the man’s words.
“...sorry, but as he’s over eighteen and competent, I’m afraid I can’t answer those questions.”
Jay and his dad exchanged a bemused glance as a man in a lab coat and with thinning hair entered the room, closely shadowed by Jay’s mother, her brow knitted and with Jay’s water bottle, topped off with ice, clutched in both her hands.
“Hi, Jason,” the man said with a tired smile, “I’m Dr. Lampo.”
“Hi, Doctor,” Jay said, reclining against the thin hospital pillow with a stiff smile. He wouldn’t have bothered to correct the name, but his mother did it for him, anyway.
“He goes by Jay.”
“Jay,” the doctor echoed with a slow nod. “Got it. Jay. Is it okay with you if we talk in front of your parents?”
Jay nodded. “Yeah, sure.”
“Very well, then,” Dr. Lampo said. “I’ve reviewed your radiographs, and I’m happy to tell you that your injury isn’t serious. You did fracture your ulna, but it should heal nicely, given sufficient rest.” He went on for a while about painkillers and discharge instructions, but Jay just nodded distractedly until the man was done and excused himself.
“Told you,” Jay told his parents smugly, sitting back against the elevated bed. “A crack, not a snap.”
Jay’s parents could barely be talked into giving him a ride back to his dorm and then going back home themselves; they’d wanted to take him to a hotel for a few days, where he could get ‘better rest,’ as his father had put it, and ‘not show weakness around Eric,’ as his mother had put it.
Jay waved at them from the steps of his dormitory building, and was about to turn and walk inside when he saw he had another text from Emile. They’d been passing texts back and forth since Jay had been checked into the hospital, so Emile already knew he had a fracture and that he’d been discharged. But the message he’d just sent struck Jay right in the heart.
I just wish I could see you.
Jay looked over his shoulder at the building, remembering the doctor and discharging nurse’s instructions that he get plenty of rest and take the pain pills as needed. He bit his lip, thinking it over, and then he walked back down the steps and toward the edge of campus, taking the route he’d found to be fastest when walking to Emile’s. Moving made him feel both better and worse; his arm hurt more, but the rest of his body, including his head, was comforted by the rhythm.
Jay knew that the text he’d gotten wasn’t an invitation. He knew Emile was busy, and about to leave for the airport. But Jay was antsy, and his arm hurt, and after the cotton-headed feeling and churning stomach that he’d experienced the last time he’d taken prescription painkillers a couple years ago, he really didn’t want to pop the seal on his prescription. He was sure he’d feel better if he saw Emile, even just for a few minutes.
Besides, Emile wanted to see him. He was worried about him, and had wanted to be with him when he’d been hurt. The knowledge gave Jay’s chest a buoyant feeling that he knew by its name, even though he’d never felt it before. Love. He loved Emile. Not the quiet but intense warmth that was his love for his parents and Bria, but the dizzy, his heart-had-wings feeling that so many poets had written about without end, and now he could understand why.
By the time Jay reached Emile’s house, his arm was throbbing, but the pain was so subsumed by the realization of his feelings for Emile that he almost didn’t notice it. He walked briskly through the fading daylight, up the sloping driveway. Only as the faint strain of the incline tugged at his thighs, which were already weary from playing half of a hard game, did a niggling concern take root in the back of his mind. What if Emile wasn’t happy to see him show up unannounced? How many times had Emile stressed the need for them to be careful? That Jay should only come to the house when he’d be there anyway to walk Godot, ensuring that they always had that excuse built-in if someone intercepted him?
But when Jay saw the soft light glowing in the living room windows, his uncertainty vanished. In just these short months, Emile’s house had come to feel more like home than anywhere else, even the house where he’d lived most of his life with his parents. Jay unconsciously sped up, taking one running step before he jarred his arm and, wincing, returned to a measured walk over the bridge to the front door.
A deep, rough woof from inside surprised Jay; he couldn’t remember ever having heard Godot bark. Through the windows, Jay saw that the dog had sprung up from his flannel bed beside the old radiator. And at his alarm, Emile also stood up from the chair in the living room where Jay so often sat.
Seeing him filled Jay with another warm rush, but although Emile hurried toward the door, his brow was furrowed and he was frowning instead of looking pleased.
The contrast to how Emile looked and how Jay felt abraded his already raw insides. Jay’s veins felt like they were rushing with pure adrenaline instead of blood; he was perilously near tears, and in his head, he imagined that the moment the door opened, he’d step through it, shove Emile up against the wall, and kiss him and touch him until Emile could feel all of the intensity that was welling within Jay. Until Jay could take the storm that was inside of him and spread it through Emile, too.
Emile opened the door with an expression shifting from surprise to concern, and then ultimately to horror as it fastened on the sling that Jay wore around his neck to support his arm.
“I thought you said it was a fracture?” Emile asked by way of greeting, glancing past Jay and then pulling him inside by his uninhibited elbow.
Jay let himself be drawn inside, and he frowned at Emile as the door closed behind him and Emile instantly released his arm. “It is just a fracture,” he murmured, looking in puzzlement at Godot. But though the dog usually greeted Jay warmly, he was standing at a few strides’ distance, his ears halfway back like he might bark at Jay again, like Jay was an intrude
r.
“I’m sorry,” Jay said slowly, “maybe I shouldn’t have come.”
Emile detached his gaze from Jay’s arm and frowned up at him. “No. I mean, yes, you should have. Or—I’m not sure. We do have to be careful,” he said as he stepped forward and slipped his hand around the back of Jay’s neck, “but I’m glad to see you. Watching you fall like that—and then not being able to go to you… I hated it.”
Jay’s uncertainty faded away and the buoyant feeling came back. Minding his arm, he pulled Emile closely to his side with his good hand and kissed the top of his head.
“I can’t believe that the first time you saw me play, I fell down and got hurt. Talk about humiliating.” He was half-teasing, half-serious.
Emile chuckled. His cheek was pressed to Jay’s chest, and Jay could feel the warm breath of his exhale through his thin quarter-zip sweatshirt.
“Well,” Emile said a little shyly, “it wasn’t the first time I’ve seen you play, actually. I caught part of a practice by accident when I had a meeting in the alumni center.”
Jay beamed at him, pleased. “Yeah?” he asked. Searching his memory, he laughed. “I can’t remember falling on my ass in any of my practices at Walland, so hopefully it was more impressive than what you saw tonight.”
Emile pulled back a little to smile at him. “You were very impressive tonight, also,” he said solemnly. “I don’t know anything about the sport, but you’re so fast and strong.” His eyes trailed over Jay’s body with a bright, unfocused quality and his breath hitched.
Full of irrational pride, Jay grinned until his cheeks strained. “Oh, yeah? So, did it turn you on, watching me play?”
“Yes,” Emile said instantly.
Jay groaned. Even though his arm throbbed, his sling itched, and various other parts of his body were alerting him to the other hits and strains of the game, he felt his cock stirring irrepressibly between his legs. But as they held one another gently, the violent urge to unleash something on Emile ebbed away. It was as though whatever Jay held inside him, that storm of feeling for Emile, saw some mirror of itself in Emile and was soothed by proximity to its twin.
A low whine from the dog distracted him, and he turned his cheek against the top of Emile’s head to look at Godot, bemused. “What’s up with Godot tonight?”
Emile stiffened against him. “Shit,” he said. “Godot.” Emile was attempting to pull away, but it barely registered in Jay’s head. He tightened his hold reflexively instead of releasing him as a bright light panned behind them, lighting up the corners of his vision. Jay twisted at the waist, blinking, to see its source.
Headlights. A small car was idling in front of the house, just across the foot bridge. But as a slow second passed, no one got out. Perhaps because, Jay thought with a chilling alarm, the driver had seen them through the doors when the headlights had panned over them, or could see them clearly now, with the house lit from within and made fully transparent.
Seen the two of them. Together.
“Jay,” Emile growled, now straining against the hand Jay had clasped on his hip.
Jay let him go, dread continuing to build in his gut in a churning tide. “Did you order a pizza?” He’d tried to force levity into his voice, but still heard it tremble.
“It’s Sydney,” Emile said stiffly. “My—friend. Colleague.” He shoved his feet into a pair of shoes. His jaw looked clenched and his movements were jerky as he reached for the door handle. “She’s here to pick up Godot, to watch him for me while I’m gone.” He tightened his hand into a white-knuckled fist on the handle, but didn’t open the door. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, and then he added with more emphasis, “fuck.”
Belatedly, Jay unstuck his feet that had felt fused to the floor and backed into the living room. But of course, it was too late to hide.
“You can tell her I’m here to get an assignment,” Jay said quickly, but it sounded stupid even to him.
Emile didn’t even look at him; he just opened the door at last. The headlights’ glow transformed him into a silhouette, a two-dimensional figure walking stiffly toward the light.
Jay retreated into the house, not sure if it was cowardice or respect for Emile’s privacy that kept him from standing by the door and staring outside to watch whatever confrontation was about to unspool in the driveway. Only, he felt suddenly like an intruder in the house; he’d never been there without Emile, except for as long as it took to grab Godot’s leash before taking him for walks. He had walked from the bedroom to the bathroom to the kitchen and back sometimes in the mornings if he woke before Emile, which wasn’t unusual. Emile slept like the dead until his alarm went off, whereas Jay was still getting used to sleeping beside someone and often woke up several times in a night—not bothered, exactly, by all of the small disturbances of Emile there beside him, but not fully used to them yet, either.
He settled for the kitchen, where he couldn’t be seen through the windows, but he found himself pacing back and forth until he heard the click of Godot’s nails on the floor, keeping pace, and made himself stop and turn to look at the dog, who looked just as agitated as he had when Jay had first come in.
He was wearing his good collar, which maybe should have tipped Jay off that he was going somewhere; it was the one that had all of his tags on it, and Jay thought Godot was a little too fussy to ignore the way that it jingled when he walked. Jay bent down and rubbed his neck under the collar with his right hand, letting his chin fall to his chest as he focused on breathing and trying to calm down so that he’d be ready for whatever Emile did or said when he came back inside.
Emile had always told Jay to be careful—only to come over when he’d talked to Emile about it first. And Jay hadn’t been careful at all. Just because Emile didn’t often have people at his house didn’t mean he never did. How could Jay have been so stupid?
But at the same time, how bad could it be? ‘My friend,’ Emile had said. Maybe Emile could explain it to her. And even if he couldn’t, she wouldn’t know just by seeing him through a window that Jay was Emile’s student, would she?
As the minutes passed, Jay sat fully on the floor and Godot sat between his knees, and he petted the dog and listened to the quiet house, worrying more as it took longer and longer for Emile to come back inside.
Finally, he heard the crunch of gravel, a moment after Godot lifted his head and pricked his ears in the direction of the living room. Jay was scrambling to his feet, awkward and one-armed, when the door opened and closed at the front of the house, and when Jay stepped out of the hallway that led to the kitchen, he found Emile slowly removing the shoes he’d put on to go outside, his head down so that Jay couldn’t see his face as he kicked off the shoes, leaving them discarded haphazardly next to the door instead of in their usually tidy lineup under the small bench.
“Was… did she…?” Jay swallowed. Godot walked over to bump Emile with his nose, but Jay stayed at the edge of the room. “Is everything okay?”
“No, everything isn’t okay.” Emile shot him a glare. “She’s furious.”
“But… why? You said she was your friend. Is it really so…?”
“She’s also a professor at Walland. And even if she weren’t…” Emile pushed a hand through his hair, radiating frustration.
“I don’t get it,” Jay said, worry and nerves making the words tumble over one another. “How could she recognize me? How would she know I’m not just some guy?”
“She didn’t recognize you. But when she asked who you were, I couldn’t just lie to her!” Emile sighed hard. “Why did you… you just came here! You should have known something like this could happen!”
“You said you wanted to see me,” Jay said, unconsciously raising his voice until its volume almost matched Emile’s. He winced and consciously lowered it. “I didn’t really think.”
Emile dropped his hands from his hair and looked at Jay, the room suddenly a yawning chasm between them. “Of course, you didn’t,” he said quietly. “Y
ou just… do things, without thinking. Which is how we got into this mess in the first place.”
Jay felt his heart thud a little harder than it had in the beat before. ‘Mess,’ Emile had said.
“I don’t know what else I should expect,” Emile went on, his voice strained. “You’re nineteen years old, for fuck’s sake. But this is my—this is my life, Jay! My whole fucking life!”
“I know!”
Emile’s eyes widened, going a little wild. “Do you? I’ve worked so hard for this. Can you really understand? How could you?” You’ve had it so easy, he didn’t say, but Jay heard it anyway. His stomach turned over, stopping him from forming an answer, but Emile didn’t seem to need one. He crossed his arms and looked away. “You can’t understand, and that’s why you could be so careless.”
“I’m sorry,” Jay said softly. “I’m really fucking sorry.”
Still staring determinedly elsewhere, Emile said, “I’m going to have to figure out what to do with Godot, and then try not to miss my flight. I don’t… I don’t have time for this conversation.” A weary sigh left him. “Do you need me to drive you to the dorms?” Finally, he looked at Jay, but it was just a quick glance that went no higher than his sling. “Your arm—”
“I’ll be fine.” Jay looked at Godot, and the thought that he might be of some use, after he’d caused so much trouble, flared a hope in his miserable heart. “I could watch Godot,” he rushed to say. “Or I could come and walk him a couple times,” he added. “I—”
“No,” Emile said, so firmly that Jay swallowed anything else he might have offered. “I don’t need you to do that. I just need you to go. Please.” He stepped clear of the door—so clear that when Jay walked to it, he didn’t even catch a whiff of aftershave or feel a trace of Emile’s warmth.