by Emrys Apollo
Clive takes a deep breath. “I want to tell my brother,” he says quietly. “I think he deserves to know.”
“Okay, Cli. Do you want me to be there? Or somewhere nearby, in case you need me but don’t actually want me to meet him?”
“I’m not ashamed of you, Jarrod.”
“I know that. It’s just a big step, meeting your family, and I want to make sure you know that I’m not inviting myself to meet your brother. I just want to support you the best way I can. If that’s holding your hand under the table while you tell him, fine. If that’s listening to you tell me about it afterwards, great. If that’s me holding you because you’re heartbroken, or relieved - well, I’d hate to see you hurt, but if it happens, I’ll be there to hold you as long as you need me to.”
“I love you.” The words come out, almost without Clive’s permission, and he hates himself.
Samson’s given up the pretense of not listening in, and he’s looking at him now, interest fading into concern at the look on Clive’s face.
“I’m so sorry,” Clive stammers, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to say it like that, not the first time. Jarr - can we just pretend I didn’t say it? Please?”
“If you were here right now, you would be getting so lucky,” Jarrod says across the line, and Clive can imagine him, the way he’d grin at him. “I don’t know if I’m ready to say it yet, Cli, but - I do feel it. I promise you I feel it.”
“We’re the worst,” Clive groans, letting himself drop down to his pillows, “we’re saying it for the first time over the phone, Jarr, we are the absolute worst!”
Jarrod laughs. “I am, maybe, but you’re not. Besides, it makes sense, we’re always on the phone, it’s kind of our thing.”
“Did I ruin everything?” Clive’s voice is quiet and solemn, “I did, didn’t I? It’s never going to be the same after this.”
“Melodrama doesn’t suit you, Clive Reynold. You didn’t ruin a damn thing. I was being emotionally supportive, and you were grateful for that, that’s all. Maybe things will change, but sweetheart, things had already changed, before this. Things between us are always changing, and that’s okay.”
Clive closes his eyes for a moment, thinking. “Do you really think I was just being grateful? Like I somehow messed up thanks and say I love you instead? Because I wasn’t, Jarrod. It wasn’t a mistake. I mean it was, I wanted to say it better, when I was there with you, maybe over dinner, but I did mean it. I still feel that way.”
“What about Robin?”
“Fuck Robin,” Clive spits, “fuck him. He’s happily engaged and he nearly ruined things for us, and I don’t want him anymore. I’m never going to want him again, Jarr. I’m not settling for you, I promise you that. I’m not settling. If anything, I was settling with him, trying to make myself believe that he was the right choice just because I’d had a crush on him for who knows how many years - “
“Clive, sweetheart, calm down. It was just a question. You know I have an inferiority complex about Robin, you know I’ve always had an issue with that. I - it’s me, I can’t stop thinking that I’m just your second choice. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. I believe you. And I meant it when I said I feel it too. Remember when we said we’d be friends with benefits?” Jarrod laughs breathlessly, “I should have known the minute I gave you my phone number that I was a goner.”
Clive relaxes into the pillows again and glances at his watch, still on UK time. “You’re going to be late for clinic, Jarr. Have a good day at work. I know I’m not there to look after you, so make sure you’re eating enough and sleeping enough. You can’t take care of patients when you’re all sleep-deprived, baby. And you don’t have to work yourself to death this month. If you run a little low on cash, check the inside of The Hound of the Baskervilles, I left a little bit of money in there, just in case.”
“You didn’t have to do that, Cli,” Jarrod says fondly, “but I’ll look after myself, I promise. You do the same, okay? Give my love to Samson and good luck talking to Luke. If you want to wait until you’re back in UK, I’ll take a day or two off and come be with you for that. You don’t have to answer now, babe, take some time to think on it. Good night, Clive.”
“Good morning, Jarr.” Clive hangs up and crawls under the blankets.
“Well, shit, is every phone call with him that emotional?” Samson asks, sitting on the next bed over.
Clive laughs. “Don’t ask him about coming out to his family or mine on every call, and I’ve never told him I loved him before, so no, this was unusually emotional for us. Usually, it’s little things like talking about our days. You know, you’ve heard me speak to him before.”
Samson nods. “He seems like a good lad, if he offered to be there with you when you talked to Luke.”
Clive smiles. “He’s not just good. He’s the best man I’ve ever known, Samson. No offense, mate.”
Samson chuckles. “None taken, Cli. He’s studying to be a doctor and he works as a paramedic in his spare time, that’s what you said, right? Hell, I’m pretty sure he’s just under Mother Theresa and Gandhi in the goodness scale, then. Plus, he has sex with you, he must be a saint, taking one for the team like that.”
Clive throws a pillow at him. “I’ll let you know I’m very good in bed, Samson, and if only you were gay, you could have had the chance to experience that for yourself.”
Samson laughs. “Yeah, poor me, stuck having sex with women for the rest of my life.”
***
Finally, after too many days away, and feeling further from Jarrod than ever, they get to go home.
They have two days off before they get back to training. They’re supposed to work on just getting their bodies back in rhythm with GMT, sleeping at the right time, eating at the right time, maybe getting a jog or short strength workout in on their own time.
Clive, on the other hand, drives over to Birmingham. He gets there late, knocks on the door hoping Jarrod will wake up and let him in.
Jarrod opens the door a minute later, rubbing at his eyes. “Is the building on fire?” he asks, before he realizes who’s standing there.
“If it was, I might have to play sexy firefighter and carry you out of here,” Clive says playfully, watching as the fatigue fades and the smile grows as Jarrod pulls him inside, barely letting the door close before he’s kissing him.
“You’re home,” Jarrod says, almost in disbelief. Clive loves the sound of it, wants to come home to it every night.
“Yeah, love, I’m home,” he agrees, pulling him into a tight hug and lifting him off his feet to spin him around.
“When did you get in?” he asks, laughing as he gets put down and promptly pulled back in for another kiss. “Come in, sit down, here, let me get you some water - “
Clive does, settles on the sofa as Jarrod brings him a mug full of water. He checks his watch, “well, about five hours ago.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“No, flew back in a few hours ago, went home, packed a bag, and came straight here.”
Jarrod looks conflicted. “You shouldn’t have come all this way when you were so tired from traveling, and I would be a lot madder about it if I wasn’t so fucking happy to see you, Cli.”
Clive shrugs. “Wanted to come home to you,” he says simply, smiling at the way Jarrod flushes.
“Well, you better not do that again, or I’ll haunt your ass after I die from a heart attack worrying about you on the road that late!”
Clive wraps an arm around him, letting out a sigh as Jarrod instantly returns the favor, snuggling up against him, face buried against Clive’s neck. “Well, if you really did have to haunt part of me, I guess my ass would be a good place to pick,” he jokes.
Jarrod laughs. “You’re cuter when you’re not talking,” he teases, “now come with me to bed, you need to rest.”
Clive feels the fatigue hit him all at once. He’d barely kept his eyes open on the road, only the thought of Jarrod’s voice begging him to drive safe
had pushed him through it. The joy of seeing Jarrod again hits him too, and this is home, he realizes, more than Manchester, even. The man leaning against him.
He stands up and lets Jarrod undress him, strip him down to his underwear with barely a twitch from his penis - even little Clive knows he’s too tired for sex - and he lets Jarrod nudge him into bed and just reaches out to pull him in after him.
“Missed you,” Jarrod confesses, “I’m glad you decided to come, I didn’t think I’d see you until you got another break.”
“Worth the drive, Jarr. I’ll try to come up more often this year, whenever I have a couple days off, maybe I can do some training sessions early to get out of light training days and get time to come by every few weeks.”
Jarrod smiles - Clive can feel it against his neck. “I’d like that,” Jarrod says quietly, “now go to sleep, love, you’re tired.”
Clive is, so Clive does.
CHAPTER 10
Two days of bliss. Clive gets to have two days of bliss. One and a half, really, because Jarrod has a shift scheduled for Saturday morning that he called and tried to get out of, but couldn’t. So he kisses Clive goodbye regretfully, and Clive hates himself for not telling Jarrod in advance. The surprise had been great, it had been brilliant seeing his face light up, but being without Jarrod for eight hours is miserable.
Luckily, Clive spends most of that time sleeping, because he’s still on China time and his body’s completely exhausted from the international flight followed by the three hour drive. He wakes up when Jarrod comes home again, smiling that beautiful smile at him. He walks right over and bends down to kiss Clive’s forehead. Clive hums and pulls him in close, but Jarrod pulls back, pulling at his tie.
“Not going to get into bed wearing this, love, give me two minutes to change - “
“Dinner?” Clive asks, voice rough from sleep and arms wrapping around Jarrod to welcome him back to bed.
“You just woke up!” Jarrod teases, kissing the tip of his nose playfully. His glasses slide downwards a little bit and Clive smiles.
“Hungry, though.”
“Fine, compromise. We’ll have breakfast for dinner, since you just woke up and I just got home from work. You just stay right here, baby, I’ll make up omelettes with toast. Mushrooms, tomatoes, spinach, hold the onions for yours?”
Clive nods and carefully pushes the glasses back up to the bridge of Jarrod’s nose. “Need to see what you’re doing. You’re hot, but that doesn’t mean I want you burning my breakfast, Doctor Franklin.”
A shiver runs through Jarrod’s body at the title. “Not yet,” he protests weakly, “and thank god none of my patients are as sexy as you, or I’d be in so much trouble.”
Clive grins at him and pulls him in for a proper, lazy kiss - a mix between a lazy good morning kiss and a welcome home from work kiss. “Lucky my doctor isn’t as sexy as you,” he retorts when they pull apart, “I’d hate to get a boner during every checkup, just from feeling your hands on me.”
Jarrod flushes gives him a playful shove as he gets up, rising to make dinner.
They make love on virtually every surface in the entire apartment between Saturday night and Sunday evening, when Clive has to head back.
(Jarrod only complains about having to clean the kitchen counter six times, which isn’t too bad, considering what they’d done on it. As far as Clive’s concerned, though, there’s nothing hotter than the time Jarrod had swept his notes off the coffee table and led Clive to sit down on it instead, sucking him off. The pharmacology notes had looked on the whole time, fluttering in the slight breeze from the open window, as though protesting the desecration of their home.)
It’s like the worst sort of déjà vu, the way Clive keeps trying to steal one more kiss, the way Jarrod laughs at him, but clings to him, too, and kisses him back every single time. Jarrod looks at him with that familiar pain in his eyes, that expression that looks like the emotion that Clive doesn’t often let himself think about.
Jarrod still hasn’t said it. But he feels it, he had said. He feels it, and hell, that’s more than Clive ever expected to hear out of anyone.
Jarrod fixes Clive’s hair, looks at him, and Clive thinks he can see all the words he isn’t saying in those same, beautiful eyes. “Drive safe, Clive,” he says instead, hugging him tight.
Those three words feel very much like another three, and he holds the memory of them in his heart until he arrives at home and collapses into his too-big bed in his too-big house, all alone.
***
Clive resents the baby, though he would die a thousand times before he’ll admit it. He’s predictably beautiful, in all his hazel-eyed, chubby-cheeked glory, and Robin can’t take his eyes off him for love nor money.
Clive doesn’t know who he’s most jealous of, in their happy little family of three: Kendra, for having Robin’s love, little Brooklyn, for having Robin’s attention, or Robin, for getting to hold his fiancée’s hand in public, for having a beautiful, healthy son that he gets to kiss and rock to sleep.
He dreams of babies, sometimes, and it doesn’t help when Jarrod accepts another ob/gyn rotation. Each new detail from his ex-best friend and his perfect family incorporates itself into his dreams. He pictures a little boy with Jarrod’s blue eyes, reaching for the phone when he hears Clive’s voice, the way Kendra tells Robin their son does.
He tries his best to lose himself in hockey. He needs to tell Luke, still, and he will do it, some day when he isn’t such a fucking coward. Sometime when Samson and Jarrod are both close by to serve as buffers and supports.
He ends up going over to Luke’s house one night, to have dinner with him and Jules. They’re sitting on the sofa together with apple juice they’re drinking out of beer glasses for tradition’s sake, and Jules is upstairs somewhere, studying for her next exam in school, or looking for something.
“Hey, Luke? How did you know you were in love with Jara?” It’s bizarre, to ask the question, even more so to ask it of his younger brother, of all people.
“I think we were just out shopping, and I looked at her - she was smiling, and I just… I don’t know. Couldn’t imagine a future without her, I guess. Asked her to move in with me that weekend.”
Clive nods thoughtfully. “What if she couldn’t move in with you? What if she went to school in a different city?”
“We’d make it work,” Luke says, chewing on his lip a little bit, “somehow, we’d find a way, even if we were separated. Or one of us would move, I guess, if we could manage it.”
“What if - Luke, what if Jara wasn’t a woman?” Clive asks, voice very, very small, “what if she was a man instead?”
For all the jokes and the banter and the blond hair and blue eyes, Luke isn’t stupid. He looks at his older brother and silently pulls him into his arms. “Oh, Clive,” he says sympathetically, “I’m so sorry.”
Clive could take offense to the condolences, could snap and say that Jarrod is the best thing that’s ever happened to him, thank you very much. But he knows his brother, and all he can do is bury his head against Luke’s shoulder and breathe.
“His name is Jarrod,” Clive says quietly when they’ve finally pulled apart, “he’s studying to be a doctor. He lives in Birmingham.” He pauses for a moment, gathering his courage.
“And I’m in love with him. And I - Luke, I just don’t know what to do.”
Luke clears his throat, brow furrowed. “Does he - is he not interested?”
“Oh, no, he is! We - we’re together, it’s just this long-distance thing is killing me, and he’s always studying, and we can’t ever be together, not like you and Jara, and I want a baby like Bartholomew has, but we can’t ever have that, and I hate it.”
Luke looks, frankly, a little overwhelmed. “Oh, Clive,” he says again, voice heavy with sympathy.
“I know,” Clive says miserably, “Oh, Luke, believe me, I know. And Samson knows, too. And Robin.”
“I’m sorry, but two of our teammates knew y
ou were in a relationship before me? What the hell, Clive Reynold? I thought family came first, you bellend!”
Something about that moment cracks the tension. Luke isn’t angry. Luke doesn’t hate him. It’s just starting to sink in that he’d been trying to prepare himself for losing his brother. Futilely, of course, but he’d been ready to go through with it. But he doesn’t have to, now. His brother’s mad that he wasn’t the first to know, but he’s not mad that Clive’s in love with a man.
“I love you, Luke. Honestly, you’re the best.” They don’t say it often enough, but Clive feels strong enough, brave enough to say it this time.