When Irish Eyes Are Sparkling

by Tom Collins

  I managed a small nod. My head felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.

  “I’m thinking it’ll go down in a few days, but I want to keep watch over it and you. So plan on staying in that bed, no arguments.”

  I blinked understanding. She removed the swabs from my mouth. Then, to my surprise her pretty, dark eyes shifted away, as if troubled. “Oliver, I know you probably didn’t want me telling those EMT’s who you were or sending for Gabe. I want you to know I didn’t do that because he’s your partner and deserves to know—though I think he does. That’s not up to me. The minute you came in through those doors you became my patient, and whatever privacy you want you’ll get.”

  She paused then went on, “But we need your personal information, medical and next-of-contacts and Rapid Response has all that up-to-date info. We’re getting it now. Also, there are lots of nurses and ER doctors who know you and I didn’t want the news getting out as gossip. Gabe will watch your back and he’ll let your friends and family know that you’re hurt. So I hope you’ll forgive me for making that decision.”

  She shifted again. “If not, if you think I stepped over the line, then I’ll get you another doctor.”

  I very carefully shook my head, and managed to find and grip her small hand. She squeezed gently, but that fierce look of hers was back. I could trust Vera to put me first, and not to pass judgment. As she said, I was now her patient and no mother hen watching over her chicks was more vigilant than Vera protecting her patients.

  Mother hen. I winced, not even wanting to think what Sandy would say. I hadn’t the heart to tell Vera that she might be completely mistaken about Gabe. If he’d heard from his nephew how I acted, what I’d done, Gabe might just as soon finish the job the muggers started.

  And if Liam hadn’t told him what happened between us? If Liam wanted to see me—?

  I cringed and wished I could move my bruised body well enough to hide under the covers.

  “Are you in pain?” Vera asked. “I can give you a shot—”

  “No,” I rasped; the faint breaths and split lip made it hard to form words. “Please. Don’t…want to see anyone.”

  “Okay,” she nodded. “I’ll make sure the nurses understand that. You’re to be left alone, no visitors. If Gabe makes a stink about that he can talk to me. But are you sure about that? No one?”

  I fought for a bit of air in order to speak. “Mom.”

  “Just your mother. Got it,” Vera promised.

  My mother was going to be hard enough to face. I kept a grateful hold of Vera’s hand. I couldn’t help wishing, however, that it was Liam’s long, strong fingers gripping mine. If I could have had Liam with me right now, how much easier it’d be to deal with this fuck-up. He’d fuss over me, make me feel wanted and loved. If I berated myself for my stupidity and my situation, he’d find a way to put it all into perspective, even make me laugh, which would hurt my ribs. He’d feel bad about it and kiss me better, and I’d have to beg him not to arouse me. He’d try to keep his hands off me, but would keep forgetting. His fingers would slip back under the blanket, wanting to touch me. Incurably sensual as he was.

  He’d keep a vigil at my bedside while I slept, sketching quietly. Every time I woke he’d look at me with those great, green eyes and make me feel…heroic.

  God, I wanted him here. Wanted him so badly. Only problem was, if he was here, he wouldn’t do any of those things. Not after what I done to him a few brief hours ago.

  I let go of Vera’s hand, shut my eyes, and turned away. I’d made this bed and there was nothing for me but to lie in it.

  *Liam*

  The ride to the hospital was murder. Of course, had I been driving it would have been suicide. Uncle Gabe was a great driver; you had to be to run a rig like he’d been doing for years, but in his own car he followed the rules of the road regardless. He refused to hurry, saying it wouldn’t help Oliver any if we arrived at the hospital in an ambulance.

  Brendan sat shotgun with me, leaving the back for Jillian and Erin. In the pub, Brendan had noticed right away that something was wrong. Jill and Erin had come with him to investigate and Uncle Gabe had said again that Oliver was in the hospital. It was just as surreal the second time he said it.

  “Look,” he said while we waited for a stop light to change, “there’s something you need to know, and I don’t think you should hear it from a stranger.”

  I waited with bated breath, knowing this couldn’t be something I wanted to hear. I noticed he wouldn’t look at me even though we were still waiting for this never-ending red light to change.

  “What?!” I demanded when he didn’t speak. I didn’t want to know, but I couldn’t take the speculation either.

  “He was attacked, like I said, beaten, but….”

  Brendan, sitting next to the passenger’s door, reached around me and punched Uncle Gabriel lightly in the shoulder. “Spit it out! Waiting’s worse than knowing, for fuck’s sake!” I wasn’t so sure about that, and by the look Uncle Gabe gave me, he might argue the point too.

  “He was over in Westmore, and it wasn’t a mugging,” he blurted as the light changed and he accelerated. I heard Erin groan from the back seat and looked over my shoulder to see what was with him. He wouldn’t look at me. Jillian looked troubled and embarrassed when I glanced her way.

  “What?” I demanded of the car at large. Brendan shrugged, as mystified as I as to why this information was so important.

  “You don’t know?” Erin asked, incredulous.

  “Don’t be mean,” Jillian interjected to Erin.

  “Well, I’m sorry, but it’s not my fault they never read or watch the news. They never pay any attention so they never have a clue about what’s going on in the world around them, even when it’s right under their noses!”

  “Know what?!” Brendan snapped at him.

  Erin glanced at Jillian, who clearly understood something Bren and I didn’t. “Westmore is where men go when they’re…you know…?”

  “No, I don’t know. How about you tell me?” I snipped. All this pussyfooting was pissing me off.

  “It’s where gay men go to when they’re looking for anonymous, back-alley hook-ups,” he blurted, much the way Uncle Gabe had done. “There have been some gay-bashing incidents in the past few weeks in that area, so if Oliver wasn’t mugged and he was in Westmore…” he made a spinning gesture with his hand to say, “figure it out.”

  What happened after that is perfectly clear to me, it just felt as if it was someone else doing it and I was merely observing. I’m aware of launching myself over the seat back. I saw my fist connect with Erin’s face a couple times and I could hear myself screaming at him, calling him a liar, demanding he take it back. Things got fuzzy after that and the next thing I knew we were parked at the curb and Uncle Gabe had me in a wrestling hold. I wasn’t struggling now, but I must’ve been because his grip was hurting me.

  Brendan’s face hovered in front of mine. He was helping hold me, but was doing more to soothe than restrain. I could hear Erin in the back cussing and the familiar, oddly soothing sound of Jill fussing over him and trying to calm him. This was the second time in the same day I’d struck out at someone I loved to make them hurt as much as I did. What was wrong with me?

  “He’s lying…he wouldn’t do that to me…he’s lying…he’s lying…he wouldn’t,” I repeated it like a litany, hoping it would be true if I said it enough times with enough conviction. “He wouldn’t do that to me. We just had a stupid fight…he wouldn’t.” Brendan wiped moisture from my face and that’s when I realized I was crying.

  Brendan held me close and Jill smoothed my hair from the back seat during the rest of the drive over. I didn’t know why Oliver had been in that part of town, but it couldn’t be the way it looked. He would have a good reason for being there. It would be perfectly logical, I was sure of it. It would be a nice, neat, tidy explanation, just like everything about Oliver. I just had to see him; that was all. He would make it make sense, and e
verything would be Ok again.

  I kept telling myself that right up until the nurse refused to let me in to see him.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but the patient has requested that he not be disturbed by anyone.”

  “You must’ve heard wrong, or maybe his brain was scrambled or something. Just go tell him it’s Liam. He’ll want to see me. He’ll let me in…he will.”

  “I assure you, sir, he was coherent when he left his visitation list with Doctor Lieberman, and the only person on it is his mother.”

  “But, why?” Brendan wanted to know.

  “I don’t know, sir,” the nurse replied before turning back to his paperwork.

  “It’s my fault,” I moaned walking away from the nurses’ station. “This whole thing is my fault. I drove him to that part of town.” Stumbling into the waiting area, I found a seat and dropped into it. “I said such horrible things to him, Bren, and now he hates me because of it and he’s right to. This is why I never fight it when they want to break up; people always get hurt.”

  “You mean people other than you,” Brendan stated, sounding irritable.

  Erin sitting in the seat across from me drew my attention. I looked at him, seeing the blackening eye and swollen lip for the first time, and realization of what I’d done to him hit me.

  “Oh, God, Erin! I’m so sorry!”

  I went over to him. He didn’t even look mad about it, opening his arms without hesitation and accepting my abashed apology. Erin was less a cousin than a second brother to Brendan and me, the three of us having barely spent a day of our childhood without seeing each other. I blubbered on him, begging him to forgive me.

  “It’s okay, but you owe me big-time, Space Oddity.” The nickname surprised me into snorting a snot bubble, which made him laugh. “Jesus fuck, you’re a mess. Nutbush,” he said, using Brendan’s nickname, “take him to the bathroom and get him cleaned up, would you?”

  While Bren and I were in the restroom, it occurred to me that I should go get some clothes and stuff for Oliver. I didn’t know if his mom had a key to his place, so she might not be able to do it. Besides, I told myself, she wouldn’t want to leave him for something as insignificant as fresh underwear. Uncle Gabe lent us the use of his precious car on the condition the Bren do the driving.

  The young, professional-looking man who lived down the hall from Oliver was waiting for the lift when we got to his floor; only he wasn’t professional looking tonight. He looked like a YMCA refugee in his leather jacket, bare chest, jeans, chaps and motorcycle boots. His jaw dropped and he stared as we walked past him and down the hall.

  “Awe, man!” he exclaimed as we reached Oliver’s door. We turned in unison to gaze at him as he indicated Oliver’s apartment and pleaded, “Please, please don’t tell me this lucky schmuck is dating both of you. That would be so un-fucking-fair.”

  I could see Bren admiring the man’s Semitic good looks. “Not that it’s any of your business,” he rejoined, “but no. He can barely handle one of us.”

  “Bren!” I hissed.

  “What? It’s true. Oliver could barely deal with you. No way in hell could he handle both of us. No one could, come to think of it.”

  “Well, that’s great then,” the neighbor said and smoothed a smile over his face that said he thought he could take us both on and survive. He strolled down to us.

  “Maybe I could buy you a drink?” he asked Brendan. The fellow had the nerve, or perhaps the confidence, to caress Bren’s cheek. When Bren didn’t brush him off he actually started leaning in saying, “Or we could just step into my place. I’ve got a full bar and plenty of ice.”

  I opened the door and pulled Bren in with me saying, “Sorry, but his fiancé would kick my ass if I let him go with you.”

  I shut the door and locked it.

  “Shit, he was mine!” I heard the neighbor lament through the thin door.

  “Thanks,” Bren said from where he leaned against the wall. “It was like…I don’t know, I just couldn’t….”

  “Like a snake with a sparrow,” I grinned.

  “Yeah, exactly.”

  I sobered, remembering why we were here.

  “I’ll get his toothbrush and stuff. There’s a suitcase in the closet over there.”

  I packed a couple pairs of clean underwear—which I checked for holes, even though I knew there would be none—a loose fitting polo shirt and chinos, several pairs of socks, slippers and sneakers along with a set of scrubs so he wouldn’t have to wear the hospital gowns. He would find it demeaning to have his ass hanging out in public.

  Brendan poked around, curious about the person he’d have been dating, and bedding, if I’d chosen the xylophone. He spent some time admiring the Lone Ranger poster on the wall, leaving it with the comment, “Sexy.”

  I butterfingered the ear buds to Oliver’s MP3 player and they dropped behind the nightstand. I had to move the whole thing aside to get them and when I did, I found a cloth-wrapped package and a DVD called Night at the Cruising Park hidden there. I picked up the bundle and opened it. A long, slender dildo with fat balls rested in my palm, a slim cord coming out between the base and the suction cup on the bottom led to a four-speed controller. It seemed this beauty was motorized.

  A pulse of desire shot up my back and cool tingles flowed like water down the insides of my thighs as my too fertile imagination supplied a full color, animated image, complete with sound, of Oliver at play. Picking up the DVD, I noted a fine layer of dust had accumulated on the plastic. I grinned at the thought of Oliver going to such lengths to hide his toy when there’d been any number of times I’d wished for a way to give him the pleasure of being penetrated, while giving me the pleasure of sucking him off.

  “Jackpot!” Brendan cried from the bathroom door. I looked up as he covered the distance between us almost without touching the floor. “That is the hottest shit I ever saw! I cannot believe how lucky you are, Li.”

  “Were,” I said, remembering once more, “and this is the first I’ve seen of this.”

  I looked at the movie cover, wondering where the appeal lay, even at the vicarious distance of video, in anonymous sex. I didn’t have any moral objection to one-night-stands and back-alley blowjobs, and I could understand intellectually how no strings could be tempting for some people, but I couldn’t connect with it on an emotional level. A thought occurred to me and I plopped down on the edge of the bed, feeling more depressed than ever.

  “Why would he hide something like this from me, Bren? It’s like he never trusted me at all.”

  Brendan sat beside me, his arm around my back. I laid my head on his shoulder, staring at the ultra-realistic dong. I felt guilty of a sudden for accidentally finding it since Oliver so clearly didn’t want me to know it existed.

  He kissed the top of my head then laid his cheek there saying, “I wouldn’t go as far as that. I think you’re too close to this situation and should step back and get a little perspective on something.”

  “What?” I heard the petulance in my voice and wanted to smack myself for it.

  “I know you feel like you’ve know Oliver forever…but how long has it been, really? Three weeks?” He lifted my chin, making me look at him. “That’s three weeks total, Li, not counting the times you saw him in the pub ‘cause there was no real knowing in that. You didn’t start knowing him until that first date at the park and that was three weeks ago last Tuesday. Were you expecting him to thrust that thing,” he indicated the faux appendage, “into your face the first day?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Do you even know what his middle name is?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “If you two haven’t even progressed to sharing middle names, how can you expect him to have shared something as private as a sex toy with you when he doesn’t know you any better than you know him and he has no way of gauging how you might feel about such a thing. People can be weird about sex, Liam. You know that. If this was your place and that was your toy wo
uld you have whipped it out right away?”

  “I might have…” I ventured.

  “But you don’t know that you would have, and you can’t know until you’re in that situation.” He gave me a squeeze. “Don’t judge his motivations when you don’t know what they are. For all you know, he plain forgot about it ‘cause he had you and didn’t feel the need for anything more.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, feeling a bit better, “you’re right. It’s just a rubber dick, after all. It doesn’t have to have any more significance than that, right?”

  “Right,” he agreed.

  He kissed my cheek before wandering into the kitchen to explore new territory. I heard the fridge open.

  “Fuck me, he eats a lot! Sure as hell isn’t lactose intolerant either,” he laughed.

  “What?”

  I went to see what he was talking about and found both the fridge and freezer full of food, including six gallons of two percent milk. He wouldn’t drink whole milk and I wouldn’t drink skim. Two percent was our compromise.

  “Why would he buy six gallons of milk, that he wouldn’t want to drink if I wasn’t around, if he was planning on breaking up with me?” I asked Brendan, confused.

  Bren looked from the overflowing fridge to me then said, “He wouldn’t. I don’t think he came to the pub with the intention of breaking it off…” he looked so crestfallen of a sudden that I didn’t know what to make of it, “which means this is all my fault. I was trying to make a good impression, as well as give you a raft of shit, and ended up screwing the pooch instead.” I thought he might cry the way I’d been doing.

  “I already told you all this is my fault, Bren. It was me said those mean things, not you.” I shut the fridge and went back to finish packing. “It was me who lied to him by not telling him about you. It was all me. I’m the pooch-screwer, not you. That ought to be obvious by now.”