Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

Everything was fine.Life was good and Oakley was happy.

Really, he was.

Oakley was making the most remarkable recovery. All his doctors said so. Every new visit or examination brought good news. He was regaining sensation in his lower extremities. And, well, yes, it wasn’t the same as it had been before. And no matter how hard he worked or how rigidly he followed both his doctor’s and Will’s recommendations, he was not regaining any motor function.

But he had Will. He had the warmth and the support of Will wrapped around him whenever he wanted it. Will slept over almost every night. So often that Oakley intended to ask him to move in officially and sell his flat.

And sure, Will hadn’t said “I love you” yet, but neither had he.

Not for any specific reason, really. Not because the nagging doubt that he could ever be what Will truly wanted and needed stuck like a burr in the back of his brain. He just hadn’t found the right time or had the right moment. Will knew he loved him. And Oakley was convinced that Will loved him in return.

Most of the time.

Except for those moments when he came home from work and seemed distracted, but wouldn’t talk about it. Or the times when Oakley caught him frowning at something on his phone. Or when he was too tired at night and fell asleep after only a few minutes of cuddling, rolling away from Oakley as he did.

But the sex was fantastic.

Well, the sex was. It existed. Achieving an orgasm had reduced Oakley to tears of joy that first time, and that was wonderful. Truly, it was. But more than a month had passed and he hadn’t really made progress in the orgasm department. He could still have them, most of the time, with some effort, but they weren’t particularly strong, and they just…felt different.

Of course, being with Will had taught them that there were other things besides orgasms that made for a fulfilling sex life. The closeness he felt with Will, when they were kissing and touching and turning each other on, really was heavenly. Especially since Oakley hadn’t really had any of that with his past boyfriends, no matter how orgasmic those relationships had been. He wouldn’t have traded the intimacy he felt with Will for a thousand, bone-shattering orgasms.

Most of the time.

Sometimes, though….

“Oak, are you going to help me figure out where the contractors can put a lift into Brynthwaite House or are you going to sit there frowning like the miserable bastard you are?” Heath asked, snapping Oakley out of his thoughts.

“I’m not miserable,” Oakley answered a little too quickly, pushing his chair closer to the sofa, where Heath sat with the schematics of Oakley’s Keswick house and the proposals a few different contractors had sent him for making the vast, old, country estate more accessible.

Heath laughed at him. “You’ve always been miserable,” he said. “I don’t see how anything as inconsequential as a wheelchair will stop that now.”

Twin strikes of indignation and self-pity hit Oakley at his brother’s words, rendering him unable to respond to either of them. The self-pity surprised him, because he absolutely did not pity himself. He was recovering miraculously. He’d already adapted to his new life, and now he only wanted to move forward.

Everything was fine.

Perfectly fine.

Except, perhaps, for the niggling itch of restlessness and near-panic that seemed to always be moments away from making him scream and want to claw his way out of his own skin.

“I don’t care what the contractors want to do with Brynthwaite House,” he sighed, pushing his chair back from Heath a bit. “I don’t intend to spend much time there going forward.”

Heath stared at Oakley like he’d grown another head. “You love Cumbria,” he said. “You’ve said on more than one occasion that if you could get away with living there permanently, you would.”

Oakley shrugged, praying Heath would take the gesture at face value. “It all seems a little childish now, don’t you think? To want to run away and hide in the country because I can’t face life here in London in a wheelchair?”

Heath blinked at him, then closed the portfolio containing the proposals. There wasn’t a thing Oakley liked about the too astute, too careful look in his brother’s eyes.

“If you ask me,” Heath said in tight, clipped tones, “exactly the opposite is true. I think you’re hiding in London because the thought of facing the home you love, where hiking and rambling over the mountains was an integral part of your life there, is too much for you.”

Oakley’s skin prickled all over. He was suddenly aware of the ache in his lower back from sitting in his chair for too long. He had to focus on his breathing for a moment to stop from hyperventilating.

“You’re wrong,” he said shortly. “I’m fine. Everything is wonderful. My recovery is zipping merrily along, and I have the most amazing, talented boyfriend to both motivate me to get better and to help me achieve that goal.”

Heath was silent for a long time. He traced a finger over the logo embossed on the portfolio for a moment, then lifted his eyes to Oakley and said, “You can’t motivate a spinal cord into healing itself, Oak. Damage done to one is permanent.”

Oakley had to breathe in sharply to quell the wave of despair—no, anger, he was angry at Heath for doubting him—that washed over him. “Spinal cord injury recovery can take up to two years,” he said as if he were arguing. “There are people out there who seem to plateau for months only to suddenly wake up one day able to get out of their chair and resume their life as usual.”

Heath’s face went bright red, and he glanced down with an embarrassed look. He cleared his throat after a moment and looked at Oakley again. “And what does Will have to say about it?”

Oakley swallowed the lump of uncertainty that thinking about Will brought him these days. He wasn’t even sure why he had that lump. Everything was fine between him and Will. They were in love. They were fabulous together.

Although he was more than a little bit at a loss, since Will had demanded he stop giving him gifts. There was still a tiny sting of rejection stuck under his skin about that. Gifts were what he did. It was how he felt like he had something to give to a relationship. Having the one thing he thought he was good at when it came to dating rejected was…awful.

“Will is optimistic,” he insisted. It might have been stretching the truth a little. “He says I’ve come a long way and still have a long way to go.” Although that might have meant something different from what Oakley had been insisting to himself it meant. “And the sex is fantastic.”

Heath let out a breath and stood, leaving the portfolio on the sofa. “I really don’t need to hear about my brother’s sex life,” he said, walking to the table where he’d left his wallet and keys earlier. “But I’m glad he’s with you. It really does set my and Aubrey’s minds at ease.”

“I’m glad Will is with me, too,” Oakley said, feeling unaccountably nervous for admitting as much. “I’m taking him out to supper tonight,” he went on. “To La Friponne.”

“That French place that just got two Michelin stars?” Heath’s brow shot up. “I thought it was impossible to get a reservation until next year.”

Oakley grinned. “I have connections.”

“Lucky devil,” Heath said, reaching for his coat from the hook right around the corner from the living room in the hallway. “I hope Will enjoys it.”

It was a simple comment, but it threatened to send Oakley into a tailspin. “What do you mean, you hope he enjoys it? Of course he’ll enjoy it.”

In fact, Oakley was terrified that Will would see the dinner out at a five-star restaurant as just another unwanted gift to reject.

Will blinked at him, as if Oakley’s reaction had come out of nowhere. “I didn’t mean anything,” he said. “Just that I hope you both enjoy it.”

Whether his timing was good or bad, Will came through the front door and joined him at just that moment. He looked tired from work, and his scrubs were a bit wrinkled. His hair was tousled, but Oakley liked that. What he didn’t like was the drawn, unhappy look on his lover’s face.

At least it changed to a warm, relieved smile when he saw Oakley waiting for him there in the hallway.

“What are we both going to enjoy?” Will asked, stepping straight over to Oakley and greeting him with a kiss.

“You’d better talk to my brother about that,” Heath said warily. “And while you’re talking to him, try slapping a little sense into him.”

Heath nodded goodbye to both of them, then headed out as if he were upset about something.

Will frowned at the door after Heath shut it. “What’s wrong with him?”

“The same thing that’s always been wrong with him,” Oakley sighed, pretending that everything was alright now that it was just him and Will. “He’s just a fussy prick is all.”

Will hummed and moved behind Oakley’s chair to push him back into the living room. “Must run in the family.”

“Dick,” Oakley teased Will.

Will laughed, and when they reached the sofa and Will flopped into it, Oakley dragged himself out of his chair and pushed himself onto the sofa at Will’s side, careful to avoid the plans for Brynthwaite House. They were okay. He’d been worrying over nothing earlier. Everything was better when Will was actually there with him, touching him and kissing him and reassuring him.

“I don’t know what your brother hopes we will enjoy, but I can think of a few other things we can enjoy tonight,” Will said, sliding his hand into Oakley’s lap.

In his life before, Oakley would have been wildly offended if one of his past boyfriends had groped him so blatantly. But with Will, with his body being what it was now, the reminder that he could actually feel arousal, that he could feel full stop, was an endearment.

“Later,” Oakley said, kissing Will, then smiling excitedly at him. “I have plans for us tonight.”

“You do?” Will’s expression lightened into exactly the sort of excited curiosity Oakley would have wanted from him. “What plans?”

“I’ve made us a reservation at La Friponne,” Oakley announced confidently.

Immediately, his insides quivered to the point where he felt sick as he waited for Will to reject yet another offering.

But Will’s smile grew, and he said, “That French place that just received some huge honor or something? The one that was in the news last month?”

“The very one,” Oakley said, so relieved he could have cried. Will was impressed after all. “Our reservation is for eight so we have a little time, but you know how long it takes to get ready.”

“Then let’s get started,” Will said, gathering Oakley into his arms as though he would carry him upstairs.

Will’s hand smacked into the portfolio containing the plans for Brynthwaite House, which caused him to suck in a breath and then shake his hand out.

“What’s this?” he asked, reaching around Oakley to turn the portfolio the right way around, then opening it. “Are you planning on renovating your country house?” Before Oakley could answer, he laughed and added, “I can’t believe I’m dating an earl with a country house.”

Oakley should have enjoyed the joke, but it only made the restless prickles race down his back again. “Heath thinks I need to make the old place accessible,” he said. “Which will be a pain, because it’s a grade two listed building. Just getting the permits for changes will be a nightmare. It might be better to just sell the whole thing and be done with it.”

There was nothing inherently wrong in what he was saying, but Oakley was too aware that he couldn’t look at Will while saying it. He busied himself with muscling his way into his chair instead.

“But you love Cumbria,” Will said carefully, shutting the portfolio again. “Three-quarters of the artwork in this house is photographs you’ve taken from the mountain peaks.”

“Yes, well, I won’t be seeing those mountain peaks anytime soon now, will I,” Oakley snapped before he could stop himself.

He immediately wanted to correct himself, to insist that one day soon, he would wake up and all of the compression to his vertebrae would have gone down and a quick scan would show that the damage to his spine wasn’t as severe as everyone thought it was. He’d be back to hiking up his beloved mountains in no time, and Will could come and hike with him.

Surprisingly, Will didn’t say anything to either agree with or contradict Oakley’s outburst. “We’d better get in the shower now so we’re ready to head out to supper on time,” he said with a slightly flat attempt at teasing.

The cozy moment between the two of them was spoiled, and Oakley knew it was all his fault. He did his best to undo the damage by shoving all of his hurt and fear and uncertainty behind him to ask about Will’s day as they headed upstairs to get ready.

That proved to be a good move. Will had had a difficult day with a new patient, a young man in his late teens who had crashed his motorbike and was facing the possibility of spending the rest of his life in bed. Even though there were several similarities to Oakley’s own situation, the specifics were different enough for him not to identify too much with the young man, and Will blessedly pulled no punches in talking about it. Oakley appreciated how Will never walked on eggshells around him.

The topic of Will’s other patients got them most of the way through washing and dressing, then piling into Will’s van and driving to the restaurant. It was a Tuesday evening, so not particularly crowded, even though La Friponne was just off of Hyde Park, in one of the poshest neighborhoods for restaurants.

“It’s a good thing they have a valet,” Will said as he unlocked Oakley’s chair from its place in the van, then helped him to maneuver over to the lift at the back. “I would hate to have to park this thing in such tight quarters.”

“Aren’t you used to driving this clunky old thing around London yet?” Oakley teased him as the lift lowered them both to the curb.

Will laughed. “You’d think,” he said.

The banter was inconsequential, but it and their earlier conversation had done wonders to smooth over the almost constant spikes of anxiety inside of Oakley.

Moments later, Oakley cursed himself for letting his guard down where that anxiety was concerned. La Friponne had a steep set of stairs leading to its entrance and nothing else, as far as Oakley could see.

“I have a reservation,” Oakley said, putting demand into his voice to cover the sudden panic he felt as he wheeled as close to the stairs as he could get.

The host stood at the top of the steps, looking down at him and Will with a look of Gallic consternation. “We will have to fetch ze ramp,” he said, his accent making the statement seem as though it were a burden for the restaurant to accommodate him.

In fact, it clearly was a burden. Oakley and Will were forced to wait outside in the dark and the growing chill as first one server, then another, came out to talk with the host. Each one whispered something into the stiff man’s ear as they stared worriedly at Oakley in his chair. A few other guests slipped in and out of the restaurant as well, all of them looking vaguely worried, as if Oakley’s presence might rob the food of its taste or the restaurant of one of its stars.

It took fifteen minutes for the restaurant’s staff to find what turned out to be a narrow, rickety, metal ramp that was positioned over the stairs. The host made far too much of a scene as he warned other patrons of the restaurant to stand back so that they wouldn’t hurt themselves. Oakley was millimeters away from asking the man if the ramp was safe for his use if he felt the need to warn others around it.

As soon as it was in place, Oakley saw at once that it was too steep for him to roll himself up. He almost wished he’d invested in a power wheelchair to help with the process, but purchasing something like that had felt too much like admitting defeat. So Will was forced to get behind him and exert far more effort than he needed to just to push him into the establishment.

And from the moment Oakley was through its door and staring at the artful decorations, intimate tables, and nervous, curious guests, he saw that there was no way at all he would be able to navigate through the tightly packed tables.

“It’s impossible,” he said. “I can’t maneuver through all this.”

“I suppose we could rearrange ze tables so zat you could sit here near ze door,” the host said, clearly disliking the idea.

“He can’t do that,” one of the servers said, a look of alarm on his face. “He’d block the door. Fire codes and all.”

That was it. That was what broke Oakley. All he wanted to do was take the man he loved out to a fine restaurant, despite the challenges he faced, but now he was the one who was an inconvenience to others. He was the problem when he’d never asked for the hand he’d been dealt, and if he hadn’t been in a chair, every one of the people who now stared at him with worry and distaste would be jumping to do whatever he wanted from them.

“I…I can’t,” he said, rolling his chair back a few inches, but stopping when he nearly tipped sideways down the ramp. “I just…I can’t.”

“We’re going home,” Will said, taking charge of things. “Thank you for your help,” he told the host as if he absolutely did not mean it and the man had been no help at all. “And you’d better believe that I’ll be reporting this restaurant for its complete and utter lack of accessibility.”

“Monsieur, zis is a two Michelin star establishment,” the host said, his nose in the air.

Will gave him the finger as he carefully maneuvered Oakley down the ramp to the pavement.

But the ramp was still too steep, and Will lost control of the chair. Oakley nearly fell out as his wheels hit the pavement hard, and wouldn’t that have just been the icing on the shit cake he’d been served?

“It’s just so frustratingly wrong,” Will grumbled once they were back in the van, safe and secure, pulling away from the restaurant and Oakley’s humiliation. “There are laws about these things. Public places are required to be accessible for all. I really am going to report them.”

Oakley made a sound, then turned away from him to look out the window. The darkness seemed to be closing in around him, and the feeling that he would spend the rest of his life looking out the window at the world without being able to be a part of it pressed down on him.

“I’ll cook you something fabulous when we get home,” Will said. “Then we’ll go to bed.”

Oakley sighed and said, “I’m not really hungry now.”

“Sweetheart,” Will said softly.

Oakley squeezed his eyes shut to block out the traces of pity in his lover’s voice. He wanted to block out the world and his own body while he was at it. Because it was all a lie. He was not fine. Everything was not okay, and it would never be okay again.