Chapter 8

EIGHT

The spring thawstarted to set in at the beginning of March, but Will was still treading on thin ice. He might have been able to explain away his reactions to Oakley and his ever-increasing closeness to the man as just another aspect of the job he loved and knew he was damn good at, but now there was the whole staying the night thing going on.

It hadn’t been a one-off thing when Oakley had called him from his bedroom floor at one in the morning at the end of February. A few days after that revelatory night, Will had scheduled a late therapy session with Oakley, then hung around afterwards when Stanley needed to run off for a family emergency. He’d helped Oakley through his nighttime routine and coached him through getting into bed…and then he’d gotten into bed with him and stayed there.

A week after that, Oakley had shortened Stan’s hours and Will had taken over the task of putting Oakley to bed. Off the clock.

If he really wanted to stretch things and pretend he was still operating within the bounds of professionalism, Will could tell himself that he was monitoring Oakley as sensation and control started to return to his bladder and bowels. Oakley was able to hold it when he felt the urge to empty in any way, and he was making rapid progress in getting to the toilet in time. He was even taking the risk of wearing ordinary underwear whenever he could, sometimes successfully, sometimes not.

It was progress, and it was promising. Imaging showed that the compression around Oakley’s L1 vertebrae was definitely going down, which meant they would start to get a good idea of the limits of Oakley’s recovery and what he could expect for the rest of his life.

Will tried to tell himself that his interest in the extent of Oakley’s recovery and the completeness of the return of his sensation and motor control was purely clinical, and that he was only interested as Oakley’s physical therapist.

But he would be lying if he hadn’t dreamed about reaching around and sliding a hand into Oakley’s PJs one night to find him hard. Or of making him harder. And he might have rubbed one out in the shower a time or two or five while imagining giving Oakley his first orgasm since the accident.

He was at the beginning of that particular train of thought while filling out reports for some of his other patients when his phone pinged, nearly shocking him out of his skin. He grabbed it, anticipating that Oakley needed something and planning how long it would take to get from the hospital, where he was working, to Oakley’s house when he saw Armitage’s number pop up.

Dread immediately pooled in Will’s stomach as he answered the call with a too-casual, “Dr. Armitage.”

“Will,” Armitage answered, a smile in his voice. “Are you in the hospital or out on a house call?”

Will swallowed and answered, “At the hospital. I just finished up with a patient and am doing some paperwork.”

“Excellent. Could you drop by my office?”

The pool of dread in Will’s gut started to form into a rock. “Sure. When do you want me to come by?”

“Would now work?”

Oh, shit.

“Sure. I’ll be right there.”

Will gathered up his things from the nurse’s station where he’d been working and tucked them into the cubby that was reserved for him, then headed down the long corridor, feeling like he was on his way to a trial. His trial.

Armitage didn’t look particularly grim or foreboding when Will entered his office, but that didn’t help the nerves that Will was trying to fight.

“Ah, Will,” Armitage greeted him. “Have a seat.” He gestured to the chair across his desk.

It wasn’t lost on Will as he moved as gracefully into the chair as he could that if things had gone differently, this would have been his office. He would be sitting where Armitage was now, wearing a lab coat over a nice shirt and slacks instead of hospital-blue scrubs. He would be the one to smile benignly and fold his hands as he rested his elbows on the desk and tried to project calm.

“I haven’t had a progress report from you about Mr. Manfred in a while,” Armitage began the conversation.

Will was so screwed. Someone must have said something. Probably one of Oakley’s nurses. Or maybe someone from the Brotherhood had whispered the words “inappropriate attachment” in Armitage’s ear.

“Oakley is a private patient at this point,” Will said, on the defensive, but trying not to be too aggressive about it. “I’m authorized to provide treatment for him outside of the bounds of the hospital.”

“Certainly, certainly,” Armitage nodded, managing that paternal calm that alternately drove Will nuts and put him at ease. “I’ve made sure everything is cleared for you to see Mr. Manfred outside of your usual hospital rotation, and since you’ve kept up with your official work and your reports are impeccable, what you do and who you see on your own time is none of our business.”

There was a great big huge “but” hanging at the end of his words.

Armitage resolved it after a brief pause with, “Mr. Manfred is still technically a patient of this hospital, however.”

Will took a deep breath. “Oakley is progressing really well,” he said, trying not to make it too obvious that he was sweating and squirming. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. They weren’t doing anything wrong. “He’s making amazing progress in regaining sensation to his lower extremities. He can discern touch to the upper parts of his legs and sometimes his toes. His bladder and bowel functions have improved by leaps and bounds, especially over the last week. He’s worked hard to increase his upper body strength, and his mobility has seen a marked improvement because of that.”

“Good,” Armitage said with a smile. “I’m certain all of that is directly related to your expert care of him.”

That would have been a compliment, but Armitage arched one eyebrow and fixed Will with a borderline stern look as he spoke.

Will let out a breath, slumping back in his chair a little. There was no point in trying to hide something that he himself wasn’t even sure of when Armitage obviously knew something.

“Oakley and I have gotten close,” he admitted. “We’re getting closer every day. I’ve spent the night at his place a few times.”

He wavered about whether to go into detail there, either to tell the truth or to make it sound like he was merely on nursing duty.

“I’m glad that Mr. Manfred has found someone he can trust and rely on at this delicate point in his recovery,” Armitage said.

And there was the other subtle implication that had Will’s face heating with frustration and embarrassment and indignation.

“If you’re implying that some sort of attachment disorder on Oakley’s part where I’m concerned or some kind of projection or transference of sexual feelings because of the intimacy we share as therapist and patient, then you’re barking up the wrong tree,” Will insisted.

“Am I?”

Those two words had Will’s insides roiling and a full-blown panic attack whispering in the wings.

He had to stop and breathe and remember that he was an adult and a professional, but also a man who was fully capable of developing feelings for someone without it being a violation of the Hippocratic Oath.

“Look, Dr. Armitage,” he said, shifting forward and staring frankly at the man. “I get what you’re saying, and I understand your concerns. Oakley and I have gotten close. I…we…we haven’t talked about it specifically yet, but we could very well be heading into relationship territory.”

Saying that much aloud slapped some sense into Will. His panic veered in a different direction as he started to question everything.

“I know there’s an ethical issue with dating a patient, but you yourself said that my association with Oakley falls outside of the boundaries of my work at the hospital, so it’s not an official violation of hospital ethics…is it?” Will hated the fact that he was suddenly so uncertain of that.

Armitage took a breath and sat back in his chair in a more casual stance. “I’d be lying if I said I haven’t noticed the way the two of you interact with each other when Mr. Manfred has been here for appointments or treatment,” he began. “The two of you have a strong rapport that, frankly, I think has played a positive role in his recovery process.”

Part of Will wanted to sigh in relief, but he knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet.

“Oakley himself has said that I’ve helped motivate him in his recovery,” he said.

“And that’s a good thing,” Armitage said with a nod. “Anything that inspires and encourages a patient with the sort of injury Mr. Manfred has is a good thing.” He paused, then said, “Where it becomes a problem is if and how it affects your performance here at the hospital, with your other patients.”

“You just said my reports are excellent,” Will said, back on the defensive again.

“They are,” Armitage said, still as calm as ever, which part of Will hated. “But there is an ethical consideration to the whole thing.”

Will felt like he might come out of his skin if Armitage kept beating around the bush. The man was trying to say something, maybe issue a warning, but damned if Will could put a finger on what it was.

“Will I be fired if Oakley and I start dating?” he asked, leaning forward and staring hard at Armitage.

“Not by me,” Armitage answered right away. “And since the change last month, I would be the one to make the final decision.”

“Then good,” Will said, leaning back in his chair, but still edgy as fuck and carrying the sense that he didn’t know the full story.

Armitage hinted at that story a moment later.

“We’re not finished reorganizing the department or making all the changes that the NHS wants to see,” he said. “It’s looking like more managerial positions will be created later this spring.” He paused, fixed Will with a look that was as piercing as the one Will had shot at him earlier, then said, “I wouldn’t want any sort of dark mark to stand against you when the committee goes looking for personnel to fill those positions.”

There it was, then. Will felt the truth like a blow to his gut. If he wanted to have half a chance at getting the promotion he’d been passed over for once already, he would need to keep his nose clean. And dating a patient definitely didn’t fall into the clean nose category.

“I see,” he said, a gnawing, hollow feeling spreading through his chest. There wasn’t really anything else he could say at that point, so he met Armitage’s eyes and asked, “Is there anything else?”

Armitage’s face pinched momentarily, like he didn’t like the position he was in. “Not at this time,” he said moving to stand. Will stood with him, and when Armitage gestured, he walked to the door with him. When they were almost at the door, Armitage quickly added, “It’s just that I personally think you and Oakley could be good together. I’m not sure the rest of the committee or the representatives from the NHS would feel the same way.”

Will turned to him before reaching for the door handle. “If it came to it, would you speak up for me?”

It was deeply questionable to put his boss on the line like that, but Will stood by the question.

“I would do whatever I could based on the health and wellbeing of the patient,” he answered at last, completely judiciously and with that air of experience that had given him the edge over Will back in January.

The prickly, uncomfortable, borderline shameful feeling that the meeting had given Will stayed with him through the afternoon. He tried not to let it affect his patients as he worked with them through variations of the sort of recovery Oakley was going through. One of them was a young rugby player who was dealing with a partial compression of his C4 and C5 vertebrae and who would eventually recover fully. He was fit and charming, and he and Will had enjoyed the banter during their sessions. But Armitage hadn’t warned Will about him. He hadn’t lectured him about getting to close to any of his other male patients.

Because whatever was growing between Will and Oakley was so bloody powerful and obvious that even Armitage had noticed it.

And honestly, Will didn’t know how he felt about it. Scrutiny didn’t change what he felt for Oakley, that much was certain, but Armitage had added another weight to his shoulders that he just couldn’t shake. Would there come a time when he would have to choose between his career and Oakley?

“Was there another party for an undeserving colleague today?” Oakley asked in the middle of their therapy session that evening.

Will had Oakley laid out on his back in the gym and was going through their routine of stretching and flexing Oakley’s legs to keep the atrophy at bay. He hadn’t really been paying attention to his task, and if he was honest, he hadn’t been paying attention to Oakley as much as he should have either…because he was thinking about him too much.

“Hmm?” he hummed as he dragged himself out of his thoughts while working on Oakley’s calf.

“Someone get promoted over you again?” Oakley asked with a sly grin, like he was winning an argument because Will wasn’t paying close enough attention. “Is that why you’re in such a peevish mood?”

Will suddenly got the reference and let himself smile. “No,” he said, shifting the way he sat so he would be in a better position as he worked Oakley’s knee. “I’m just tired is all.”

Big. Fat. Lie.

But what would be the use in telling Oakley the truth? They hadn’t even discussed why Will kept spending the night in Oakley’s bed or how therapy sessions that were once one hour had extended to two or three, just so they could both enjoy the constant, intimate touching.

“Are you certain the hospital isn’t working you too hard?” Oakley asked with the sort of concern a partner would have. “Is there any way to cut back on your patient roster?”

“It’s fine, really,” Will said, then diverted the conversation by asking, “Have you increased the amount of work you’re handling for your company yet? You know your recovery is progressing to the point where you could think about returning to the office soon.”

Like he knew it would, his question and suggestion dampened Oakley’s otherwise good spirits. “I’m not returning to the office until I’m one hundred percent certain I won’t need to wear a nappy under my suit.”

Will grinned despite himself and despite Oakley’s discomfort. “You’re not wearing a nappy now.”

“Yes, well, if I suddenly shit all over the floor because I miscalculated things down there I won’t have to call some unfortunate maintenance person to clean it all up when I’m at home,” he said with just the right acid snap.

Will laughed, moving yet again so that he could work Oakley’s thigh. Which meant opening him up and leaning in closer to him in a way that he desperately hoped Oakley would feel soon.

“When was the last time you had an accident?” he asked, pressing into Oakley’s thigh and leaning over him as he did.

Oakley stared flatly up at him. “You’re some kind of sick bastard, you know,” he said, fire in his eyes. Apparently, he was in a mood that evening. “You’ve got me all splayed and helpless, you’re on top of me, looking like…you do, and you’re asking me when the last time I soiled myself was?”

“Sexy, I know,” Will said in a low purr, leaning a little closer.

The thing was, it was sexy. It was sexy as fuck to be wrapped up so closely with Oakley, talking about things that Oakley would never so much as whisper to anyone else. Whoever thought that blatant things, like sucking and fucking, were the only way to connect intimately with someone else in a way that stirred the blood and made you feel like you wanted to lose yourself in another person, was sorely missing out on true arousal.

Will couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t part of their routine, but when he had Oakley stretched out, one leg lifted and its underside exposed, he dragged his hand down from Oakley’s calf, over the inside of his knee, and down his inner thigh until he was a hair’s breadth away from his balls.

Oakley wore a thin pair of sweatpants, and even if his leg had been bare, he still only had the faintest sense of pressure and temperature in his legs, but he sucked in a breath all the same, and his pupils dilated with arousal. Will couldn’t tell how aware Oakley was of what he was feeling, but something was there, just waiting for the spinal cord tracts to come alive again and carry that sensation up to where it would connect with the emotions Oakley had no problem feeling and explode.

Maybe it was the sense that they were so close to that level of healing, or maybe it was pure, stubborn anger at any implication that the two of them shouldn’t be falling the way they were, but Will gave up trying to hold himself back and shifted his hand to caress Oakley’s balls through the fabric of his sweatpants. He didn’t take his eyes off Oakley’s the entire time, and despite the way Oakley’s breathing increased and his pupils blew out even more, he didn’t look down to see what Will had done.

“Can you feel that?” Will asked, his voice barely audible and filled with need.

Oakley drew in a slow breath…then slowly nodded.

“Not like before,” he added a moment later in a rush of air. “It’s faint, strange. It’s…muffled and distant, but…it’s happening.”

Will’s pulse shot up with excitement, and he squeezed Oakley’s balls. It wasn’t enough to make even the sloppiest dom proud, but Oakley flinched, then drew in a breath and smiled.

Neither of them said anything. What words were there to be said when you were fondling a patient who you were falling head over heels in love with and they could only just barely tell? It was wicked and full of promise all at the same time. It would get him fired, and it would land him some sort of therapist of the month award for speeding along a patient’s recovery.

The burden of handling Oakley’s balls proved to be too much in the end, and Will returned to their regularly scheduled exercise routine. Part of him felt like a coward for not pushing things by stroking Oakley’s cock. Another part of him was certain he’d already taken things too far. Because now Oakley was suffering from disappointment on top of the anxiety Will knew he already felt about the future of his sexual functioning.

“It’s progress,” he said at last, trying to absolve himself of blame and relieve Oakley from whatever pressure he was feeling to heal all the way immediately. “Every little thing is progress. We’ll work on it more in the future, add a few new things to our routine, if you’d like.” He flickered his eyebrows and gave Oakley his best, sultry, teasing smile as well to soften the pain that had come into Oakley’s eyes.

“I suppose—” Oakley stopped himself from whatever he’d been about to say as he glanced off to the side, emotion pinching his face. He seemed to come to some sort of resolution and faced up, meeting Will’s eyes again. “Yes, I’d like that,” he said with ten times the strength that had been in his voice before. “Fumble around like you’re a fifteen-year-old boy with a cock in his hand for the first time if it’ll help get me back to—”

He lost whatever determination and courage had pushed him to blurt out his request and turned his head to the side again.

“It’s progress,” Will repeated, putting more emphasis in the words. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

“I know,” Oakley sighed.

Will pinched his thigh, to tease him and to see if Oakley could feel it. Oakley didn’t react at all. Will’s grin dropped, and his heart filled with an emotion that was too deep for fondness and too all-encompassing for lust.

He was glad he hadn’t whispered a word about Armitage’s caution from earlier. Oakley had enough on his plate already without worrying whether Will would lose everything he’d worked for if the time came when he had to make a choice.