26. Seb

26

Seb

My father gets better slowly.

Marcus extends his stay, citing personal reasons on social media. Having him here feels surreal, like two separate worlds colliding. I catch myself staring at him sometimes. The guy whose face is plastered across billboards selling designer cologne is now squashed into a hospital chair that seems designed by someone who hates the concept of comfort.

The machines surrounding Dad’s bed thin out, replaced by get-well cards and the low murmur of daytime TV.

It’s two steps forward, one step back—Dad’s triumphant first walk down the hospital corridor was followed by extreme exhaustion the next day. But slowly, surely, he’s recovering.

Marcus’s phone buzzes constantly with messages from Jake. He tries to shield me from it, but I catch glimpses of all-caps texts and hear snatches of tense conversations. It’s like watching a long-distance tug-of-war, with Marcus caught between his career obligations and his desire to be here.

“I’ve been needing a holiday,” Marcus says. “Jake just needs to suck it up.”

“Some holiday,” I say.

“I’m finding parts of it quite appealing, actually,” he says as he kisses my shoulder.

We’re lying in bed, Marcus’s arm draped over my waist, his breath warm against my neck. Our skin is sticky with sweat, the sheets a rumpled mess around us.

Having to act like polite acquaintances in front of my family while we’re at the hospital has meant that when we’re alone, the sex is even more explosive than normal. It’s up there with a hydrogen bomb detonation in the explosiveness scale.

Marcus’s hand snakes out from under the covers, fumbling on the nightstand. His fingers close around the familiar orange bottle, and he pops the cap one-handed. He tosses back a small white pill, swallowing dry, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

Spending so much time with Marcus has been amazing. But it’s also been concerning.

When I only see him in small snippets, it’s easy to ignore how many pills he’s taking.

But now I’m spending so much time with him, I can’t help noticing the pattern. The morning stimulants, the afternoon mood stabilizers, and the evening sleeping pills. It’s like watching a chemical tightrope act, and I can’t help worrying about what will happen if he loses his balance.

“Does it worry you, being dependent on those to sleep?” I ask softly.

“It’s prescription stuff,” Marcus says. “It’s perfectly safe.”

“Do you actually have a prescription for it?”

“Jake takes care of all of that.”

I have no doubt Jake does. But I don’t really trust Jake to act in Marcus’s best interests. I think he’ll do whatever is best to ensure Marcus continues making him money.

The relationship between Jake and Marcus reminds me of how mistletoe slowly drains nutrients from its host tree. I don’t say this to Marcus though.

Marcus’s breathing evens out as the sleeping pill kicks in. When he’s fully asleep, I turn to face him. As always, I can’t help marveling at his beauty, the perfect symmetry of his chiseled features softened by sleep.

But now, having spent so much time with Marcus, I know there’s a brittleness under his charming surface.

The perfection that once seemed effortless now feels like a carefully constructed facade. And I get the feeling I will never fully understand the cost to Marcus to maintain it.

I watch the steady rise and fall of his chest, torn between the comfort of his presence and the growing knot of worry in my chest.

The next day, my car adds a whine to its rattling that makes me wonder if I’ve accidentally activated some sort of distress beacon for alien abduction. If aliens do show up, I really hope they bring advanced automotive technology with them.

On the way home from the hospital, my car decides to die completely. Right in the middle of rush-hour traffic. After I’ve gone through the humiliation of waiting for a tow truck and discovering my roadside assistance membership expired last month, I catch an uber to the Langham.

The hotel’s doormen are used to me now and immediately buzz me up to Marcus’s suite.

I trudge into the room, only to stop dead when I see Marcus on the couch. Jake lined up a photo shoot with Cartier this afternoon because he seems determined to keep Marcus working even from the other side of the Pacific Ocean.

Marcus is still dressed in a tailored navy suit that accentuates his broad shoulders, his hair artfully tousled. His perfectly straight nose and high cheekbones give him a classical profile that wouldn’t look out of place on an ancient Greek coin. The stubble darkening his jaw adds a rugged edge to his polished appearance.

Meanwhile, I smell like a particularly pungent blend of car exhaust and desperation, and I’m fairly sure my hair is staging a rebellion against the laws of gravity.

There’s nothing quite like being smacked over the head with the contrast between Marcus’s life and mine.

He looks up from where he’s scrolling through his phone, then immediately puts it down.

He crosses the room and wraps his arms around me. His lips brush my temple.

“It looks like you had a rough day.” He smells divine, like expensive cologne and the faintest hint of coffee.

I sent him a brief message from the motorway that my car had died and I would be late.

“Definitely not the best day I’ve ever had,” I say.

Marcus steers me toward the couch, his hand warm on my back. “All right, Dr. Kleggs, time for a full debrief on Operation Car Disaster,” he says.

“I think it was more Operation Car Extinction Event,” I reply.

“Does the mechanic think it can’t be resurrected?” he asks.

“I don’t know. He’s going to look at it closely tomorrow. But the garage I took it to had no hire cars available, so I’m stuck using crappy public transport. I’m so looking forward to experiencing the unique thrill of watching three buses of the same route show up at once after waiting for an hour.”

“You can borrow my rental car,” Marcus offers.

“What are you going to do without a rental car?”

“I’ll get another.”

I give him a side-eye. “Your rental car is a Maserati. You don’t think people will ask questions about why I’m suddenly driving a Maserati?”

“It’s always good to be unpredictable, keep people guessing.”

“Good when you’re a Hollywood star. Not so much when you’re a university professor.”

“Hey, maybe they’ll just think you’ve discovered a new species of money-growing tree,” he says.

I huff out a laugh.

“Or maybe they’ll just think you’ve discovered how to turn endangered species conservation into cold hard cash.”

“Right, because that’s totally believable. ‘Oh, this Maserati? I just sold the GPS coordinates of a fairy tern nest to the highest bidder. Don’t tell the Department of Conservation.’”

It’s his turn to laugh. He tightens his arm around me, and I find myself relaxing for the first time since my car decided to throw its tantrum.

I’m so grateful I’ve got Marcus here to comfort me, to help me solve my problems, to make me laugh after a shitty day.

I resist Marcus’s offer and take the bus the next morning to the university. And it’s not that bad if you enjoy playing Guess that Sticky Substance with your shoes or performing the advanced yoga of trying to exit past the crowd attempting to board before you’ve even stood up.

But that evening, I have to get to South Auckland for soccer practice. So I grudgingly concede to using Marcus’s car. I grip the steering wheel tightly, convinced that at any moment, the car will realize I’m an impostor and activate some sort of luxury vehicle defense system designed to eject unworthy drivers.

Jamie and Declan are in the parking lot when I arrive.

I flush self-consciously as I get out of the car.

Declan gives a low whistle. “Nice car.”

“Ah…thanks. I’m borrowing it off a friend because my car decided to die yesterday.”

“That’s a pretty good friend if they’re prepared to lend you their Maserati,” Jamie comments.

I briefly consider telling them I won it in a game of chess against a bored billionaire, but I don’t really have a talent for lying.

Instead, I feel my face grow even hotter. “Ah…yeah.”

I head onto the field, hoping the sharp wind will cool my face.

Luckily, training has already begun, and the guys are doing ball-skill drills.

Tim immediately heads over to Jamie, and he and Jamie do their usual thing of smiles and laughter and meaningful glances that makes everyone else feel like they’re intruding on a private moment.

“Oi, Jamie! Are you here to train, or are you here to flirt?” Scott yells.

“Can’t he do both?” Declan asks. “It’s a total myth that men can’t multitask.”

“You reckon he can dribble accurately with a goofy smile on his face?” Scott asks skeptically.

“I’m up for the challenge.” Jamie intercepts the ball from Scott’s feet and completes the drill around the cone, all while keeping the same smile as Scott rolls his eyes.

Then it’s time for a game of seven-a-side.

We quickly divide into teams, and Scott kicks off from halfway. He’s our center back and controls the game like a maestro conducting an orchestra.

He sends a long kick to Declan. But Tim manages to dispossess him, kicking the ball to Jamie.

Jamie starts dribbling down the field, and I see my chance.

I get in close, my eyes on the ball. Suddenly, Jamie looks up, and our heads collide with the force of two tectonic plates meeting.

Pain explodes through my skull. The world tilts and spins, and suddenly, I’m intimately acquainted with the grass beneath me.

Through the ringing in my ears, I hear Tim’s frantic voice calling Jamie’s name. I manage to lift my head, squinting through the pain to see Tim kneeling beside Jamie like a knight attending to his fallen comrade.

If there’s any doubt something serious is happening between them, the look on Tim’s face right now would definitely settle the matter once and for all.

“Oh my god, Jamie, are you okay?” Tim’s voice is thick with concern.

Jamie mutters something about my head being surprisingly hard. I’d return the compliment, but forming words right now seems like a herculean task.

Tim’s voice cuts through the fog in my brain. “I’ll take both of you to the emergency department to get checked out.”

Jamie protests, but I can see from Tim’s expression that he’s not relenting.

While waiting to be seen at the emergency department, I message Marcus to let him know what happened.

Marcus’s reply pops up almost instantly

Are you okay?

I’m fine, just discovered my skull isn’t quite as thick as I’ve always assumed.

But Marcus doesn’t seem to be in the mood for my humor.

I’m on my way. Be there as soon as I can.

After what seems like an eternity of poking, prodding, and questions, the doctor finally gives us both the all-clear. No concussion, just a spectacular headache and a newfound respect for the density of Jamie’s skull.

“Do you want a ride home?” Tim asks as we go back through the waiting room. “Or back to the club to pick up your car?”

“Um…no…I’m fine, thanks. Someone is coming to pick me up.”

As we walk out, I spot Marcus’s Ferrari pulling up at the curb.

“Um…that’s my ride,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

“See you at the game on Saturday,” Jamie says.

“See you then.” I hurry to the car, feeling their eyes on me as I climb in.

As Marcus pulls away, I catch a glimpse of Tim and Jamie in the rearview mirror, their expressions a mix of confusion and curiosity as they stare after the Ferrari.

“Are you okay? What did the doctor say?” Marcus asks.

“I don’t have a concussion. I’ve got a bit of a headache though. The doctor told me to take it easy tonight.”

“No sex for us then.”

I flop against the seat. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“As sexy as the whole ‘dazed and confused’ look is on you, I think we’ll pass tonight.”

“We should go back to the club to pick up the Maserati,” I say.

Marcus waves his hand dismissively. “It can stay there overnight. It’s more important to get you home to rest.”

Home. The idea of having a home with Marcus hits me like a wave of nostalgia for a place I’ve never actually been.

Because we don’t have a home. We have a hotel suite Marcus is renting by the week.

I drag my mind back to focus on practicalities.

“It’s an expensive car to leave in the carpark.”

“That’s what insurance is for,” Marcus says.

When we reach the suite, it’s a repeat of the other day. Marcus looking after me, caring for me. He fusses over me, bringing me water, pain relievers, and even a cool compress for my head.

It gives me a glimpse of what life would be like if Marcus wasn’t just a visitor in my life but a permanent fixture.

Suddenly, it’s not just my head that is hurting, but my heart as well.