Chapter 25

25

DES

B y the time I arrive home, the unease brewing under my skin is making me itch. I bend down and stroke Mitzi's wriggling body as she jumps up and does crazy circles, so I pick her up and she licks my face as I search for dog food in the cupboard.

Once she's fed, I rummage around the fridge, sniff some of the takeout from last night, and dump it into a bowl. I'm still bewildered by his cousin turning up out of the blue like that. Like a stalker.

Given I work in security, you'd think the first thing I'd do is check a guy like Alex out— if I was sensible, which I'm clearly not. I never even connected with him on social media. But what would googling Alex Blackman have shown? I stick my food in the microwave and pull my phone out of my pocket. A search brings up a history professor and a children's entertainer who got sued when his pet snake bit a boy at a party. But then I type in Alex Sachs. Some references pop up to a man who was involved in the atomic bomb but other than that … Oh God, there are loads of hits, and I press my hand to my chest. It's like staring into another world. Facebook, Twitter, photos with his family . His Facebook account is a revelation: pictures of him out drinking with friends, standing outside a synagogue, at some event with a girl in a black dress, and something hot drifts through me. I peer at the date: 2015. Okay, so a while back. Calm down, you maniac.

But as I scroll, I come across a photo of him with this Tom guy who turned up tonight. It's not incriminating; just the two of them together, like guys out on the town. But they both look young and drunk, and Alex's head is tipped back laughing uproariously.

Now I can't tamp down the acid that creeps up. Des, his relationship with Tom is over, it finished like a year ago! But my hand shakes as the time ticks down on the microwave. Fuck. Taking a deep breath, I slam my hand on the door opener, pull my meal out, and shovel food into my mouth—but heat and fire take over my tongue. I scrabble at the tap and stick my mouth under it, water spraying everywhere before I straighten up and run my hand down my wet face. All these pictures, this life he had … he has. He has, Des . I felt like I knew him. I was starting to feel … fuck … this whole life I know nothing about. Me and all my hopeful bullshit.

Goddammit. Stop. You don't need this. But the little voice in my head won't stop taunting me. I need something, anything, to blow off this kettle of steam that's building like a tornado. My eyes flit over the bare walls and the Persian carpet. The idea of being here tonight on my own … I can't sit on the couch or go to bed, I'm not that guy. Wearing myself out—physically, mentally—until I'm no longer running a Technicolor film of Tom and Alex is what I need. Dropping out of my brain and dancing until 3 a.m.

George . Despite the drama, he's my go-to ignore-the-world-let's-party person. And it's 10 p.m. Perfect.

Wild night out!

I type in, and my finger hovers over the button. Do I want to do this? I close my eyes and press.

Within seconds, a winking emoji comes back, followed by a text.

Hey Des, Steve here.

Steve? On George's phone? Steve has been a sexual partner of George's for a long time. He hooks up as much as George does, and he's one of the reasons we broke up. George was always sneaking off to have sex with him, along with other people, but far from hating Steve, I found myself in the strange position of liking him. He works at a non-profit and is this lovely, friendly, cuddly guy who you'd have to be a monster to hate. The other irony here is that he's totally reliable—clear about the sex he has with everyone, and always turning up when he's said he will.

Unfortunately, when George and I were together, Steve mentioned in passing to me that they were hooking up, thinking I knew and was fine with it. He didn't understand what the issue was when I got upset and split up with George. George still hasn't admitted he was sleeping with Steve. Ugh. Maybe the problem was all mine. But I know myself. When I'm in a relationship, I'm not strong enough not to wonder about how close my boyfriend might be with someone else, to not worry about being compared . Wouldn't everyone do this?

George is in the shower, BUT I AM SO UP FOR A PARTY!

Steve types, then:

Whatever other plans he has, I'll persuade him.

Ha! I bet they just got out of bed. I smirk a little. George will no doubt have filled him in on Alex. Am I going to tell either of them what's happened?

My reflection stares back at me in the hall mirror, and I tip my head down to examine the blond curls. I need to vamp it up. Tonight I'm ignoring everything: how I feel, all the problems. Tonight is just for me.

An hour later, I'm standing outside the subway station in tight inky jeans with a matching black vest showing off my chest and arms. No wondering-why-I'm-here this evening: I'm getting out of my head. Glancing down at my phone for messages, I lift my head when a loud whoop bounces off the buildings up the street.

George and Steve are reeling toward me, drunk as skunks. A smile creeps across my face.

"Dessy!" George says with a shriek and pulls me into a warm hug. Honestly, these guys . You wouldn't know he was pissed off with me. It's all overblown drama one minute and forgotten history the next.

"Get off him, he's mine," Steve says, using his large bulk to push George to one side as he picks me up and spins me around.

"Man, it's way too long since I saw your ugly face," he says, putting me back on the ground and groping my ass. I grin at him and smooch his cheek.

"We are down to party!" George shouts, dancing over the sidewalk and into the street. A couple of lawyer types in suits who are walking along stare at him askance. He blows them a kiss.

"I love this part of town," he slurs, reeling back in and kissing me on the lips. I don't even mind.

And the club is packed when we get in there, hot and heavy and hardly room to breathe: bodies swaying to the thumping beat. Fighting our way onto the floor, Steve pulls his very sweaty vest away from his chest and fans his face.

"We are going to need wa-ter!" he yells over the music.

Some guy dangles a small plastic bag in my face, and I shake my head as I push past him into the center of the dancefloor. And as we dance and drink, the evening gets more and more blurry. I'm pressed up against a lot of bodies, buoyed along by the crowd, hands everywhere. Steve puts his lips to my ear and tells me how much he's always loved my chest. George presses something into my hand at some point, and I don't even think twice before I pop it in my mouth.

A bright light is shining in my eyes.

"How long has he been like this?" The voice echoes like it's coming from the bottom of a trash can. I try to raise my arm to cover the glare, but it doesn't seem to work.

"Shaking for about a half hour." George. His voice comes at me from a great distance.

"Has he taken something?"

The voices fade.

I'm fine. If I sit up, I can just tell them I'm fine. But my body is stuck to the floor somehow, and when I attempt to move, a loud groaning sound comes from somewhere.

"He's been making that noise just before …"

And oh God ! Sickness rises in the back of my throat and I can't turn, but large hands shift me as it all bubbles up and out of my mouth, running over the side of my face. I try to raise my arm to do fuck knows what, but it doesn't want to lift up.

"Shit," a voice says.

"Okay." Another voice now. "We need to take him to hospital."

The next thing I know a wet cloth is on my face and George is saying, "Dessy, Dessy, are you all right? They've gone to get a stretcher."

Then I'm being rolled backward and forward and, oh God, more vomit comes up.

"Jesus Christ."

A laugh.

"Your wife will love cleaning that, Chris."

Then I'm moved sideways and some rough canvas is underneath my back, and everything starts to joggle about, lights bobbing above my head. Unbearable. Shiver after shiver rolls through me, but someone tucks something over me and I'm warm again.

More jostling and suddenly I'm inside a smaller space and a mask is slapped onto my face.

"Sit there," a gruff voice says.

"Can I hold his hand?" Another distant voice.

And a hand grasps mine, and I contract my fingers around it, but nothing happens. Somebody squeezes my palm, and my eyes tighten and start to water, wet on my cheeks.

A sudden pain shafts up my left arm, followed by a cool sensation.

"I'll just tape this in," the voice says.

The hand squeezes again. "You're going to be fine, Desmond."

Steve. Thank God. More tears track down my face.

"He's crying," Steve whispers.

"Yeah, I feel like fucking crying, too."

Then everything starts to move, and it's the worst feeling in the world. I can't suck air in fast enough. Bile rises up and I groan, trying to raise my hand to claw the mask off my face.

"He's … he's…"

"I've got it," Not-Steve says.

A couple of hands drag me over onto my side, the mask is pulled off, and vomit pours out of my mouth. Through a haze I see it splatter across a blue rubber floor.

"Dammit," someone says.

"You guys need to be more careful when you're taking shit," Not-Steve growls.

I don't catch the answer before it all fades out again.

The next time my eyes blink open, it's to the soft sound of whirring and a cream-colored machine with knobs and dials and a screen with green lines on it that looks suspiciously like a heartbeat monitor. Wow. Just like ER. Wait. I'm on my side. I attempt to roll backward only to find I can't and then a voice says.

"Des."

Steve. He was holding my hand.

"Steve," I say, but nothing comes out of my mouth. I clear my throat and try again. "Steve," I whisper.

A torso and jeans appear next to the bed and then a hand hovers in my peripheral vision before touching my head. Steve's crotch is at eye level and I track up his body, coming to rest on his face. His pale, bruised eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Des."

"What?" This time my voice is a rough croak.

"That dealer gave us some bad stuff. George woke up to find you shaking beside him, like a fit, and then you threw up and kept throwing up, so we called 911."

I was in bed with George?

" Yeah, I remember a bright light and an ambulance." I stretch out my hand. "You were with me."

He snags my fingers in his. "I wanted to keep an eye on you. They'd only let one of us go with you to the hospital."

"Where's George now?"

"No doubt having a crisis somewhere." He rolls his eyes.

My laugh comes out rusty and sore. Steve squeezes my hand. "Honestly, that guy. When you two got together, I hoped he'd change. He was so starry-eyed about you. God, I was disgusted when you guys broke up."

"Steve, you slept with him all through that time! I mean …"

He shakes his head. "Not all through that time. He was faithful to start off with. I do think he really tried."

I nod at this, but it's water under the bridge now. Despite the nausea still churning inside, the idea that I've moved on from all that warms something in my core.

Steve nods at my phone. "It's been buzzing on and off all night. It rang too, but I didn't think I should answer."

He picks it up from the bedside table, pressing it into my hand and I squint at it.

Alex. Twelve missed calls and a stream of WhatsApp messages. They start off apologetic and become more and more anxious:

Des, I'm really sorry.

I should have told you about all this. I'm sorry.

I don't know why you're not responding, but I guess it's bad.

I'll never forgive myself if I've messed this up.

Des, please talk to me. Even if I've fucked this up, I need to know.

Am I over my drama? I tap in a message:

I'm in the hospital.

The typing starts immediately. Like he was waiting for me. I have no idea what time it is.

Oh my God, Des. Where?

Followed by:

R U okay?

I look down at the honeycomb weave blanket.

I'm fine.

I type. At least I think I am.

Can I come and see you?

Yeah, that'd be great. NYU Langone.

On my way.

When I put my phone down on the bed, Steve's watching me.

"All resolved?" he says.

"My boyfriend, Alex."

He grins. "Yeah, you bored us rigid last night with how in love with him you are."

My face heats, and I lean my head back against the pillow and close my eyes. Steve pats my hand as he sinks into a chair by my bed. "No sweat, Dessy. It was cute."

"I bet George didn't think it was so cute."

Steve waves his hand. "No, he didn't, but that's his problem. You deserve to find someone nice. You always wanted a steady relationship."

"That's why George isn't here," I say. Wow. Okay. I grimace. Whatever we are, I thought he was at least a friend. "What happened last night?"

Steve laughs. "I wondered when we were going to come on to that. You were wild, man."

"Oh, God," I say, running the hand that's not hooked up to a machine down my face, and it makes him laugh even more.

"You put your hands down some guy's pants."

"Jesus."

"You kissed so many guys, I lost count. Your top was off the minute you got in the place. Later on, I had to stop you from taking your jeans off."

"Fuck, Steve. What the hell was in that tablet George gave me?"

"Some kind of upper," he giggles. "What a night! I've never enjoyed an evening as much, even with the hospital visit." He winks at me. "We'll have to do it again."

I snort loudly. I'll never want to repeat that trip in the ambulance, that's for sure.

"How did we get home from the club?"

He stares at the blue walls and the picture of the sea, which are probably meant to be calming for patients but in fact make me feel seasick, and purses his lips.

"I can't recall a lot myself, to be honest."

A flash of me falling on the sidewalk pops into my head.

"I fell."

"Yeah. Yeah." He nods. "That rings a bell. We were there until the club closed. I remember getting chucked out. I've also a vague memory of hailing a cab." He laughs again. "We got to George's apartment, and you walked straight into his bedroom and collapsed on the bed. He followed you. I knew that bed wasn't big enough for the three of us, so I slept on the couch."

"Oh God, I slept with George?"

"Well, I don't know really. I don't know what went on between the two of you."

I cover my face with my hands. "What am I going to say to Alex?"

"Oh, that's easy: Don't tell him." Steve flaps a hand at me as he slouches back in his chair. "There's no need. You both were too out of it for anything to have happened, and sure as hell George and I won't say anything. George won't even remember. He was almost as bad as you and doing a lot of loud singing."

You see this is the thing. This is where Steve and I differ. And maybe I should amend my earlier assessment of him being a straight die. He thinks some secrets are okay, whereas I don't. Maybe you can hide a few minor issues, but you have to be honest about the big things. Sharing a bed with George is a big thing. Ugh. An affair with a cousin and a different surname are also pretty big things.

He gestures at my phone. "What did Alex say, anyway?"

"He's on his way," I say.

Steve nods, sinking into the chair and taking hold of my hand. "God, I'm glad you're all right, Dessy, I was shitting myself for a bit. They put you on a drip in that ambulance and you looked fucking rough." He closes his eyes and squeezes my fingers. "Not a huge fan of needles," he says.

I must have drifted off, because I wake up some unknown amount of time later to find Alex standing at the foot of the bed. His eyes are fixed on the covers like something is wrong with my legs, and I peer down, blinking sleepily at my hand resting in Steve's. Steve is in the chair close to my bed and his eyes are shut, but then he stirs, blearily casting around, and his fingers slip out of mine as he looks up at Alex.

"Des," Alex says.

His face is all odd. Red eyes, blotchy skin, dark eyebrows a hard slash across his forehead. His hair is flattened against his head and dampened down like someone stuck a wet brush through it.

"Alex." My smile wobbles, but his face relaxes, mouth transforming from a thin line to something more normal.

Steve sits forward and rubs his hands over his face. "Jesus, I must have fallen asleep." He holds out a hand to Alex. "Steve," he says.

"Good to meet you, Steve." Alex nods, leaning over to take Steve's outstretched hand, but his voice is pinched, hesitancy in every word.

"I'm an old friend of Des's. Been taking care of him." He studies me. "I'm going to go now, sugar—I gotta get myself sorted for work. Try and ease myself into some sort of shape for Monday. Man, I need some sleep."

Reaching out, I snag and squeeze his hand. "Thanks. Waking up with someone here … I really appreciate it." I swallow, throat thick and tight.

He chuckles and leans in, kissing me on the lips, squeezing my fingers, and pressing our joined hands into my chest.

"Love you, Dessy," he says, before turning to Alex, shaking his head. "Take care of him," he adds. "God knows somebody needs to keep an eye on him." And he picks up his jacket and bumps into the wall on his way out.

The strange expression has returned to Alex's face.

"What?"

"Who's he?"

"He's an old friend. Sometime hookup of George's. Steve is how I met George, actually."

"Have you slept with him?"

I screw my face up at him.

"I'll take that as a yes."

He blows out a breath and stares at the drip hooked up to my arm then paces over to the window, staring out into the darkness. A deep scowl is reflected in the glass. Putting my head back against the pillow, I close my eyes. I'm too ill for a fight.

"What happened?" he says, voice suddenly much closer, and when I open my eyes he's sitting in the chair that Steve vacated.

I give him a brief rundown of the night before. When I tell him about stripping off, he murmurs, "That sounds like you," and I catch a glimpse of a smile, but the frown reappears when I talk about putting my hands down some guy's pants.

And then I reach the part where I'm sharing the bed with George, and of course I'm going to tell him this. But my stomach sinks as his face gets more and more expressionless, then morphs into concern when I tell him about having what amounts to a seizure and the ambulance.

"Has something like this ever happened to you before?"

I shake my head. "The doctor said there are some drugs ‘doing the rounds' where they've seen something similar. But they really can't tell."

He nods, staring down at his hands. Then stands up again and paces around the end of my bed.

"I'm sorry," I say.

He bites his lip. "It's okay. I just don't know if I can … I'm not built for casual, Des."

"No one's asking you to do casual."

"But you're doing it. I don't think I can view sex the way that you …"

I shake my head, and the whole room swims. A groan rumbles up my throat, and Alex moves to my side, taking my hand.

"Are you all right?"

I lean back nodding while the nausea subsides. "I know I was out of order last night, but I'm pretty sure nothing happened," I rasp out. "After the meeting with Tom, I was in a bad place. I looked you up online."

Alex's eyebrows rise up. "What was wrong with what was online?"

"Nothing, I guess. But it was your whole life—that you haven't even mentioned to me. There were pictures of you and Tom." My throat tightens. "Happy pictures."

Alex nods. "We were happy. It felt like my first real relationship—if that makes sense."

I growl at him. "Don't tell me that."

His eyes go wide. "What do you mean? You've just been holding hands with a guy you've slept with, who pressed his hand into your chest like he owns you, kissed you, and said he loves you!"

"Steve's not even an ex of mine, Alex. And this is a completely different thing than that." I gesture between us.

"What's this ?"

"You and I," I say.

"How is it any different?"

"It's not casual," I growl. "When has it ever been casual?"

He stares at me.

"Unless you think it's casual," I mutter.

"No, no I don't. I never have."

He takes my hand. His lashes are damp, eyes rimmed red.

"Guys are going to be affectionate with me, and I'm affectionate with them. That's kind of how I roll," I say. "And it's how my group of friends behave, too. We ended up friends because we slept with each other, and so we have an intimacy that wouldn't be there otherwise."

"Yeah, I get it. I guess I'm not used to seeing it so out there."

"It doesn't mean anything except that we're good friends."

He gazes down at where our hands are joined. "Okay," he says.

I wind my fingers through his. Can I make him comfortable with this, help him understand?

"I'm not going to sleep with someone else, Alex. But if you're not happy with how I behave then you need to tell me. It's a compromise. If it bothers you, we can work something out."

"That Steve guy was bothering me," he growls.

Seeing growly Alex reappear gives me a little thrill, but I can't resist pushing a little. "For all the sex I have and the fact I've slept with a lot of guys, I'm not a liar."

He winces at this, and I squeeze his hand to take away the sting of my words.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you more about my family … about Tom. I was enjoying it all so much with you that I didn't want to think about them and all the problems when I was with you. Like it would taint it somehow. It's so oppressive at home, it's …" He blows out a long breath.

Another little charge buzzes through me with the "enjoying it all so much with you" comment. I curl my fingers through his. "I want a relationship. With you. I don't want anyone else."

He nods. "Okay."

"But I have a condition. No more secrets, okay? I'm not okay with secrets."

He presses his lips to my hand and nods again. "I'm not okay with them either, actually. I'll try and be more open, Des. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too."

"What for?"

Sweeping my hand around the hospital room, I say, "Being a drama queen?"

He shakes his head. "I like it all."

His hair has dried now, and long dark lashes rest against his cheeks as he studies our clasped hands.

"I like it all, too," I say. He raced over here to see me, to check I was all right. My mouth starts to curl. "So, Alex Sachs, eh?"

His eyes meet mine, and his serious expressions lifts as his lips twist. "If only I was from the wealthy branch of the family."

I laugh. "If only."