So this chapter ended up being super long because I can easily use ten words where two will do!
I am a sucker for requests so there will be an Epilogue thus the somewhat abrupt end to this chapter.
I hope you have had your loo break and a cuppa cos you'll get pressure sores reading this one...
Thanks for reading y'all. And thank you for the comments. Touching my heart, one and all.
Hugs,
Chips
x
...
Present Day (two months)...
"I'm sorry I disturbed your meal."
Those are your parting words, mumbled without looking at anyone in particular before you sprint out of the apartment.
You shut the door firmly behind you and lean back against it. Then you take what feels like the first breath you have taken since you got here. You close your eyes, trying to gather yourself together. When you open them again you stare at your hands. They are shaking. You feel lightheaded like you have just climbed Everest and yet all you have really accomplished is fumbling through an awkward encounter with Brendan, his family and friends.
You should have known that trying to 'sort yourself out' wasn't going to be easy.
Actually, it is bloody difficult. The whole process is more like slowly dragging yourself over sand paper and then rubbing salt over your wounds.
You shouldn't have turned up unannounced assuming he would be alone. That is how you have ended up coming face to face with Brendan's inner circle,
1) Cheryl, who you last saw at the opening night of PECKISH! three years ago and who you shouted at spectacularly, causing her to cry and run off.
2) Paraic and Declan, who tug at your heart strings as the most acute reminders of how you and Brendan were versus how you are now.
3) Paddy, who you have always had reservations about despite Brendan's assurances that he was sound... in the end. By the looks of it, they are back to being bessies.
4) Eileen, who you ended up getting along with famously but who you stopped speaking to after your kidnapping because of her association with him.
That leaves the raven haired beauty who was sitting next to him and that you remember from the Italian restaurant. The one that you previously assumed was his girlfriend. You know she isn't now. You had found out her name is Nicola. His right hand 'man'. His 'Amy'.
They were all there giving you the stare.
Probably seeing right through you and your feelings for Brendan which surfaced just by looking at him. Feelings that you have vowed to keep a lid on no matter how intense and visceral they get. Or how acute as to reach a point of distraction.
You have to make sure that they don't get in the way of what you have to do here in Dublin.
You can't afford to ogle him like you just did; ruminating over the fact his 'tache is gone. Not that it is a big deal because it is just a bit of hair; superfluous and unnecessary.
Except, it was more than that. It was how you knew him. His 'Mexican porn moustache'. It tickled you. It enticed you. It made you sore after a while when he went for it and he could not get enough of you; your face, your torso, your bum. It gave texture to his embraces; something to remember after the fact, an echo that made you smile and blush.
The moustache is not all that has changed in him.
He looked thin, tired and weary when he used to be toned and full of pent up energy. He was never buff like Martin who worked out religiously and was careful about what he ate but Brendan had unassuming shape and tone. The kind that surprised you when the kit came off, in a 'oh, let's cop a feel then, Bren' way and a 'where were you hiding them?' way.
You know he worked out on the sly because Amy caught him in the act one day. He never told anyone but you reckon the constant playful taunts about your age gap played on his mind. You were nicknamed his 'elixir of youth'. You would wake up in the early hours of the morning and see him standing by the bed facing away from you, pinching his non-existent tummy or plucking an invisible gray hair in the mirror. A thirty-four year old Brendan with an age complex.
He should have known that you would have taken him fat or skinny, grey or bald, young or old, with 'tache or without.
Sure, in the very beginning of your relationship, the physical was front row and centre as far as reasons for your attraction to him. But gradually, while it still played a part, it was not the biggest reason why loved him; not after he had imprinted himself onto your heart.
His appearance now worries you, though. He didn't look well just now in the apartment.
You push yourself off the door and head for the stairs, running down them two at a time while going over how you had invited him back to your hotel with all the awkwardness and hesitation of a teenager asking a crush to a school dance.
"I'm at the O'Callaghan Davenport for two days. My room number is on the back. I would like to see you if that's okay."
Had that sounded like a come on?
Suggestive? Desperate? Forward?
Had your phrasing conjured up images of a hurried grope full of years of pent up emotions?
Had you given Brendan the wrong idea?
"Stupid Ste!" You whisper harshly to yourself.
You get a hit of the cool night air as you walk out of the converted apartment building's grounds and onto the pavement of the virtually empty street.
That is when you realise that you haven't sorted how you are getting back to the hotel.
That's because you didn't think you were going back tonight... because you thought you and Brendan were going to ... "chat"...
All.
Night.
Long.
You ignore your subconscious, removing the taunting parentheses in your mind. You so had not planned to do anything with Brendan. Of. That. Nature.
Honestly.
You know what your feelings for him are but they are irrelevant since past experience has informed you that you and he do not equal happily ever after. You have tried and tried and crashed and burned.
Your heart can't go through it all again.
I am not here to give it another go, you remind yourself.
'Just... take care, yeah.' Amy said to you at the airport when seeing you off. 'I don't want you hurt again. Do what you need to do and come back.'
And that is exactly what you intend to do.
You take your phone out to call the cab company you used to get you here.
You look around you to ascertain your location. You are on the edge of Herbert Park.
Why is it that parks always look sinister at night?
You shudder involuntarily.
Someone is approaching you, walking right through the darkest centre of the expanse of green to where you are standing on the lit street edge. He is an ill-defined solitary figure; hands in pocket, hoodie covering head, hunched over against the breeze with a brisk purposeful gait.
You look around and notice there is no one else around, just a car that zips past and turns a corner.
You stand frozen, with your thumb hovering over the touch screen of your phone. Your mouth is dry and all you can think is fight or flight.
He comes out of the dark and into the light.
XOXO
One month previously...
You are whisked off by Amy from the castle, against your will, to a café in town to 'calm down', 'stop being hysterical' and 'give some distance between you and Martin's family'.
Amy says thing like-
"Martin doesn't hate you! But you need to give him space and time."
"People will forget, Ste. Today's news is tomorrow's fish and chip wrapper."
"It wasn't that bad. The Warren/Mitzeee drama took the spot light off you a bit."
"In fact, can you please explain what the whole issue is with them?"
You blank her and the Spanish pastries designed to make you feel better. You stand up without warning during another unhelpful statement of hers, 'I'll help you write apology letters if you want', and step out of the café.
Amy follows you anxiously, fearing for your state of mind.
You take you tuxedo jacket off and hail a taxi. One miraculously grinds to a halt in front of you within seconds. Amy wordlessly hops in with you.
Your destination is clear; the holiday villa of Martin's parents.
You give instruction to the taxi driver and sit back.
"That's not a good idea." Amy says worriedly.
"Yeah well, that's me." You stare straight ahead. "Full of shit ideas. What's one more?"
The taxi driver pulls out into the road, and then looks at the two of you through the rear view mirror. "Is wedding?"
"Yes." Amy says tightly.
"No." You say at the same time.
He grins. "Is yes or no?"
You meet his eye in the mirror. You feel strangely removed from what is happening as if it is happening to someone else and you are a passing observer.
"It was supposed to be my wedding." You say numbly as you feel tears collecting. "But it's off because I am a bad person, okay?"
"She very beautiful. Like Botticelli picture." The cabbie says as he indicates Amy and you realise that there is a loss in translation. "You try."
You look over at Amy. She does look beautiful... and uneasy.
"What are you planning to do when we get there?" She asks.
"I don't know." You say honestly.
"Not beg him to get back with you." She says softly.
"No."
She actually looks relieved. She has finally realised that you and Martin aren't a perfect match.
"I don't want him to think that I lied to him for five years like they meant nothing to me, though."
She grips your arm. "Seriously, babes, this is not the time. Give him a chance to calm down and get his head around what happened. It is huge. He feels betrayed, humiliated and crushed. Don't rub salt into the wound. Let's go find a hotel to stay at or something."
"No." You say.
You stare ahead with still, unseeing eyes and shut her out of your consciousness.
Instead you concentrate on what got you to this point; pulling the plug on a marriage to a man that most sane men and women would sacrifice their right arms for.
I must be mad.
I must be.
I have just said no to everything I craved for since I was a little boy growing up.
A family. Security. Safety. Affection. Loyalty. Unquestioning, open, requited love.
"I think I'm having a break down." You say quietly.
XOXO
Seven years ago...
"Come on." Brendan groans into your neck, groping you from behind, while you urgently try to get your hotel room open.
"Gerroff, then." You mumble. "You're distracting me!"
He kisses your neck, slaps your bum lightly and shoves you out of the way. He slots his key card into the door and it opens in a flash.
He gives you a wink.
"That's how it's done." He says before stepping aside to let you in first.
You stick your tongue out at him and slip past him to go straight to the bathroom for a quick whizz and brush your teeth. Then you get back into the room, quickly get undressed and slip into bed. No messing around. You are buzzing from your evening out and you want to feel connected to him.
Brendan proved you wrong today. He can do dates and he can get a bit romantic.
In public.
Who knew?
He is taking his time to join you in bed so you try your bed room eyes on him.
He doesn't bait and disrobes at a leisurely pace at the foot of the bed while looking mischievously at you.
"What's with the shit-eating grin?" He asks, giving you his signature lop-sided one.
"I liked that restaurant." You say, toying with the bed sheets and watching how the light from the side lamps bounces off the plains of his body.
"Yeah?" He slips into bed next to you and silently indicates for you to come up to him.
"Yeah. The food were boss." You shuffle up to him and his arm curls around you.
He grunts in that generic nonchalant manner of his. "I barely got a look in on dessert."
"What do you mean? We shared!" Your lips quiver with amusement.
"You ate most of it before I picked up my fork!"
"Slight exaggeration!" You scoff at him.
He rests a hand over your slightly bloated stomach reminding you of how overfull you are. "I rest my case."
"Okay fine." You relent. "Lemon polenta cake with limoncello syrup." You say slowly as you run your fingers repeatedly over the hairs of his chest. "I should try to make it one day."
You have taken to culinary experimentation with Brendan as your taste tester.
"You should."
You look up at him. "I had a really lovely evening, Bren."
His arm around you gets that bit tighter and more possessive.
You hesitate before saying your next words. You try to pitch the words to sound casual and throw-away. "Like, if maybe one day you wanted to go there again, that would be nice. I mean, with me."
You blush because you are sounding really lame and anything but 'casual and throw-away' so you add, "Like whatever. No big deal."
"Another meal at Secondo with you, huh?" Brendan says as if he is contemplating this option in great detail. Then he runs a single finger over your shoulder, down your arm to settle on your hip, making you shudder with awareness. He smiles. "That could be arranged."
You bury your grin in his chest.
"Cool."
You have had your first successful date, complete with candles on the table, subtle flirtation, and 'shared' pudding.
You kiss his chest just over his heart and let out a satisfied sigh.
You could fall in love with Dublin. It is like Brendan is a different person here.
More open.
"On one condition. That pervy waiter can't serve our table."
You roll your eyes at him. "He was harmless."
"He was practically hip thrusting in your direction."
You laugh.
He pulls you in to whisper into your ear. "So I was thinking for starters we could stay in bed. Reverse cowboy or lap dance."
"Huh?" You mutter.
He raises an eyebrow at you. "We had a deal, remember? Any more puns or innuendos from pervy waiter and you were at my beck and call tonight."
You remember.
"But there were no innuendos." You say, covering a smile.
"This dessert has people cumming again and again and again." Brendan says, impersonating the waiter's voice.
You correct him with a grin. "He said 'people come back for this dessert again and again'."
"Whatever. What about, 'Next time you should try the Kobe. It is 500 grams of pure beef, thick cut, and satisfying. It thoroughly fills you up'."
"He was talking about steak, Bren."
"He was talking about something else." He grins.
You grin back. "You!"
"So which is it going to be? Reverse cowboy or lap dance?" He grips you and pulls you up onto him.
You settle over him, sitting up to straddle his hips as he grips yours. Then you rest a hand on your stomach.
"Dunno. Which one will make me feel less nauseous?"
XOXO
Present Day (Two months)...
You narrow your eyes in the direction of the lone stranger as he walks out of the shadows of the dark park into the street light. He approaches you and you take a cautious step back.
You take in his dark clothing and his purposeful gait. You are on guard. Your hairs are on end but you are bolted to the spot, unable to move.
You make a quick assessment of the situation. He is bigger than you. He could take you down. He pulls down his hoodie so that you catch his face. He is no one you know.
Duh. Everyone you know here in Dublin is in Brendan's apartment right now.
You look at his hands. No gloves. No white napkin. This is deeply reassuring but you don't compute that the reason is that your assailant had them all those years ago.
He reaches into both his pockets and your nearly lose control of your bladder.
"Hey, mate, do you have a light?"
You stare at him blankly.
He shows you a cigarette and mimes the action of firing up a lighter. "A light?"
He looks a little tipsy, like he is at the end of an evening out at the pub.
You open your mouth to speak but only a croak comes out.
He shakes his head and walks past you. "Freak."
You snap out of your petrified haze and re-evaluate the situation.
There is no danger. He is harmless.
You inhale and turn around to speak to him as he walks away. "Hey! S-sorry. N-no. I don't. I don't smoke."
He waves a dismissive hand at you without breaking his stride and speaks over his shoulder. "Yeah. Whatever."
You slowly exhale and run a shaky hand over your head, feeling the bump of the scar at the back of your head.
You smile.
You did it without a total breakdown. You spoke to a stranger at night when you were alone.
XOXO
Seven years ago...
You fall back onto the bed on your front, breathing harshly and wipe your brow. "Wow, Bren! Wow!"
That.
Was.
Incredible.
"Fuck!" Brendan groans as he whips off his condom, ties it off and flings it into the bin. Then he growls and reaches over to bite your shoulder, making you grin and turn onto your back.
"Why do you always try to bite me?"
"Because you look good enough to eat." He says.
"What position was that?" You ask. You know you have a dazed stupid look on your face but you can't help it. You feel sated, boneless, tired yet invigorated. One hundred percent satisfied.
"Don't know." He mumbles. "But my back hurts."
You smile even more broadly and stare down at your cum smeared torso. You run a hand over it.
"I'm going to grab a shower. I'm all icky now." You say smugly.
"Want me to scratch your back?"
You look at him and scoff. "No. You can go after. You'll probably try that move again or summat and I would feel bad if you slipped and fell and cracked summat!"
"Wouldn't happen." He says, puffing out his chest. Testosterone is still coursing in mega doses through his veins.
"What's wrong with the normal positions anyway?" You argue playfully.
"Like what?"
You sit up. You feel yourself going red when you explain, "Like, for example, me on my hands and knees and you, you know..."
When you do it like that his cock hits your prostate just right and it feels out of this world. Toe curling good.
Brendan grins and says innocently. "No. I don't know. Explain."
You stand up and turn to face him. "No! Stop trying to make me say dirty stuff! I'm going to have my shower!"
You head for the bathroom knowing that you have gone red all over from the discomfiture and preceding exertion.
"Hey! Stephen!" He calls after you. "Get back here! Are you seriously going to plant doggy-style in my head and then leave?"
XOXO
Present day (One month)...
"Tell him to leave!" Martin's mother shouts at her husband in the kitchen while you and Amy stand waiting in the hallway of their holiday home.
She was not happy to see you when she opened the door to you before being taken away by her husband when she launched into a tirade of verbal abuse.
"Carmella." He says calmly. "Be reasonable. They may be here to get the children."
"I'm serious. Tell him to go or else I am going to throw him out myself!" She screams.
You feel every word like a stab to your chest because you know that they reflect the sentiments of every member of the McCallister and Vasquez families.
Amy pulls at your hand urging you to leave the premises but you stay put.
"It's okay. I deserve it." You whisper. "But I'm not going until I have spoken to him."
"They won't let you see him, Ste. They've probably built a fortress around him. In fact, he probably isn't even here."
But she is wrong.
Martin appears in the spot where he found you last night when you called him over in the dead of night on the eve of your wedding. He stares at you, expression-less wearing his usual 'house uniform'; a plain white t-shirt and grey jogging trousers.
"What are you doing here?" He asks.
Something about this situation reminds you of a night three years ago; the night after a day that was meant to be special and memorable but got ruined by the past.
XOXO
Three years ago...
"So how was your day, babe?" You ask lightly once Martin comes into the living room in his house uniform.
Your boyfriend sighs and says, "Good, bad then ugly."
You smile at him so he smiles back and kisses you. You walk to the couch in the living room with him.
He sits down and when you sit next to him he lifts your legs to swing them onto his lap and holds them there.
"And you?" He asks.
You dramatically throw your head back so that it collides with the armrest of the couch and contemplate the ceiling.
"It was supposed to be perfect. I had all my mates round at my new bistro. And my fit boyfriend..."
"Who's that then?"
You grin. "You wouldn't know him! Tall, buff, cute, intelligent..."
"Funny with killer dance moves?" Martin interjects.
"Sometimes!" You grin.
"He sounds like a keeper." He smiles.
"He is. Anyway, he was there and my kids. Everyone was loving my food and saying that the bistro was going to be a success and I made this rousing speech like Churchill for the opening event. And then it all went to pot."
"What happened?"
You fold your hands over your chest protectively. "The sister of my ex turned up and ruined everything."
"Why did that ruin everything?"
You hesitate. "I guess because I didn't want her there. I didn't want to be reminded of my past."
He rubs your legs. "We all have one. It makes us who we are. Sometimes it is better facing our past and accepting it before moving on."
You sit up suddenly and look at Martin angrily. "I know what you are doing. I told you I don't want to talk about it."
He takes his hands off you so that you can swing your legs off his lap and stand up.
"All I am saying is that talking about Brendan might be helpful, Ste. If you don't want to talk to me about him that's fine. I get how that might be kind of weird. But then talk to someone else. You can't spend the rest of your life trying to avoid the issue and freak out when you are confronted by it."
You point at him with a shaky hand. "There is nothing to talk about."
You storm off to the bed room in a strop.
He creeps in minutes later and leans on the wall when you have had a chance to simmer down.
"Is it safe to come in?"
"I'm sorry." You mumble from your bed. "I can be a right shit, can't I? I know you were just trying to be helpful."
"I have the perfect solution to headaches caused by sisters of ex-boyfriends who rock up to bistro opening parties unannounced."
You are sceptical. "Yeah? Like?"
He walks up to you and takes your hand. "Come on. Let's get in the car."
"I'm in house clothes."
"So am I. It doesn't matter. Where we are going it's just going to be you, me and the great outdoors. You'll forget the worries of world."
"That sounds perfect."
He smiles at you. "It will be."
XOXO
Present Day (One month)...
"Do you want us to go, Marty?" Amy asks on your behalf.
He looks at you like he is seeing a stranger and folds his arms across his chest. "I don't know."
"I would like to speak with you." You say. "Five minutes."
"Is that all it is going to take? Five minutes. To explain why." He says bluntly.
"I don't know what to say. I am feeling really crap right now." You say helplessly.
He snorts a derisive laugh. "Join the club."
"I do love you, Martin-"
He cuts you off with a hand gesture and a sharp, "Enough with the bullshit, Ste."
"It's not bullshit."
"I'll tell you what this has been about all along; you never getting over what happened and yet fooling yourself that you had. And I am not talking about the kidnapping. I am talking about you and Brendan."
You feel a prickle at the corners of your eyes.
"I was an elaborate five year long smokescreen." He says numbly.
"You can't seriously think that?" You reply quietly.
Martin is right that you have lied to yourself about totally moving on from Brendan but he was never just a cover. You cared, still care and always will care an immeasurable amount for him. He has managed to be to you what Brendan wasn't in so many ways.
He has been your rock. And with time you believed that the feelings you had for him surpassed and replaced the feelings you had for Brendan. But the heart is a funny beast and yours never stopped aching for Brendan as much as you tried.
Brendan remained your fire; frustratingly and nonsensically.
"And now that you know that he wasn't complicit to your kidnapping," Martin says bitterly, "I am sure you are dying to go to him. Your knight in shining armour."
You frown at him, uncomprehendingly.
How is Brendan, by any stretch of the imagination, your knight in shining armour?
You don't understand how Martin can make the leap from Brendan not being the direct cause of your kidnapping to him being your saviour. He knows that Brendan left you when you were in hospital and never checked to see that you were okay.
Brendan ran scared. What is heroic about that?
"Brendan? Ste's Knight?" Amy says incredulously. "You have got to be kidding me. He is a wolf in sheep's clothing. He fooled me too. Believe me, Ste and I have given him plenty of chances. He has hurt my best friend one too many times. Never again!"
Martin shakes his head. "Speak to your husband, Ames. Get him to tell you the truth."
"What truth?" She asks.
"Ask him why he isn't mates with Brendan anymore."
He looks at you dead in the eyes. "You might want to book front row seats for their chat, Ste."
He sounds defeated.
"Why?" You ask.
"Just tell us now." Amy demands anxiously.
His parents walk into the hall at that moment.
"We thought we heard voices." Martin's father says.
"Is he bothering you?" His mother asks Martin without even looking at you. She walks up to him.
"No." Martin says, tiredly. "They were just leaving. We had nothing more to say."
"Martin-" You protest.
"You heard my son, Ste." His father says evenly. "Please don't make this unpleasant. Your children are sleeping next door with Pete and tired out from crying about what has happened. Please let's not have another scene."
Your children.
Shit.
You want to see them.
You want them to know that the world hasn't turned upside down.
"Could you ask Pete to ring us when they are up?" You ask. "We'll pick them up and get out of your hair."
Martin's father nods brusquely.
You take Amy's hand, look at Martin who is determinedly staring at the floor and walk out of Villa Vasquez.
XOXO
Seven years ago...
You head into the shower. Despite your protestations, Brendan joins you, and takes the job of cleaning you very seriously.
Afterwards, you get dressed in something comfy, help each other strip off the cum-covered sheets and throw them on a heap on the floor.
"Hide the damp bits, Bren." You say in embarrassment. You don't want the cleaners to know that you came all over them.
"There are two main reasons to ask for a change of sheets and since you don't menstruate..."
He collapses onto the bed cover and smiles up at you.
"Yeah, I suppose." You lie on your back next to him and study the ceiling. "Do you ever think about moving back here to Dublin?"
"Yes." He says simply.
"Because you miss Dec and Par." You look at him curiously.
"Yes and I miss this city. This is home."
You think about this and take his hand. "That must be an amazing feeling, having somewhere you can call home."
"Hollyoaks is home for you."
Your brow furrows. "It's not the same. I've lived there since I were fifteen to escape my parents but it's not 'home', you know?"
"Manchester then." He ventures and you feel him start to play with your hand subconsciously, running his fingers over your palm, intertwining, letting go, squeezing, caressing. A habit he has acquired when you get to talking.
"You mean where my alcoholic mum that doesn't want to know lives with me step dad who used to beat me up for sport? No thanks." You shudder involuntarily, remembering a childhood of hunger, screaming matches, bruises and fear. "I ain't been back in years. I saw mum like a year and a half ago and I want to keep it that way. They ain't met Lucas and I don't want them to."
Brendan grimaces and his hand stills in yours but he lets you keep talking.
"They don't know I'm gay. They would flip if they found out. And like, so what? What difference does it make if they know or not? I'm happy with or without them."
You put on your tough guy voice because Bren needs to know that you are fine about your parents not caring about you especially since you are all grown up now. You don't need them. You can take care of yourself now.
He presses his lips into your palm.
The gesture surprises you. Maybe Brendan has read through your bravado.
"What was that for then?" You ask.
"Nothing." He says gruffly.
"Oh." You still feel the warmth and pressure in your hand where his lips were so you close your fist to keep the sensation in.
He looks at you. His voice is a low rumble, like sea waves at night or the gentle rustle of dry leaves in a light breeze. "You know what I used to think when I was a kid growing up?"
"What?"
"I used to think, 'Just wait until I get bigger than you, pa. You won't see the puny little eejit who let you slap him around. You won't be able to hurt me and scare me and I'll be rich and powerful and I'll come back to Dublin. Just you watch. I'll come back and I'll be King of this City and you'll see me'."
"He'll see you?"
He grunts and uses your hand to point at his own chest. "Yeah. Me." He gives you a sly smile. "Brendan Brady. Let your mother see you, Stephen."
You nod, understanding his point. "So what you're saying is that I should prove them wrong. Show them that I can be somebody."
He leans in and gives you the gentlest kiss. "Not just a pretty face."
XOXO
Present Day (Two months)...
Your sleep has been full of dreams; a continuous warped amalgam of true events and fairytales. A knight in shining armour. A deceptive Fox. A dark park. A white napkin. People dressed in pure white celebrating. A man dressed in pure black lurking. A castle. A hospital. A holiday villa.
Monitors beeping.
An incessant ringing... coming from your right.
A phone.
You open your eyes.
Your hotel room telephone is ringing.
You pick it up and mumble,
"Hello?"
You wipe sleep from your eyes.
"Good morning, Mr Hay. I have a Mr Brendan Brady down here in reception."
You are wide awake in an instant. "Oh."
"He would like to meet with you. What should I tell him?"
You sit up straight. Brendan's here? You look at the time. Nine o'clock exactly. You are disconcerted. You were sure that you would have had to pester him again to arrange a meeting given the fact that he run out on you the two previous times you met.
"I guess you can send him up." You say. "Please."
"Right away."
You catch your reflection in the mirror, looking half asleep and shell-shocked in t-shirt and boxers.
What are you thinking? You can't invite him into your hotel room.
Do. You. Ever. Learn?
"Actually. No, don't let him up. I'll come down. Tell him I'll be fifteen minutes. Tops."
You put the phone receiver down and run into the bathroom.
xo
Ten minutes later you run down to the reception desk. Your hair is still wet; jumper and jeans flung over your damp body.
Brendan is pacing in the lobby. He hasn't spotted you yet so you smile involuntarily. He has come of his own volition. To you. To see you.
You asked him to, you sentimental idiot. Remember how he left you at the hotel two months ago and at the hospital six years ago? Don't forget that. He is here because he is curious about why you are in town. Don't read more into it than there is.
Brendan stops pacing and looks at the hotel entrance as if he is about to bolt so you drop your smile.
See. That is what he does; walk out of your life. Get serious. Ignore the ridiculous flutter in your chest. Suppress how seeing him again makes you feel. It is irrelevant.
Totally irrelevant.
Just do what you need to do.
You walk towards him, clearing your throat loud enough to draw his attention.
He turns round and you immediately feel like you have been thrown under a spotlight. He stares unblinkingly at you as you approach; his eyes taking a leisurely trip up and down your body as if it is his God given right.
You feel yourself go hot under the collar. Fuck's sake. How does he still have that effect on you?
He is as you remember him yesterday; tired, thin and weary. And yet you can still feel a raw energy coming off him. A pull.
He is dressed in a t-shirt, leather jacket, jeans and that strange beanie hat that he was wearing last night. God knows why but when you imagined this reunion in your mind he was moustachioed, wearing one of his crisp suits, full of swagger.
Old Brendan.
"Sorry I kept you waiting. I wasn't expecting you this early." You weren't expecting him at all. You point at your wet hair. "Shower."
"I see." He looks around and vaguely points to your surroundings. "Feels like déjà vu."
That statement is heavily loaded, tightly packed and super charged. Brendan introduced you to the O'Callaghan Davenport years ago. It was your go-to residence when in town with him. You booked it for yourself and Martin for the same reason you suggested dining at Secondo; in an effort to replace old Brendan memories with new Martin ones.
It didn't work.
"Better the devil you know." You say. "This hotel has never let me down."
Except it did. It pulled you back to the past when you should have concentrated on your present.
I love you, Brendan. Said to the wrong man because of a powerful seven year old flashback.
"So." You extend your hand for a handshake figuring that is the thing people do in these situations but he doesn't take it so you drop your arm again.
"I am sorry I barged in like that last night while you had guests round." You say.
"You didn't interrupt anything." He cocks his head to one side. "You here for business or pleasure? ... Or both?"
"I guess business."
His eyes bore into yours. "I hear congratulations are in order. Is your husband here?"
Surprisingly there is no mocking tone to his words.
You hide the acute stab of pain his words evoke. You do not want to speak to him about Martin, the wedding ceremony and what happened so you steer the conversation into safer territory.
"No. Look, I thought we could maybe go to the coffee shop round the corner, you know. To talk."
He looks baffled that you haven't grabbed the opportunity to brag about Martin with both hands. Last time you met every other word you uttered to him was about how happy and in love you were with the Scotsman.
"I'm hungry." You say pointlessly.
He stuffs his hands into his pockets. He suddenly looks really pale, like he is going to keel over. "I, uh, I've had breakfast."
You don't hide your scepticism at his words. He looks like he could do with a meal or five.
"Fine. You can watch me eat." You say with more confidence than you feel before leading the way out of the hotel and making the short journey to the shop next door.
You are acutely aware of his presence by your side but you say nothing to each other until you walk through the coffee shop's doors and towards the counter.
"Take a seat. I'll get it." You say. "What are you having?"
"Coffee. Black." He says.
Brendan was always a tea man. Heavy on the milk, easy on the sugar. If that has changed about him, what else has?
He takes in your surprised expression and says, "Milk sticks in my throat."
You nod doubtfully before making your order. You get yourself an orange juice, a mocha coffee, an apple lattice, a brownie and a slice of lemon cake.
When you sit opposite him and place your tray down, he raises that familiar eyebrow of his at your spread of food.
You wrap the brownie in a napkin and put it aside. That's a snack for later. Then you pick the piece of cake with your hands ignoring the small fork on the plate. You take a huge bite and nearly groan in pleasure because this is the first thing you have eaten in about twenty-four hours, what with your stomach being in knots.
It tastes bloody delicious.
You catch him hiding a smile.
"What?" You say with your mouth full.
"Nothing." He looks at your lips as you munch away. "I forgot how you get with food. Don't know how you aren't twenty stone."
"Oh." You say and swallow. "I've got a fast metabolism, me. Plus I go to the gym now so-"
You feel embarrassed all of a sudden but the pull of hunger is too great so you polish off the cake in no time.
You wipe your mouth with a napkin and lean back in your seat. He is yet to touch his coffee. He drums the table with his fingers then runs his thumb and index finger over his non-existent moustache.
A nervous tick.
"So where is Martin?" He asks.
You feel uncomfortable under his gaze; conscious that your body language might give something away. So you pick up the apple lattice, take a bite out of it and take a gulp of orange juice to cover up your awkwardness.
"He is back in Chester." You say, not able to meet his eye once you have swallowed. You stir your mocha furiously and then make a show of licking the spoon clean and setting it down again. You finally look up at him.
"When did you get rid of the 'tache?"
He gives you an odd look. "Completely? About a month ago."
He picks up his coffee mug and gives it a tentative sip.
"It makes you look different." You comment. "Not having it."
There is a frenzied tick in his cheek. "Times change. It had to go."
You nod. "Yeah. Change is good, innit?"
You are trying to convince yourself.
He sits up straight and clears his throat. "Look, Stephen. Why are you here?"
No bullshit. Brendan has cut to the chase.
Your lips suddenly feel dry so you lick them to moisten them up. You can't catch your breath so you try to fill your lungs. When you let it out again it comes out all shaky.
"I want to get closure." Your hands are trembling so you clasp them together and place them on your lap.
He looks blankly at you.
"Closure." He says as if the term is unfamiliar to him.
"I know what happened, Bren. The kidnapping. I know it all. Pete told me."
His face drops. "What?"
"It's not his fault. He kept your secret for six years."
"How did you know-"
"How did I know he was involved? Does it matter?" You ask.
He looks stunned.
"The important thing is that I know now. And anyway you lied to him to."
He calls your bluff. "What do you know?"
You draw a breath.
"I know that for months you and Warren was scrapping over the same bone and that there were bad blood between you. And then one day someone stole £50,000 from him and he thought it were you because of your history so he kidnapped me and held you to ransom. Pete told me you did everything you could to raise the money; cashing money from your bank accounts, pawning some of your things and selling drugs and stuff. But you couldn't get all of it straight away so you went to Warren and he rejected the money you offered him so you decided to stalk him until you were able to follow him to the barn I was kept in. By the time you got there the guy who were working with Warren, he-"
You can't help the vision that flashes through your mind; a factual account of what happened intermixed with your own horrific imagination.
The violent attack.
The rape.
"He hurt you." Brendan says softly. His hands are in white knuckle fists on the table. He looks like he is reliving what he saw too.
You are shaken and upset. "Yeah and you and Pete called an ambulance."
"Yes." He whispers.
"If you hadn't been there, I wouldn't be here now." You say.
He looks you straight in the eye. The depth of pain in them is such that you have to look away again.
"And that man, the one who hurt me... you... took care of him... for me."
He is shocked that you know. "Peter shouldn't have told you that."
"I am not going to tell anyone." You whisper.
He swallows a lump in his throat.
"Are you sorry you did it?" You ask.
He looks around at the relatively quiet establishment. You are the only ones sitting down. The other punters are doing take away. No one appears to be paying attention to your conversation.
"No." You are surprised by the heat and anger behind his voice. "How can I be sorry? I could have lost you because of him, Stephen."
He looks down at his hands; instruments of his crime and you do too.
You don't know what to feel. This is twice. Twice that Brendan has ended someone's life with your safety being claimed as the reason.
You have let him touch you with those homicidal hands before and loved it. You have conveniently forgotten what he is capable of doing with them or maybe you have been secretly thankful that he did what he did. It meant that you were still alive; a father, a friend, a lover.
But twice? Who kills twice without being fucked up in the head?
"I don't expect you to understand, Stephen." He says. "But I would do it again if I had to. For my boys. For you."
You feel a wave of hopelessness wash over you. You stare down at the table knowing you are about to break your promise to yourself. That you won't cry in front of him.
"Look at me, Stephen." You obey his command. Your eyes are red but not tearful yet. "I would have gone through the pain you went through after if I could have."
You hate that you sound like a little boy when you say,
"But you left me to go through it without you." You feel tears start to flow. It is pointless trying to stop them. "You hurt me and you lost me anyway."
He reaches over the table helplessly. You use the sleeve of your top to wipe your face dry.
"Just tell me why you left." You say firmly.
His shoulders slump. "Because you were the perfect target for people who hated me. Who had an issue with me. While we were together I could not guarantee that you wouldn't be threatened or hurt again. It had already happened twice in two years. I couldn't risk it. I couldn't knowingly put your life in danger. So I let you go.
"But then you stepped back into my life a couple of months ago and I remembered what I had given up. I wanted you again and I am sorry I messed you about, Stephen. I couldn't control myself in that moment. I know I'm no good for you and that I can't have you in my life."
He brings his hands up settling them on his beanie before blinking slowly and pushing the hat further onto his head. He looks worn out.
"And anyway you have your husband now."
Husband.
You want to laugh hysterically and shout,
What husband? Do you see a ring on this finger?
But you don't. That is not why you are here, you remind yourself.
"You told Pete that you took Warren's money so that you could look like you were to blame for the kidnapping. I'm right, ain't I?"
"I knew there was a chance you might try to find me and get answers for why I left. But if Pete thought I was a completely heartless bastard he and Amy combined would stop you from ever trying to contact me."
It is true. They did. They washed you with negative Brendan propaganda until all you could concentrate on was the shit he put you through.
"Why did you give me the £50,000? Was it guilt money?"
"No. I knew you were struggling and how hard you worked to provide for your kids." He rests his palms on the table. "I asked you to move in with me because I wanted you to but also because I knew it would help you out."
'I'll think of something, Stephen. Something to make things better for you and yours. I promise.'
"So when I left Hollyoaks I wanted to give you some financial security."
"I opened the bistro with it." You say.
"I know."
You look at him. "And it's going really well."
He gives the tiniest hint of a smile. "I'm glad."
You look down at your cup of coffee and play with it on its saucer.
Come on. Get to the point. The reason you have flown out to Dublin to see him.
"I want to thank you, Brendan."
"For what?"
For doing what you did for me. For saving me. For helping me.
"Everything."
XOXO
A week earlier...
Your phone rings while you are in the middle of lunch service. Normally you would let it ring but when you see the caller ID you stop what you are doing and step into the courtyard at the back of the bistro.
For a second you think your eyes are deceiving you.
"Martin?" You answer and hold your breath.
Your heart is hammering away. You can't explain how happy you are that he has called.
"I'm going to keep this brief." He says briskly.
This is the first time you have spoken to each other since you went to his parent's house after the aborted wedding ceremony.
Maybe this could be the beginning of building bridges; making steps towards friendship. You know it is selfish of you but you want him back in your life so badly it hurts. Not in a romantic way but as a dear irreplaceable friend.
"I am so happy to hear your voice." You say honestly.
You will always love Martin but not in the way he wants and deserves. He was always destined to be second best where you were concerned.
"How have you been?" He asks.
"Okay." You say.
Shit. I miss you. You are one of three people who know me inside out and upside down and you always know what to say to make me feel better.
"Liar." He says. "I know you, Ste."
Those words are comforting in their familiarity.
"I'll be okay. Serves me right for what I did." You reply. "How have you been?"
"Like crap if I'm honest. I wake up thinking today is going to be a good day. I'm going to talk to that fit bloke that looks at me at the gym and get back in the game and then I bottle it. I feel like shit again. I go home and eat a take out for one." He sighs. "Take out doesn't compare to the stuff you make."
You grip your phone hard feeling ten times shittier than normal. "I'm sorry."
"I am not calling to guilt trip you." He says, sounding apologetic.
"That's nice to know since half your family have sent me postcards, e-mails and text messages telling me where to go and what they think of me in no uncertain terms. The tweets on the Bistro's page have been..." You feel a wave of sorrow. "Anyway. I had to close the twitter account."
You remember your son running up to you tearfully after being on the computer in your bed room in the small temporary apartment you have moved into since moving out of Martin's place.
'Daddy, why would someone want you to die slowly of AIDS?'
"What have they been saying?" Martin asks.
"It's not important."
"I swear it's not my doing, Ste." Martin says and you believe him. He would never stoop so low. "I'll call them off."
"No. Don't. They love you." You say. "I get their anger. I would be too if I were in their shoes. Let them vent."
"Okay. Look. The reason why I am calling you is because I wanted to let you know that I am going on a world trip with my cousin."
"Juan?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Next week. I feel like I need a break to re-assess life and come back focussed."
You know what he means. You feel the same but you can't afford the luxury of something as extravagant as a world trip.
"How long are you going for?"
"Definitely six months. Funds permitting we might stretch it to a whole year."
"Oh." You are devastated. "I hope you have a really good time, Marty."
A whole year away.
Your rock.
Gone.
"Thanks." He says.
"I am really going to miss you."
It is unfair of you to say it but you mean it.
You hear him sigh over the line.
"I'll miss you, too." He says. "But this is a good thing, Ste. We need time apart. If I stayed in Chester I would want to try and get us back together or something humiliating and pitiful like that. A cooling off period is good."
"Maybe you are right."
"I'd like to say bye to the kids if that's okay."
You think that is a good idea. Gives you a chance to say bye to him too. "Yeah. Sure."
"Good. I'll call Amy and hop round to hers before I go."
Oh. He doesn't want to see you. You shouldn't be shocked.
"If you wanted to write to them that's okay, too." You say. "They talk about you."
"Then I'll send them a postcard from time to time."
God. This feels like a divorce.
He hesitates. "You know how everyone always made it seem like I was the one that helped you find your feet?"
"You did." You say, and you will always be grateful.
"I wanted you to know that it wasn't a one way street. You helped me find my feet too. You do know that, don't you?"
"I did?"
"Yeah. Stop acting like you don't know you are awesome."
You get a warm rush at his compliment.
"I was pretty immature before I met you." He clears his throat and then mutters. "So yeah. I have got to go now."
"Will I see you when you get back?" You ask.
But you are too late. He has already hung up.
XOXO
Present day (Two months)...
You sit up straighter in your seat at the coffee shop.
Get closure, Ste.
You go through your tick list; the agenda you set out before leaving Chester yesterday-
- 1. Tell Brendan you know exactly what happened.
- 2. Try to establish why he did what he did (leave you/lie to you and Pete).
- 3. Thank him for what he did for you (keeping you alive and giving you money).
- 4. *Square the account*.
- 5. Draw a line under this/ obtain closure/ say a final, definitive goodbye.
Points one to three are ticked off so you reach into your wallet. You take a slip of paper out, place it on the table and slip it over to Brendan.
He unfolds it and when he realises what it is, looks at you in horror.
"I promise you that it won't bounce." You say. "I can have the rest transferred directly into your account by the end of the year plus inflation. I would do it sooner but I hope you understand that, this way, it puts less strain on the business and living expenses. Or if you want I can have that twenty transferred directly into your account. I can take your bank details and wire it later today. That's not a problem."
You are rambling.
"I don't want your money." Brendan says gruffly.
"It's your money." You reply, not understanding why he looks so offended.
"It became your money when I gave it to you." He says.
Now you are starting to get angry. You take the £20,000 banker's draft, grab his hand, squash it into his palm and close his fist over it.
"And I am saying thanks but no thanks." You say.
I need closure.
He stands up all of a sudden. He wobbles on his feet but gains his balance quickly.
"This is insulting." He says. He rips the draft in front of your face and throws it into the nearest bin.
"I don't understand why you are so angry, Brendan. You are the one who has just gone on about cutting me lose. Not wanting me in your life. Isn't this what you want? I'm making it easy for you."
He gets up in your face; a ball of rage. The vein on his forehead pops out like nobody's business.
"Are you thick or something?" He shouts so that you feel spit hit your face. You lean away from him but he steps in closer to you. You can hear the fall in volume in the coffee shop as anyone who is in the establishment tunes into your slinging match.
"You think this is what I want, Stephen? You there, miles away with that perfect Scottish husband with your perfect life and me here, wishing things could have been different! Don't presume to know what I want!"
He is right up in your face; your bodies moulded together by his angry verbal attack.
You don't respond because you are shocked by his reaction. Not scared. Just shocked. As the clock ticks you become aware of his proximity.
His eyes change, softening.
Your own drop to his lips that are slightly parted.
You are mesmerised by him.
How does a kiss feel with a tache-less Brendan?
His hands find your chest; touching it lightly, just fingers. You aren't sure if he is going to push you away or trace down your body with them.
"If I could have it my own way everything would be different." He sounds defeated as he drops his hands.
He sighs; minty breath with a hint of bitter coffee. He steps away and you allow yourself to breathe.
He looks winded by his outburst and holds onto his chair firmly.
Is he saying that he wants you and cares for you? Is that what he is implying?
Because you care about him. So fucking much it hurts. Maybe you should tell him that.
I should tell him Martin isn't an issue anymore, too. Just so he knows. And now that he is on the straight and narrow, at least from what Pete has told me, he doesn't have enemies to worry about. He doesn't need to worry that I'll be hurt because of being with him.
You are crumbling; breaking your resolve to keep Brendan in the past and move forward.
You want to have another go.
You want to be with him.
Like an idiot who cannot learn his lesson.
Like a dumbass you want to be his again and him to be yours.
'Love makes fools of us all, Ste.' Amy said to you. 'Shakespeare said that.'
Then I'm the biggest fool ever, you think.
"Brendan." You say hesitantly. "About Martin..."
He has a wobble on his feet; a bigger one than the one earlier. He falls back into his chair looking suddenly very unwell.
He is hyperventilating, "Stephen, could you get me some water?"
His tries to get his leather jacket off.
"Brendan?" Your voice is etched with concern as you help him out of it. "Are you feeling hot?"
He feels warm to you but it is the boniness of his shoulders that startles you. Brendan has always been lean but never skinny as he is now.
"I'm fine." He gasps. "Water. Please."
You hit panic stations.
You turn to go to the counter but a helpful punter pushes a bottle of water into your hand and uncaps it for you.
"There. It's cool." She says. "I can buy another one."
College kid probably. Emo get up. You vaguely nod at her in thanks.
"Is he okay?" She asks worriedly. "I can call an ambulance if you want."
You hear a thud behind you and when you turn around you see Brendan in a heap on the floor.
His hat has fallen off his head revealing not only his bald head but his lack of eyebrows too. He is completely hairless.
You drop the bottle, spilling water everywhere.
XOXO
Seven years ago...
"Enough talking. Let's get this stuff off you." Brendan murmurs as he pushes your boxers down and flings them aside.
"We have to sleep. It's gone two." You say but you are smiling. You lift your arms to allow him to take your top off then help him out of his sweats and top.
You pull him into a kiss that heats up quickly. You feel the crucifix poke at your chest as it dangles from his neck.
His arms feel strong on you, hands everywhere, exploring. He suddenly pulls you down to lie on your back then drags you briskly over the bed cover so that you are slap bang in the middle of the bed.
You emit a surprised laugh that dies into a lustful groan the minute he settles his naked weight on you and he devours your mouth with his while tracing your body possessively.
You pull away long enough to express your concerns. "We can't mess the cover too, Bren."
He laughs lightly.
"Oh no. What shall we do about the bed cover?" He feigns mock concern.
You grin. "Dunno."
He kisses a path down your body. "While you have a think about it I'm just going to..."
He sucks on your neck because he knows you love it and hate it in equal measure. You love it because it feels amazing and the bruise that will appear later will remind you of tonight. You hate it because you will have to come up with some excuse for how you got it to your nosy work colleagues back in Hollyoaks after this long weekend away is over. You will also have to deal with Amy's disapproving look because she will know exactly who gave it to you.
You can hear her already,
'I don't know why you let him treat you like a dirty little secret.'
"Stop. I'll get a love bite." You say half heartedly, then groan at the thing he does with his tongue right there. "What am I going to tell the guys at work?"
He stills his actions pushing himself off you and gives you a steady indecipherable look. "Do they ask?"
You nod. Like, duh. What planet is he living on? They live for gossip.
"What do you say?"
"As little as possible." You comb your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "I think they think something is going on between me and Doug though."
He emits a short sharp laugh. "Dougie-boy? Please!"
Brendan has a big dose of the green-eyed monster about your blossoming friendship with the American college drop-out.
You are irritated by this. If it wasn't for him wanting to keep your relationship a secret you would be happy to flaunt him as your boyfriend.
"What's wrong with Doug? He's okay." You protest. You have a feeling you'll become close friends with time.
Brendan dips his head to tongue your ear and mutters, "He is alright if you like them preppy with granddad's dress sense. Didn't think that was your type."
"He's not. Anyway he is straight so you don't need to feel threatened."
"Whose feeling threatened?" He asks seductively then ventures to your tattoo and flutters his tongue over one wing. "Do you want to know my type?"
"Yes." You groan and press your hand onto the back of his head.
"Skinny guys with..." You relish the sensation of his lips near your hip bone, "shit tattoos."
"It's not shit!"
"Shush." He grins at you. "From now on..." He gives your ink a light bite "...this is going to be called Brendan's corner. No one else can touch it."
"The tattoo?" You ask.
Your breath catches at the intensity of his look. "You got that?"
"Yeah." You whisper.
He exhales deeply. "And, if anyone asks how you got," He points in the direction of your neck. He means the bruise you'll develop come tomorrow. "Don't lie."
"You are joking right? That means they'll find out it's you." You say in case he hasn't realised.
He kisses your tattoo once more and then tracks up to dip his tongue into your belly button.
You gasp as he traces a path lower over your treasure trail. "Bren? I said they'll find out about us."
But he doesn't answer you so you know he is done talking.
You hold your breath, anticipating the feel of his lips on your cock. Instead he parts your legs and works the skin of your inner thigh. It makes you squirm with need. So near to target and yet so far.
"Come on." You moan as he gets near your balls but not near enough.
"I'm waiting for your idea, by the way..."
"Huh?" You say vaguely.
He kisses the soft skin, high on your inner thigh. "You know, the solution..." Kiss on the other side. "... to our bed cover messing problem. You were going to come up with an idea."
Kiss.
You groan in frustration.
"I've gone blank." You sigh. "Maybe it isn't a big deal."
You close your eyes and savour his lips on you. His hand comes up to your stomach feeling the flex of your muscles as you push your hips up to him.
"I don't think it's a big deal either." He murmurs.
"Good." You bring him up to you.
You kiss him and he settles his legs between your spread-eagled ones that you bring up and out to make room for him.
He has a glint in his eyes when he looks down at you.
"So in summary, we don't care what happens to the bed cover. I don't care what you tell people about us. And you have agreed that this..." He points at your tattoo, "... is called Brendan's corner."
You grin incredulously. "So like even if I told Mitzeee that would be okay?"
Hollyoaks's one woman gossip machine.
This is turning out to be the best long weekend ever. You love Dublin and how Brendan has been out here. It feels like you are in some alternate universe where he has let his true colours show; to Eileen, his kids, Paddy and the staff of Secondo and the O'Callaghan Davenport. You have almost felt like a normal couple.
And now he is telling you, you can be open about you and him back in Hollyoaks.
You want to pinch yourself.
"Or even Jacqui and Rhys?" You grin. "Like I could just say, Bren and me tried this really nice Italian restaurant when we went back to Dublin over the weekend to see his kids."
He groans. "Are we still talking? There has been a disproportionately large amount of chat compared to sex going on in this bed tonight, Stephen. I am not happy about that."
"We've already done it twice, Bren"
"Once." He says. "Once in the bed. Once in the shower."
You grin.
"So, can we fuck already?" He growls seductively while encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist by caressing and lifting them at the same time. You anchor them in place over the small of his back by hooking your ankles together.
"Yes." You whisper just before your lips meet.
Your arms go round his neck, coaxing him down for a kiss.
You could kiss him forever for giving you the greatest gift tonight. You swear.
He has made you the happiest man in the world.
At. Fucking. Last.
His actions appear seamless. The rolling on of the condom. The single swipe of lube over you and the more generous coating over his rock hard dick. The lining up and baited breath of anticipation. The direct gaze as he pushes in.
The initial sensation of being stretched is less pronounced now that he has fucked you a couple of times already but the pleasure and pressure is still there. You groan when you feel him graze against that sensitive spot and he lets out a dirty groan when he is fully seated in you.
He pushes against you until he can't bury himself any deeper.
You can't help but moan in ecstasy, "You're so deep! Bren!"
You close your eyes and hang on to him for dear life, burying your head into neck and inhaling his scent.
You might float away if not. Sprout wings and fly or something. Just you and him, into the night sky. Free and uninhibited without a care in the world. You feel completely unshackled now. You can both be who you want to be.
No restrictions. Freed from his secrets and lies.
"Do you like that?" he whispers into your ear.
You do. You can't put into words how much being with him makes you feel so you open your eyes and tumble into a sea of blue; the bluest eyes you have ever seen.
You reach up and open your mouth wide tangling your tongue with his, relishing the burn of his moustache against your cheeks and upper lip.
"Stephen." He groans as he grabs hold of your dick, which is trapped and erect between your bodies. "I said, do you like that?"
"Yes." You pant knowing that it never gets better than when you do this with him. "I love it."
He begins to thrust into you, slowly, unhurriedly. "Good."
He fists your cock in time with his gyrations.
You lick your lips and stare up at him trying to focus on his flushed face with pupils blown wide by lustful intent.
There is a hint of a smile on your face because you are about to say those three little words that used to make him lash out in anger and fear at first but have gradually become words he has grown to accept and maybe even look forward to.
You can't stop yourself from blurting them out now because they are true and honest.
"I love you, Brendan."
XOXO
Present Day (Two months)...
You are in bits.
You don't understand what's happening. All you know is that when you jump out of the ambulance and the EMTs rush Brendan into the emergency department, you feel like the world is disintegrating around you.
A doctor comes up to you and bombards you with questions. Easy ones and ones that wouldn't be difficult to someone who knows him well but are impossible for you.
"What's his name?" Brendan Brady.
"How old is he?" Forty.
"Was he complaining of any particular symptoms?" No. I don't think so. He is thinner than I remember. Is that important?
"How long has he been unwell?" He looked run down a couple of months ago but I didn't want to comment on it because I didn't think it were my business.
"Is he on regular medication?" I don't know.
"Does he have any ongoing medical problems?" I don't think so. I don't know.
"Does he smoke?" He didn't use to. No.
"Does he drink alcohol?" Yeah. Probably a little more than he should. Mainly whiskey.
"Does he have any family?" Yes.
You call Declan because his is the only number you have.
The mere mention of you being in St Vincent's Accident and Emergency department with his father is enough for him to hang up on you, presumably to hotfoot it over.
He rounds up the troops.
Cheryl, Paddy, Nicole and he all arrive with ten minutes of each other.
You are relieved they are here. They all, except for Nicole, pull you into a reassuring embrace. You must look like you are about to have a breakdown.
You tell them how he collapsed on you while you were at the coffee shop and how you accompanied him during the quick journey over to the hospital.
You end up finding out stuff about Brendan from their frantic conversation with the doctor who was interrogating you earlier. Stuff you didn't know; that you wish you could have guarded your ears against. Certain words in particular ricochet in your brain.
Chemo.
Constant nausea.
Acute lymphoblastic leukaemia.
Two months.
Worrying weight loss.
Hopeful of complete remission.
Oncology outpatient appointment.
White cell count.
Hair loss.
Nutritional shakes.
"Is dad going to be okay?"
Declan's question brings you back to reality.
Is he going to be okay?
Two months. Brendan has known he had leukaemia for two months. That was round about the time you were last in town. Did he already know then and not tell you?
Leukaemia. That's the one that kids get, isn't it? What business does a grown man like Brendan have getting it? In fact, why is he sick at all?
Why him?
"We need to wait for his blood tests to come back." The doctor says. "In the mean time we are rehydrating him and we will be contacting the oncologists to make sure it isn't a complication of his chemo or something else."
"Something else?" Paddy asks anxiously.
The doctor shrugs evasively.
"Like progression of his disease?" Nicole whispers. "Is that what you are getting at? Is he going to die?"
You numbly push your way through his family and friends, unthinking and unable to hear any more.
You head for the exit.
"Ste, love, where are you going?"
You turn blankly to Cheryl and then keep walking away from the resuscitation area of the A and E department.
You don't go far; just far enough to not hear beeping monitors. Near reception. Your legs are too heavy. You are too disorientated. You lean on a wall and let your eyes fall shut.
This can't be happening.
This can't be happening.
This can't be happening.
This has to be a dream because there has never been a point in your life where you have envisaged this; Brendan weakened and outplayed by something or someone else. Not even cancer.
He has always been the man at the top. The king of the castle. Invincible in your eyes. And you have always felt like the fallible one.
Maybe this is a lesson. You are both invincible and fallible at the same time.
Survivors and victims.
You slide to the floor and hope that right now Bren is fighting. Standing his ground and not letting some stupid disease get the better of him.
After a few minutes, someone gently touches your arm. "Hey, Ste."
You open your eyes.
It's Declan. He looks like he has had a good cry, bless him. "Dad's asking for you."
"What?"
"Yeah. He's awake." He gives you a pitiful attempt at a smile. "And you know how he gets if he is kept waiting so..."
He takes your hand and pulls you to your feet then drags you back towards the resuscitation area.
He rubs his eyes tiredly and says, "Oh and by the way, I've told the docs and nurses that you are his boyfriend so don't blow the story. Yeah?"
He pulls you into a hug.
You don't know what else to say but,
"Yeah. Okay."
He opens the door to A and E resus and points at the corner. You walk into the partitioned room towards the first of four beds. A nurse and a doctor are working around Brendan.
When you approach they nod. "We'll be back in five minutes." They quietly disappear after closing the curtains around you.
You turn to look at Bren. Given that the last time you saw him he was unconscious on a stretcher he is looking better even though better is like death warmed up.
He turns his palm uppermost on the bed sheet; an invitation for you to go closer to him. So you do but then he wriggles his fingers and you realise that he wants you to hold his hand.
So you do, careful not to displace the drip line.
"Hi." You say. "They said you wanted to see me."
Your fucking tears. No wonder he thinks you need protecting. Always with the tears when you are around him!
You are a fucking emotional wreck because you thought you had lost him.
"Yeah." He says. His voice sounds course. He gives your hand a squeeze.
"So I'm here." You say.
"I see you."
You look around at the machines and drips. They make you shudder. You were once the one in bed hooked up to all manner of gadgets and gismos.
"So that was a dramatic way to tell you that I have cancer."
You are annoyed by light-hearted tone. Why is he making light of such a serious situation? "Yeah. Pretty dramatic."
"Ta-da." He says.
He rubs your palm and plays with your fingers the way he used to.
You feel like you can't catch your breath when you ask,
"Are you going to be okay?"
You hold on to him, not losing his gaze in case he is about to tell you bad news. You aren't sure you are ready to hear it.
"Didn't your husband tell you something about knocks to your body making you stronger in the end and becoming Superman?"
"He was only talking about bones." You say feeling tears falling and not bothering to cover them up.
He suddenly pulls his hand away from yours. You feel the loss of his touch immediately. The mention of Martin must have prompted him to pull away.
"Where's your wedding band?"
He stares at your hand.
Oh.
So he has finally noticed...
You look at both your bare hands and then back at him.
"Yeah. I was going to tell you..."
You sniff back your tears.