SOMETHING was really wrong with the world, Alex thought.
Not in a metaphysical sense, but a very real, physical sense. For a start, things were very dark. And not just dark, but thick and sticky and oddly painful. He wondered if he was trying to open his eyes in a dimly lit room. Or maybe he already had opened them, and the room was totally dark. The circuitous thought processes hurt his head. Try it out, idiot. He opened his eyes and stared up into a more familiar brightness, wondering idly why all he could see were ceiling tiles and fluorescent light fittings. Why his back was up against something cold and hard. And why his head hurt like the blazes.
“Harry? Can’t he hear us?”
“Christ, that was a hell of a hit.”
Gabbling voices and the sweaty smell of bodies crowding around him.
“Don’t move him ’til we know how badly he’s hurt, y’ know?”
“He’s awake!”
“What?”
“His Highness—he opened his eyes!”
Gruff. Excited. Worried voices. The bodies clustered nearer.
Several faces swam into view. A handful of young men, in matching polo shirts; one older one, his fierce face creased with concern. They were all vaguely familiar, but damned if he could remember any names.
“Can you sit up?” the older man asked him.
Sit up? Oh, right. Alex realized he was lying on the floor, which accounted for the bizarre view. He had no idea why he was resting here, rather than in his own bed. Wherever that may be. “Of course I can,” he said, a little shocked at the sound of his own voice. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to hear, but… everything seemed startling at the moment. The old man dropped to an awkward crouch beside him to help and, slowly, he pulled himself to a sitting position.
The older man breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, the rest of y’ can get back to work. Give the boy room to breathe, okay?” As the other workers shuffled a few feet backward, reluctant to leave just yet, the old man peered more closely. His expression was seriously anxious. “Sit here for a moment, boy. Gather y’r wits. That was a hell of a thump y’ took. Luckily y’ weren’t out for more than a second or two.”
A thump? Out? Something floated in Alex’s memory, becoming clearer. He was in the warehouse… a pallet had shifted, then another, he hadn’t been able to move out of its way fast enough—
“The wine!” he gasped. “Dammit, I dropped it!”
“No problem.” The older man shook his head impatiently. “That’s only wine, it can be replaced. But y’re one of my boys.”
“Percy?” Two remaining employees hovered behind the older man—Percy, of course that was his name, why had that been so hard to remember?—and the one speaking was skinny and apparently nervous of approaching any nearer. “If Harry’s okay, d’you want me to mop up the spillage?”
Percy looked briefly irritated, then nodded. “Put it in the breakages ledger, too, Jamie. It was the good stuff, and we have to keep separate record of it. Y’ll have to access the secure store for the book, but don’t take anyone else in with y’. I don’t want every damned Tom, Dick, ’n Harry with access.”
“I’ll take Stuart wiv me,” Jamie said quietly. He looked so shocked, he might be ready to throw up. “Just us. Then I’ll fetch the first aid kit. You can rely on me, Percy.”
“Good boy.” Percy spoke absentmindedly, obviously still concentrated on his injured employee, because he didn’t bother to watch Jamie scurrying away.
“Wait! You mustn’t—” Alex barely recognized his own cry.
Percy’s eyes narrowed on him. “What’s up, boy?”
Behind Percy, Jamie paused, staring back with wide eyes.
“I don’t expect y’ to clean up, son,” Percy said quietly. “Y’ need to get checked out.”
“No, don’t clear up at all!” This was so irritating. Alex’s head ached and he couldn’t think clearly enough. But he had something important to tell Percy, to tell someone else he couldn’t remember at the moment…. It was about the pallets. Yes, that was it! “You need to check the pallets. They weren’t fastened properly.”
Percy’s hand was a solid presence on his arm. “It’s all right, boy. Y’ had a nasty shock.”
“Don’t patronize me!” he snapped back. It made Percy frown, and Jamie sucked in a startled breath.
Another man jogged over to stand by Jamie. “What the hell’s he on about?” He glared down suspiciously. “What does Harry know about anything, the clumsy sod?”
“Back off, Stuart,” Percy said gruffly.
Harry?
“My name isn’t Harry.” Alex was still snapping but, in justification, the pain was really fierce. “It’s Alex. I thank you to remember that. The joke’s run its course, don’t you think?”
Percy raised his eyebrows and seemed to let out a breath of relief. Stuart started to laugh, then when Jamie jabbed him in the ribs, bit it off.
“Get back to your damned truck, Stuart,” Percy growled. “Or I’ll dock y’r pay for rubberneckin’.”
Jamie scuttled off after the grumbling Stuart, and the other workers also drifted away. Percy was left to help Alex to his feet.
“Good to hear y’re as feisty as usual,” he said. “Looks like there’ll be no lastin’ damage. But come sit down by the cooler, I’ll get y’ some water. Do y’ remember what happened?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Though everything hurt, trying to get things straight. Harry—Alex. Wine—water. Or maybe it was the physical pain racketing around in his head. Good God, as a child, he’d dismissed Mama’s migraines as headaches, time and again. He’d never do that now. Mama? The vision of a tall, slim, woman with a ready smile and the same dark blonde hair as his, flashed before him. His memories were all out of kilter: he hadn’t thought about Mama with such anguish for some time. When he moved to follow Percy over to the chairs, a sudden stab of agony down his left side made him wince.
“Go slow, boy.” Percy’s voice was astonishingly gentle.
“It’s important. You have to check it out,” Alex muttered.
“Believe me, I will,” Percy said sharply, then he gentled his voice again. “But y’ll rest first.” Percy helped him into a chair and started to draw a cup of water from the cooler.
“Has he broke anyfing?” Jamie was back again, pale face, wide eyes, clutching a green box with First Aid stamped on the front of it, and staring at Alex like he’d never seen anything like him on the planet before.
“Don’t think so, but I’m no Holby City consultant,” Percy growled. He pushed past Jamie to give Alex his water. A few staff from Packaging had sidled over to see what was going on, as well, but Percy pointedly ignored them. “Where’s Tate? Is he back from that meetin’ yet? Go get him, Jamie boy.”
Tate? Tate! Alex felt a wash of relief and need. That was whom he was waiting for—whom he had to tell! He tried to jump up from the chair but his legs felt suddenly like limp spaghetti. His head throbbed even harder—was that possible, for God’s sake?—but he knew he had to reach Tate. He needed to.
Luckily, the decision was made for him. Tate strode toward them across the warehouse floor, his expression a mixture of alarm, anger, and confusion. “What the hell’s happened? I was told there’s been an accident.” As Percy moved aside, he caught sight of Alex for the first time and his face paled. “Alex? My God, are you—”
Alex didn’t let Tate finish. “Thank heavens you’re here. Someone will listen to me now.”
“Listen to you? What about?” Tate’s gaze ranged over Alex, his eyes wide and worried, his hands half lifting from his sides as if he wanted to run them all over Alex to check he was still in one piece. “Where are you hurt? Are you thinking straight?”
Explain. Find the words! “The pallets were loose. Bay six. You see, I helped Stuart strap them together when we were moving some of the wine back to its proper place.” Despite Percy staring at him with total amazement, he struggled on, now desperate to be heeded. “It was loosened.”
“It got loose—?”
“It. Was. Loosened.” Alex was firm.
Percy glanced at Tate with a frown. “What’s he mean? And how come he knows about the boxes put in the wrong place?” He peered at Alex, brow furrowed. “You sure, boy? The bays all look the same to some. Y’ve only been here a coupla weeks.”
“Tate.” Alex leaned in, his face inches from Tate’s, startling himself with the urgency in his voice. “I know.”
“You’ll check it out,” Tate said slowly to Percy, who nodded.
“Thank God.” Alex grasped Tate’s arm. “Thank you.”
“That’s okay. Trust me, we’ve got it.” Tate glanced around at the spectators. “But let’s not talk anymore about it, with an audience, you know?” He placed his hand over Alex’s, then patted it tentatively.
“I’m not an invalid.” Alex sighed, but he didn’t pull away because it felt really good. He wondered if he could slide a hand around Tate’s waist and pull him in closer? Maybe not in the workplace. Shame.
“He still looks confused,” Percy offered helpfully. Or not, Alex thought, depending on whose viewpoint it was from. “Somethin’s not connectin’ in his head.”
“I’m fine,” Alex said earnestly. And so much better now Tate was here. “You want proof? Let me tell you. I’ve been working in the warehouse for two weeks, your refreshments are appalling, and Tate is my boyfriend.”
A bubble of shocked silence enveloped everyone within hearing. Then one of the Packaging girls giggled.
Tate briefly closed his eyes. A flush colored his cheeks.
Percy snorted.
“Tate?” Alex was suddenly worried. “Isn’t that right?”
“Sort of.” Tate looked very uncomfortable. “I mean. You know?”
Alex didn’t know, actually, but he didn’t mistake the warmth of Tate’s hand on his, or the smell of his skin. That was vividly familiar.
“You lot?” Percy gestured fiercely at the packaging crowd plus Jamie. “Y’ can all get back t’ work now, everythin’s in hand. And I’ll thank y’ to be discreet about this. I’ll have no bloody gossip in my warehouse about who does what with who in their private time. Y’ hear me?”
A chastened “Yes, Mr. Grove,” “Sorry, Percy, of course, Percy” came from the workers as they turned and scurried away. A couple of the girls still hung around, giggling.
“Oh, dear God, I’m so sorry.” Alex turned to Tate, suddenly realizing what he’d done. “Doesn’t anyone know you’re gay?”
Percy gave another snort.
Tate took a long, deep breath. “Yes, they do. I mean, I don’t talk about my private life with everyone, but I’ve never hidden being gay. Maybe there was a problem with a few people when I first started here—”
“We soon sorted them out, boy,” Percy growled protectively.
Tate smiled. “Yes, Percy did, though you both know I can fight my own battles. And now everyone just knows me as Tate, which is how it should be. But….”
“I should never have announced it like that. I effectively outed you!”
Percy muttered something into his hand that might have been “Bloody drama queen,” but Alex couldn’t be sure.
“It’s no problem,” Tate said gently. “The important thing is for you to be okay.”
“He needs to go t’ hospital,” Percy broke in, bluntly.
“No!” Alex knew he didn’t want that. No trips where he’d have to explain who he really was. He had to stay under the radar for the time being. “I feel fine, just a bit weary. My back hurts like hell.” He straightened, determined to look as fine as he said he was. “But I’m sure it’s just heavy bruising.”
Percy was still doubtful as he spoke to Tate. “If he takes ill after the fall, it’ll be on us, boy.”
“I know.” Tate looked torn between worry for Alex and respect for his wishes. “Well, I’ll take him home for the time being and see how he feels later. Good thing it’s Friday, and he’s not on shift for the weekend. He can take time to rest. He doesn’t seem to have any problems with motor skills or his memory—”
“I remember everything!” Alex said brightly. “I’m at Bonfils Bibendum. You’re Percy and Tate, and the other guys were Stuart and Jamie. Jamie appears to have a bit of a puppy fixation on Stuart and eats two packets of licorice toffees a day. Stuart wants to be a racing car driver and once took a girl he wanted to impress on the forklift to the local café. And one of those girls from Packaging is called Penny, she’s training for the London Marathon, and I seem to remember Tate saying his friend Louise has a crush on her.”
“She does?” came a startled female voice in the background.
“Christ on a crutch, get him and his loose chatter away from here,” Percy groaned, “Before he outs every damned person on the shop floor, and tells everyone I borrowed a fiver from petty cash last week.”
“It was a tenner,” Alex said smartly. “But I believe you left an IOU and repaid within the day.” Weren’t they impressed at his ability to watch, learn, and clearly recall all the peccadilloes happening in the warehouse? “I repeat, I’m fine. I could get back to work if you like.” He mocked a salute, though touching his temple made him wince.
“No way!” Tate snapped this time. “Home immediately for you.”
“Um. My hotel?” Alex tried not to sound too pathetic, but the thought of that bare room wasn’t appetizing.
Tate grimaced. “Yeah, that’s a problem. You need to have someone keep an eye on you. You could… well. Rest at my house? If you don’t mind. We’ll go and check you out of the hotel, then ferry your stuff over to mine.” He looked a bit flushed. “Gran can watch out for you. And we’ll see how it goes.”
“Thanks,” Alex said. He wasn’t sure what “it” was going to be, but did that matter? He was keen to go home with Tate, for whatever reason.