Chapter Nineteen

Is he for real?

BRENDON

 

This drab room is going to kill me. It’s been two days, and I am about to lose my shit. How do people get well here? I am sick to my bones confined to the hospital bed. White and grey are the only colors everywhere. The dourness is in sharp contrast to the blue sky and the green pitch I dreamt last night.

The other reason for my heightened irritation is the man about to arrive. Mike texts me every day. I don’t respond. He is the last person I wish to see. Mike is using the accident to weasel his way into my life. Can I blame him, though? Drunk stupid me threw the door open, inviting him inside. Something he keeps parroting, taking particular interest in reminding me about the night spent with him, though I have no recollection of the things he says we did.

A knock on the door stops my brooding. Oh no, is Mike already here? I brace myself. The door opens, and I blink-stare-blink on repeat. Am I hallucinating? Is my mind playing tricks? This can’t be true.

“Look what the wind brought in.” Sarah steps aside, elbowing Saaransh to the front, and my heart misses a beat. Saaransh stands at the door. He runs his hand through his hair, which is longer than what I remember. The eye candy in a pastel-green button down shirt and black jeans is mouthwatering.

“Hi.” Saaransh gives a timid wave.

I am sure my face is goofy, for Sarah rolls her eyes and turns to Saaransh. She pushes Saaransh forward and walks out of the room. The door closes, and we are alone.

I should be upset after the way things ended between us. However, signals from my brain have taken a detour down south and are goading my dick. I sit on the hospital bed, drooling like a dork—a ten-year-old kid who got a new PlayStation. Sue me for fantasizing about the joystick attached to the badminton player standing in front of me. I pat the bed inviting Saaransh to sit near me. “I don’t bite.” At least not with clothes on.

He hesitates but settles down next to me. He regards me with doleful glistening eyes. Wait, are those tears? He lowers his head and fidgets with the seam of his shirt. “Blue, I am sorry.”

“Shh!” I place a finger on his lips. “I should be the one to apologize. I had no right to shove you out of the closet. Coming out is your choice, and I snatched the option from you.”

Saaransh shakes his head. “And I am a coward.”

“No. You were caught off guard. Hell, I would punch anyone who outed me in front of cameras and thousands of spectators.”

“I was scared, Blue. I still am.”

“Mhm! The world for us queer folks is scary.” The vulnerability and loneliness on his face make me want to wrap this angelic man in my arms and become his shield. If he will let me. Saaransh runs his hand through his hair, glancing every place except at me. I clear my throat to attract his attention. He still does not face me.

Saaransh keeps his head low and makes circles with his finger on the bed. “I made a terrible mistake in London. If you ask me to leave, I will. I have no right to be here, but I had to come when I read the news. I wanted to apologize and…” Saaransh glances at me. “Blue, I want another chance.”

He came for me. Saaransh is worried about me. My heart thunders, and all pretense to reign in the bugger falls when Saaransh gives me a forlorn gaze. “Come here.” He scoots over and collapses in my arms. I plant a kiss on his cheek. “Shy, I am glad you came.”

Saaransh breaks down, “Blue, I don’t want to lose you. Please forgive me.”

My heart screeches to a stop. Saaransh squeezes me tight. “Careful, Shy, my insurance does not cover crush injuries from hugs.”

“Oh, sorry.”

I cough and fake a choke. Saaransh panics. “Oh god, did I hurt you? Should I call the nurse? Where is the call button?”

“Relax, Shy.”

“What, you were joking?” He stands with his hands clutching his hips and an adorable pout plastered on his face.

I take his hand and pull him into a hug again. “Shy, the rejection in London prickled for a while, but now I understand. At the time, the shove hurt.” He fits so well in my arms. The lemon fragrance he carries rehashes many memories. “London still hurts., but for a different reason. I...” My throat goes dry as Saaransh waits for me to complete the sentence. “Gosh, Shy, I spent every day of the past few months racking my brain about you.”

“Blue, I missed you too. I am here to make up for my mistake. If you’ll allow, I wish to stay and nurse you to health?”

Who is this guy? Does Saaransh have a doppelganger? One day he is kind, considerate, ready to scale walls, fly across an ocean to live his true self. The next he shoves even a flake of his queer reality under the monster rug he carries draped on his shoulders. I am glad Saaransh is here. Will be happier to spend time with him recovering, but Saaransh has a life which he is yet to merge with his gay self. Saaransh should be in Europe. “Are you always so whimsical?”

“Not in usual circumstances, but one particular Australian sports jock sets my head spinning.” Saaransh shakes his head. “You know the one who earns his keep butting heads and, when those scrums are not enough, drives his car off the road into a tree.” Saaransh’s eyes twinkle, and his face lights up with mirth. “Meh, I may have a crush on him.”

I cup Saaransh’s face, relishing the smooth softness of his skin with my hands, and gaze into his eyes, “You should not let the stupid man make you miss the Denmark Open.” I crash my mouth against Saaransh’s lips, drinking his moans. After getting my fill, I break our kiss and move to nibble his ear. “Shy, your fans will miss the torpedo smashes and the net buzzers.”

“Is someone cyberstalking?” Saaransh’s voice is husky. “How do you know what my fans call my smashes and net kill shots?”

“Grab my phone.” Saaransh picks the iPhone from the side table. I show him the news alerts I placed for him. “This is my way to be near you.”

Saaransh’s eyes well up again. “I don’t deserve you, Blue.” He rubs his lips on mine. I open my mouth to allow our tongues to wrangle, raking my fingers through his hair, messing the thick black tufts falling in waves. My hand moves to his neck and presses his head closer to mine.

“Ahem.” Someone clears their throat. I am reluctant to let go, but Saaransh pushes me. He jumps away from the bed, eyes playing tennis between me and Eddy.

“Saaransh, you only had permission to make up, not to make out.” Eddy stands before us, narrowing his eyes. Oh boy, this is getting into the gossip books. Loads of razzing are heading my way.

“I am sorry, but this man makes me do crazy things.” Saaransh straightens his clothes. Head bowed to hide his grin.

“Damn you, Brendon. No one has ever flown halfway across the world to make out with me.” Eddy snickers.

I stick my tongue out to jeer him.

“Brendon should rest.” Mike’s stern voice surprises me. He stands behind Eddy with a bunch of red roses. Damn, how did I forget? Mike glares at Saaransh. But Saaransh is focused on the roses. I have to intervene, or Mike will ruin everything by running his mouth.

“Saaransh, you need to get your arse on a plane to Denmark. Next time we see each other, you better come with a trophy.” Saaransh turns to me, uncertain. “Saaransh, I would love for you to stay, but I will never come between you and your game.”

He takes the hint. “How rude. I come all the way, and you throw me out. I am hurt.” Saaransh huffs and pouts. “Bye.”

When he opens the door to leave, I can’t stop myself. “You still owe me a date.”