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Jeremy awoke with a mouth feeling like cotton and the strange, hungover feeling he had after a bad migraine, pain pills, and too much sleep. He groaned and rolled on his back, feeling stiff and ancient. The blinds were closed but he could see light around the edges, and he had no idea what day or time it was.
He didn’t remember the trip back to his apartment, and his brow furrowed as he tried to recall it. Short-term memory loss had been a side effect of his head injury. Thankfully, it had disappeared, but migraines combined with the meds he took left him in a state that was like being blackout drunk.
What had he done last night? Bits and pieces of memory slowly trickled back: Stephen’s engagement dinner and a pretty little twink with worried eyes. His brain felt fuzzy for a moment as he tried to remember the kid’s name. Ethan? Devin? No, Evan. The kid who’d bought the running shoes. Shy but stubborn and too sweet for his own good. Too sweet for Jeremy’s good anyway.
Jeremy stretched and his hand bumped something. Rolling onto his side with a groan, he realized it was a trashcan. Had he been with it enough to get home from the restaurant on the bus, get a trash can, water, and Gatorade? That was rare. He was usually lucky to make it home and crash. He couldn’t count the number of times over the years he’d woken up, scrambling to make it to the bathroom or a trash can in time. Once, he’d puked on the bus and royally pissed off the driver.
He reached for the Gatorade then paused, remembering Evan staring down at him with a concerned expression. “I didn’t make it alone,” he muttered to himself. “Evan brought me here.”
A vague recollection of drowsing during the car ride and Evan’s concern were all he retained from the latter part of the evening. He hoped he’d been with it enough to thank Evan for his help the night before. He felt a twinge of regret that he probably wouldn’t see the guy again until Stephen’s wedding to say how much he appreciated the help. The regret had nothing to do with the fact he found the kid so damn appealing, of course.
“Out of your league, Jeremy,” he muttered to himself. “You could have had him before the accident, but now, you’re a scarred, pathetic cripple. He might not think he’s good enough to get any attention, but he sure as hell deserves better than you.”
Jeremy sat up gingerly, waiting for his head to begin throbbing, but other than feeling a little woozy and stiff from sleeping on the couch, he was all right. He sipped the water and Gatorade, then pulled his phone out to check the time. He squinted at the screen, vaguely annoyed but unsurprised he’d slept through most of the night and the following day. It was nearly three P.M. At least, he didn’t work today. He’d worked too damn many days with a crushing migraine or hungover from one. Granted, the store manager cut him as much slack as he could, and FMLA—the Family Medical Leave Act—covered his ass, but if Jeremy was going to advance beyond assistant store manager of a chain sporting goods store, he had to keep sick days to a minimum. The law kept him from getting fired because of his medical conditions, but it didn’t guarantee promotions.
Jeremy sighed and stood, glancing down at his wrinkled shirt and jeans. He’d bought them new for the party too. He grumbled under his breath when he realized he’d have to call the restaurant to see if they had his jacket until he noticed it neatly hung on the back of the kitchen chair. Must have been Evan’s doing.
He hobbled toward the bedroom, his leg stiff and sore from overexerting himself the day before, then sleeping on the couch. As he peeled off his clothes in his bedroom, he decided he’d go for a swim in the apartment complex’s pool. He needed the exercise, and he wasn’t feeling up to hitting the gym.
He reached for a sleeveless wetsuit and pulled it on without looking down at his body. He did everything he could to avoid seeing the mass of scars that stretched from his knee to his abdomen on his left side. The wetsuit covered him from hip to ankle, but you could still see the pitted, sunken places where they’d had to carve away infected tissue.
Jeremy grabbed a towel and shoved his feet into sandals. He braced himself for the worst as he stepped outside, although the humidity was oppressive as always, the temperature was surprisingly moderate for June. As he slowly made his way across the complex grounds, he thought about Evan. He didn’t want to—after all, what good was it going to do for him to think about a man he’d never have? But he couldn’t get the image of Evan’s eyes out of his head. Pale blue, no, gray-blue, and so expressive. Like Jeremy could see right into him, see the scared kid who didn’t know what he had to offer the world. See the kindness, not pity, in his eyes when he looked at Jeremy. And wasn’t that what drew Jeremy in more than anything?
He sighed as he eased into the water. Even on a warm, humid day, the heated pool felt good, and he felt his tense muscles relax as he began to swim. Rehab had been hell once he was transferred to a decent facility, and they weaned him off some of the brain-fogging meds. They’d pushed him hard, trying to make up for the years of sub-par care, and he’d been in constant pain. Aquatic physical therapy had been strenuous but still easier on his joints than anything else.
Even now, after a hard workout, he liked to float on his back and allow the water to support his aching left leg and let him forget he was damaged goods. Today, he didn’t push himself too hard, and he let himself enjoy the relaxation afterward for longer than usual.
As he hoisted himself out of the pool, he tried to ignore the twinge of disappointment he felt every time he left the water. It was always a letdown to go from moving fluidly in the pool to his awkward gait on land.
Back home, he stood in the shower and rotated his shoulders, propping his hands against the wall as he let the hot water run down his back. The swim had helped both the pain and his stress levels, and he felt almost human again by the time he was done.
Out of the shower and dressed, he realized his stomach was about to turn itself inside out from hunger so he heated a can of soup. He scooped up the stack of mail and took a seat at the table. Blowing on the bowl of soup to cool it, he reached for the first envelope and grabbed a slip of paper instead. He didn’t recognize the writing on it, but the scrawled note asking if he was okay made him smile.
Of course, it was from Evan. Jeremy automatically reached for his phone so he could text Evan to let him know he was fine, then thought better of it. Did he want to stay in contact with Evan? Yes, more than anything in the world, but Jeremy was realistic enough to know he had nothing to offer someone like Evan, who had the whole world ahead of him. It was better if Evan forgot about Jeremy altogether. Unfortunately, occasional gaps in his memory after a migraine aside, Jeremy wasn’t so sure he would forget Evan.
He spent the rest of the afternoon and evening doing laundry and pretending the note from Evan wasn’t tempting him every time he passed where it lay on the kitchen table. He ate dinner, staring at it, and after he’d flipped through every channel six times and found nothing to watch, he realized contacting Evan was exactly what he needed to do.
Not because he planned to ask Evan out on a date, but because he needed a goddamn friend. Stephen was someone he cared about, and he was glad they were in contact again, but there was too much history between them. Stephen had a new life with Russ now, and while Jeremy could be a part of it in a few small ways, he didn’t expect he and Stephen would hang out often.
So why not get to know Evan? The kid had admitted how lonely he was and how difficult of a time he had making friends. As long as Jeremy kept his hands to himself, it could be good for both of them.
He tried to ignore the surge of nervous anticipation coursing through him as he typed out a message and hit send.