Page 12 of Narrow Margins
“You like baseball?” I ask, taking a seat at the other end of the large sofa.
“Of course, what’s not to love? Hot guys in tight pants: every gay man’s dream.” His cheeky smile confuses me.
“Why do you do that?” I ask, getting pissed off.
“Do what?” His eyes harden as he glares at me.
“Blow hot and cold. One minute it’s ‘back off and leave me alone’ and the next it’s a cheeky smirk, or a cocky grin. I thought you were going to be happy ignoring me?” I snap, but the doorbell rings. Hauling myself off the sofa to get the door, I see the surprised look on his face.
I pay the guy and carry the bag through to the kitchen, hearing Corrie’s soft footsteps behind me.
“I’m sorry, I just don’t know how to do this. I had brushed you off as an asshole that wasn’t worthy of me. You weren’t ever supposed to turn up in my life again.” Corrie reaches into a cupboard for some plates and then some silverware from the drawer below the worktop. I’ll remember that for tomorrow’s breakfast.
Then he reaches into the fridge for a beer, “You want one?” Corrie holds out a bottle of Bud.
As much as I want one, I decline with a shake of my head. “No, thanks; I’m going to eat this and go and crash out. It’s been a crazy couple of days.” Loading some of the gorgeous smelling food onto my plate, my stomach groans. Rubbing it, my shirt rides up and I catch Corrie watching my hand, swallowing hard.
Again, so many confounding signals. Dragging out a chair, I sit down and dig my fork into the rich, creamy sauce coating the noodles. I look up when I notice Corrie hasn’t moved.
“You okay?” I drop my fork onto my plate as I observe him.
“You don’t wanna come and watch the game while you eat?” He seems disappointed.
“Nah, it’s okay. You enjoy the game, I’ll have this then go up to my room.” Picking up my fork again, I eat. This time, he moves away.
I finish and clean up, loading my plate into the dishwasher. Then, opening the fridge, I grab a bottle of water and head out. Passing the living room, I look in and spot Corrie sprawled out on the sofa as he watches the game, his plate abandoned on the floor and his hand cradling the beer bottle on his chest. I hate mess so I walk in and pick up his plate.
“You don’t need to do that.” Corrie speaks quietly, his eyes still on the game.
“It’s no problem, I’ve already done mine.” I turn, quickly moving back to the kitchen before he can say anything more.
Returning, I step silently past the door but, as I climb the stairs, I peer in and see him watching me. I can’t decipher the look on his face so I carry on, not speaking. I expect it to take a long time to get to sleep but the incredibly comfortable bed, along with the warm air blowing gently through the open doorway, has my eyes closing heavily within minutes.
I’ve not seen much of Griff over the last two days, he’s spent a lot of time in his room. He’s polite when we talk but I recognize a fire in his eyes as he looks at me, when he thinks I can’t see him. There is a connection here, but I don’t know what or how to react to it. I guess, I’ll find out when we start working together.
After a crap night’s sleep, I drag my ass out of bed and reach for my crutch. I miss and it falls to the floor, taking the glass of water from the side table with it and sending water spilling over the floor. I had a large rug placed over most of the hardwood floor, not wanting to cover it completely but carpet is easier to use with my crutches. Polished wood is likely to send me falling on my ass fast.
I manage most days, I can forget I lost my leg and live normally, but a shit night’s sleep—full of dreams of the explosion that caused this, and images of Griff walking away from me every time I called for help—doesn’t make today one of those days. Scrubbing my hand down my face, I feel the thick stubble covering my jaw, still so alien to me after many years of having to shave. I don’t want to put my leg on yet, the stump itches like a bastard this morning. I know scratching isn’t going to help but it feels good.
Pushing myself up, I lean against the wall and shuffle to reach out for my crutch again, this time snagging it, and make my way across the floor, avoiding the wet spots, to the shower. I’ve a perching stool in the corner of the large, open sided shower. Flicking the water on, I tug off my sleep shorts and dump them outside the shower. Fetching a towel, I hang it on the hook, ready to grab and dry off before attempting to walk with one, wet foot: a routine I’ve got polished now. I rest back on the stool, letting the hot water jet over my body as more dumps down on my head.
Washing quickly, I switch off the water and grab my towel. Dry, I wipe the steam off the mirror and look at my face and decide to shave. It feels good to soap up and scrape the stubble away. Done, I look more like the old me. Reaching for my crutch, I head back to get dressed when my foot hits some of the water I’d forgotten about on the floor.
Crashing to the floor, pulling my towel down as I fall, I hit my tailbone hard and, fuck, it hurts.
“FUCK!” I shout. It’s the first time I’ve fallen in months. The thought would terrify me when I first lived back on my own but practice and planning soon built my confidence. Today, I plainly feel like shit! Fuck it, I’m going back to bed.
My bedroom door bursts open and Griff comes to a halt in the doorway, his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth and a look of panic on his face. I’d laugh if my ass didn’t hurt so much.
Griff pulls the brush out of his mouth. “Shit, Corrie! Are you okay? Fuck, what happened?”
“I fell, that’s all. You don’t need to worry.” I try to grab the towel to cover myself up, embarrassed not only by my nakedness but by having the red stump of my leg on show. Heat rises in my face as Griff leans over me. “Leave me, Griff, I’ll be okay.”
“Fuck off, man, let me help you up. If I’d slipped over, you’d help me, I’m sure.” He passes me my towel and steps back while I try and cover myself. “Hey, don’t worry. I’ve seen it before, remember?”
I make myself look at him and there’s no joking, no innuendo, merely concern. I nod and try to smile but my ass really fucking hurts. Now, that does make me smile which turns into a chuckle, then full-on laughter. What a situation! I’m bare-assed, missing a leg, and the guy who’s haunted my dreams for so many months is helping me up.
“Come on, Commando-man, let’s get you upright.” He smiles and it’s a heartbreaking smile, the one I’ve seen him give so many times on the podium or in interviews. The one he gave me when he kissed me goodbye.