Page 51 of Pages of My Heart

Charlie sits forward, allowing Thomas’s strong arms to gently envelop him. He clings to the back of Thomas’s shirt with his good hand and tucks his head into the crook of his neck. He’s acutely aware of how risky their behavior is, but his need for Thomas’s touch outweighs his fear.

Thomas whispers in his ear, “I missed you every day, and I don’t want us to ever be apart again. So, let’s not speak of this anymore. I know you didn’t mean it and were just trying to do right by me. I love you.”

Charlie can barely get his voice to work, but he manages to murmur, “I love you too.”

“Corporal Miller.”

At the sound of a man’s brusque voice, Thomas disengages at lightning speed. A doctor Charlie doesn’t recognize is standing next to the partition, his expression unreadable. Charlie isn’t sure how much he heard or how their embrace would have appeared.

“Uh, this is my brother. Donnie,” he says, putting on a smile.

Thomas pats Charlie on his uninjured shoulder, addressing the doctor. “An emotional reunion for us. We were very close as young boys.”

“Yes, well, I am Doctor Sawyer. Sorry to attend during visiting time, but I have a lot of patients to see today.”

Charlie glances briefly at Thomas, then back to Doctor Sawyer. “No problem, Doc. So when can I go home?”

Doctor Sawyer must be in his late fifties with greying hair and a stern bedside manner. He picks up Charlie’s chart at the foot of the bed, speaking while he reviews it. “How is your shoulder feeling, Corporal? Is the pain manageable?”

“It’s feeling better every day. The pain is manageable. The problem is moving it. But I want this damn sling off.”

The doctor puts the chart down and folds his arms across his chest. “As I’m sure you’ve been told, you may slowly regain the use of your hand and arm, but the bullets fractured your scapula, humerus, and the shoulder joint itself.

The ligaments and nerves were also badly affected.

The field medics did the best they could, considering you almost bled out.

They saved your arm, and that is something to be grateful for. ”

“I am grateful,” Charlie grits out, frustrated by how many times he’s been told what he should be grateful for. “I just want to return to work. Earn a living.”

“What is your vocation, Corporal?”

“I’m an automobile mechanic.”

The doctor nods, bouncing on his heels, mulling over this information.

“It may be best to consider a career change. Now the nurse will be along later to remove your sling and replace your bandages, then you can commence rehabilitation. Doctor Radcliffe will work with you over the coming days and with any luck you can be discharged later in the week. Who will look after you at home? Your wife? Mother? A sister perhaps?”

Thomas turns his head sharply toward the doctor. “No, I’ll look after him.”

Doctor Sawyer frowns at Thomas. “The job is better suited to a woman. Someone who is at home and can help with dressing, washing, meals, and so forth.”

“My brother and I live together. I can do it. It’s no problem.”

Doctor Sawyer looks to Charlie. “Corporal, your mother, uh—” He consults the chart again.

“Lorretta Miller. She’s listed here as your next of kin.

I think you should consider moving back home with her if she is capable.

Surely your brother will be at work most days, and you will need twenty-four-hour care over the coming weeks. ”

“Thanks for the suggestion, Doc,” Charlie says curtly.

“Yes, well, I advise you take it. Good day, gentleman.” He nods at Charlie, then Thomas, then takes his leave.

The moment the doctor is gone, Charlie exhales deeply. “Do you think he . . .?”

“I think we’re okay. Michael and I hug each other sometimes, and I don’t think he would have heard me. I was whispering. Anyway, you’ll be discharged this week—that’s great!”

He tries to muster a smile but fears it may look more like a grimace. His mind is still replaying the offhanded manner in which the doctor suggested he won’t be able to return to work at the garage. Not to mention the fact that he’ll apparently need a twenty-four-hour babysitter.

“Tommy, sit and tell me all your news.”

Charlie does want to hear Thomas’s news, but more than anything he wants to avoid thinking or talking about himself, or answering those prying questions he knows Thomas will eventually start asking.

As Thomas begins talking, Charlie threads their fingers together and studies his husband carefully.

He checks to see if everything is how he left it, eyes roaming over every inch of his face—from the vibrant red hair down to the sharp line of his jaw, from the spattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose to his pink, bow-shaped lips.

His eyes then trail down to Thomas’s Adam’s apple, then further to the bit of chest hair visible just above the first button of his shirt.

Charlie’s mind starts to drift, and he finds himself fantasizing about removing his husband’s clothes, feeling their naked bodies pressed together.

He thinks about being held and being taken. And it feels good, and it feels right.

He tries to focus on that.

Thomas

Five days after being reunited, Thomas brings Charlie home.

He’s taken seven days of unpaid leave, giving them a total of eleven days together, including two weekends.

It would have been preferable to take more time, but after already having taken three weeks for his episode earlier in the year, he is hesitant to ask the school board for more.

Charlie doesn’t say much on the trip from the hospital, and he goes completely quiet once they enter the house.

He wanders around refamiliarizing himself with each room, fingertips skimming the furniture as he goes.

Thomas follows behind, nervous and unsure.

Charlie’s moods have been unpredictable—one minute he’s cold and distant, the next loving and attentive.

It makes Thomas apprehensive. This isn’t how he imagined it would be when Charlie returned.

Maybe he was a fool to think things would snap right back into place.

Charlie stops in the kitchen, eyes cast over the backyard. “Everything looks exactly the same, and yet somehow, everything’s changed.”

“What do you mean? What’s changed?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

Charlie exits the kitchen and turns down the hallway toward the bedroom, his damaged arm hanging slack at his side.

Thomas follows. It’s the first time they’ve been alone since Bloomington.

He wants Charlie in his arms, in their bed, but he doesn’t want to pressure him.

It’s not about sex, it’s about intimacy.

Reconnecting. He fears Charlie will reject him—not that he knows how to broach the subject anyway.

Charlie’s eyes flitter around their bedroom and then land on Thomas, settling and seeming to focus. “I think I wanna have a bath.”

“Okay, I’ll run the water for you. Should I prepare dinner while you’re in the tub?

I splurged a little and picked up some pork chops from that place on Halstead.

Practically wanted an arm and a leg for them, but they’re nice and thick”—he’s rambling and he knows it, nerves getting the best of him—“and we’ve got string beans and potatoes, and I could cut up some mushrooms or even make a—”

Charlie steps forward and takes his hand. “No. Just—will you bathe with me?”

Thomas exhales in a rush, unaware he was holding his breath. “Of course, my darling, I’d love to.” He cups Charlie’s face and presses their lips together. It’s a tentative kiss, almost like when they first met. Not wanting to push too hard too soon, he pulls back. “I’ll get it started.”

Ten minutes later, they’re moving awkwardly around each other in the bathroom.

Thomas strips out of his clothes first, blushing under Charlie’s attentive gaze and hardening from the sheer anticipation of Charlie’s body against his.

Then, as carefully as possible, he removes Charlie’s shirt, getting his first proper look at his injured shoulder.

There are a number of angry red surgery scars that still look tender, along with a scattering of smaller scars over Charlie’s chest that are fully healed.

He’s painfully aware of Charlie watching him, gauging his reaction.

It makes Thomas hesitant and fearful he will misstep and spoil this precious reunion.

Without comment, he moves to Charlie’s trousers, removing them along with his briefs and socks.

Thomas doesn’t yet touch, noting that Charlie is still soft and flaccid.

He steps into the bath, then supports Charlie as he joins him. They sit down, Thomas guiding Charlie’s hips as he lowers himself into the water, worried he will be unstable without the use of his arm.

“Not a fuckin’ invalid, Tom,” Charlie snaps.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think you are. I—I was just being cautious.”

They settle as Charlie’s hostility subsides, Thomas relaxing once Charlie’s back comes to rest against his chest. Grabbing the soap, he begins washing Charlie’s torso but finds he cannot focus with the feeling of Charlie’s skin pressed against his own.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie says, giving his apology almost as if under obligation rather than freely. “I didn’t mean to snap.”

“I understand.” He places a kiss on Charlie’s temple, then continues down his cheek and onto his neck.

Charlie’s head lulls to the side, his breath hitching.

It’s enough for Thomas’s cock to fully harden against Charlie’s back, his control slipping as his desire climbs.

“Charlie,” he sighs, moving his soapy hand down to caress his husband’s length.

When Charlie twitches in his grasp, Thomas moans and a plea tumbles out of him. “Please, kiss me.”