Page 3 of Rowan’s Renewal (DKAG Summer Shorts #6)

A aron Park has got to be a figment of my imagination.

Some fantasy creation from the deep, dark recesses of my brain.

Because there’s no way a man like him is real.

Maybe I finally had some kind of breakdown when the nice concierge told me about the system double booking my room, and everything since that moment has been a hallucination.

Except, no. If I was fantasizing, I definitely wouldn’t be changing a sodden pair of incontinence pants while my super hot young rescuer lurks somewhere in the apartment beyond the closed bathroom door.

If I were fantasizing, fantasy-me wouldn’t have been diagnosed with a rare case of prostate cancer in my late teens, and fantasy-me certainly wouldn’t have endured complications from the surgery which left me without a prostate and with permanent incontinence.

So Doctor Aaron Park —because of course he’s also a doctor!— can’t actually be a product of my hysterical imaginings.

With thick, jet-black hair, dark soulful eyes, and flawless gold-toned skin, he’s handsome, funny, and a good Samaritan. Sure, he’s a lot younger than any of the men I’ve dated (not that I’ve dated many, considering my condition), but I can’t help finding him attractive.

Being alone for the better part of a year isn’t helping my attraction to him, either. Plus, it’s a fatal flaw of mine to be attracted to any scrap of kindness. I know that’s not the healthiest way to be, either, but this is what happens every time a guy is even remotely nice to me.

I start forming attachments.

I can’t get attached to Dr. Aaron Park. Firstly, because we’ve only known each other for, like, five minutes, so that’s just weird.

Secondly, because I don’t know anything about him, aside from the fact that he says he’s a doctor and he also lives somewhere in America.

Thirdly, because I have no idea where he lives back home, and we are only staying here for a week.

But finally, and most importantly, he’s too young to be saddled with a permanently incontinent old man for any amount of time. Not even for this week.

Not for the first time in my life, or even in the past twenty-four hours, I wish my situation was wildly different.

The flight here was every part as awful as I thought it would be, with me choosing to practically live in the plane’s bathrooms (to the point where I think the woman stuck in the seat beside me was afraid I had some kind of stomach bug).

Thankfully, entering the country through Customs was not as traumatic as I imagined it might be, and I avoided a pat down and the embarrassment of someone discovering my adult diapers.

Because I don’t care that the packaging says they are discrete and look like real underwear: they really don’t. Especially if I’ve been unable to make it to the bathroom the second the urge to pee has struck. And, because of my overactive bladder, it strikes often.

Unfortunately, between the long car trip from Brisbane Airport to Noosa, which took almost two hours with traffic, and then the booking problem at reception, the protection I was wearing did its job, but it was on the verge of leakage by the time we finally made it into the hotel room.

I hate that feeling. Physically and emotionally.

The dampness is uncomfortable, as is the weight of the padding once it gets soaked and puffs up.

But then there’s the shame of knowing I couldn’t hold it.

That I’ve got the bladder control of a toddler.

I feel small and vulnerable when it happens; feelings compounded by ex-lovers who said they could handle it but, ultimately, could not.

I can’t even blame them. I’m a forty-one-year-old gay man with erectile dysfunction (also caused by surgical complications), no prostate to play with, and I piss myself on the regular.

I am nobody’s idea of a catch.

Alex made that perfectly clear when everything fell to shit, too.

Stop thinking about it.

Sighing, I pull on the new pair of pants and rummage under the bathroom sink for a spare trash can liner.

There are three of the little plastic bags there, so I grab one and stuff the old diaper inside, tying it off tightly and, with a grimace, tossing it inside my suitcase to dispose of down the floor’s trash chute later.

I don’t need the incriminating evidence lying around for Doctor Aaron Park to discover. I would die of embarrassment.

After getting my cargo pants back on, I check my reflection in the mirror, confirming that the bulk and bagginess conceals my secret. Then I roll my suitcase out of the bathroom, with its bright white tiles and light-colored timber accents, to check out the rest of the apartment.

“I hope you don’t mind that I picked my room already,” Aaron says from behind me as I poke my head into an open doorway. “They’re pretty much identical.”

“It’s your apartment,” I step into the free bedroom as he trails in behind me, “I’m just grateful to have a room at all.”

And it is a very nice room. With a king-sized bed and floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the inviting blue ocean, I can’t possibly complain about my lodgings.

“I also turned the A/C on to the most arctic setting I could,” Aaron continues. “If it’s too cold, let me know. I’m still not completely acclimatized to the Australian summer heat.”

I snort. “I’d be happier if you could make it snow inside, so however cold you can get it is perfect for me.” My gaze drifts back to the window and I sigh.

The beach looks amazing with its miles of uninterrupted soft sand and gently rolling waves.

But hiding my condition is even harder to do in swimwear or shorts, so I will content myself to look from afar.

I’ve never really liked the beach anyway.

It’s just harder to remember that when it is right there .

“It’s going to suck going back home,” Aaron says, following my gaze. “I live in a landlocked city a few hours east of Cali. Getting to the beach is…a lot.”

I nod. “Me too. But I’m not usually a beach person, so…”

“You’re not a beach person?” he asks dubiously, turning his head towards the window with a frown. “So you organized a weeklong vacation at a beach resort.”

“My best friend did. This is her misguided attempt to get me ‘out there’ again, or something.” Shoulders sagging, I confess, “My last breakup was kind of brutal, but I’ve stayed single for too long, according to her.

My birthday was a few weeks ago and she sprang this whole trip on me as a birthday surprise. The thought was nice, but…”

His appreciative whistle cuts into my trailed off sentence. “That’s one generous friend you’ve got.”

Thinking of Bianca, I smile. “She’s a generous person. Impulsive, but generous.” Casting him a sidelong glance, I muse, “You’d probably get along well.”

Aaron’s chuckle is low and sexy. “You’re not suggesting that my offer to share my room was impulsive, are you?”

Grinning, I nod, “And generous.”

The hint of a blush dusts his sharp cheekbones before he clears his throat. “I like helping people.”

“That goes hand-in-hand with the doctor thing, I guess.” Tilting my head, I ask, “What kind of doctor are you?”

“Nothing specialized. I guess I’m what you’d call a general practitioner. I work in the emergency department of my local hospital, though, so I see a lot of interesting cases.”

I snort. “How many of them are ‘I was naked, and I accidentally sat on the phallic shaped object’ cases?”

He groans, giving his head a shake. “ Way more than there should be.” I snicker as he follows up with: “What about you?”

“I don’t deal with inappropriately used household items, no.”

Now it’s his turn to laugh. The sound lights me up from the inside, and the emergence of a dimple in his left cheek makes my stomach flip. “That’s not what I meant.” He cocks his head. “What do you do for work?”

“I work for a lifestyle magazine,” I shrug, as though my role isn’t that important. I’m the EIC, so I’m responsible for the entire publication, and I report solely to the publisher.

Since we began transitioning to digital, with print copies dropping in sales over the past decade, my job has focused more on keeping up with trends and encouraging the editorial team to find niche content than it has on anything else.

However, I still insist on doing a final proofread and edit of most of our content before it goes live.

It’s my ass on the line if we release anything subpar.

While I’m on vacation, that job falls on my deputy’s shoulders.

Jonathan is even stricter than I am, so woe betide any of the content writers if they think my vacation means they can slack off.

“Oh,” Aaron sounds genuinely fascinated, “are you going to use this trip as inspiration for an article?”

It’s a fair question, but it’s been a long time since I’ve written any content for our publications. I shake my head. “Nah, this is a work-free zone.”

“Amen to that.” He offers his fist for a fist bump and then starts to back out of the room, gesturing to my suitcase.

“I’ll let you unpack and get settled. Just treat this room as you would have your own private booking.

Come and go as you please, feel free to bring up any, uh, new friends you make. ” He winks.

My cheeks burn. “You, um, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m not…” I sigh. “I can’t do hookups. But, obviously, don’t let me being in your spare room stop you from bringing anyone up, either.”

Frown lines develop in his forehead, but he doesn’t press me on the issue. “Okay, well, if you need to get in touch with me, I’ll give you my number, too. I was lazy and decided to just pay for international roaming.”

“Me too,” I nod and pull my phone from my pocket. I haven’t checked it in a while, and I can see a text from Bianca on the screen, telling me to enjoy myself.

I’ll reply to her later.

We exchange numbers and then Aaron leaves me to do my thing.

While I unpack, cringing at the trash I still need to take out, I sigh again and mull over our conversation.

I wish I could be normal. I wish I could hook up with hot guys whenever the urge strikes. But that means needing to warn guys about my various issues and I find that really difficult to do with strangers. Hell, I can’t even do it with close friends, and I’m not trying to sleep with them.

Alex was probably right. I’m too high maintenance .

I should just give up on fantasizing completely and acknowledge that my future is probably going to be one of singledom. And, honestly, there’s nothing wrong with being single. I love the independence and freedom of making all my own choices. But sometimes that gets exhausting, and I do get lonely.

That’s what I have friends for , I remind myself, grabbing my phone to reply to Bianca’s text. Friends and sex toys. What more could a man really need?