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Luke wanted to say, Who made you think that nobody would want to help you? He didn’t say it, because he was pretty sure he knew the answer. His parents. Men. Life. Hayden was nothing like him, and he was everything like him.
He went back to the kitchen and found the cans of cat food in a cupboard. The shower began to run, but the cat must have heard the can opener anyway, because he came running in so fast, he practically skidded to a stop in front of his dish, where he sat like a dog ready for his dinner and let out a few impatient meows as if to say, “I’m waiting here, mate.” Luke put the dish down, and the cat put his paw on its edge and looked up at him.
“You can eat it,” Luke told him. “I don’t want it.” The cat eyed him suspiciously, then bent his head and took a nibble before jerking bolt upright again and checking for an attack from the rear.
“Seriously,” Luke said, “your horrible food is safe from me.” Upon which the cat meowed and resumed his dinner, and Luke looked out a carton of eggs, finally ran a loaf of bread to earth in the freezer, made two cups of tea, and fixed a plate. The shower had stopped. Good. He took the plate and one of the mugs of tea into the bedroom with the cat padding behind, still talking up a storm as if he had Things To Say.
Hayden looked up, startled. He was standing in the middle of the room, hair wet, in a pair of sleep pants, holding a T-shirt. Luke was being nurturing—he hoped—but still … Hayden looked good. Slim and strong. He may have made Luke’s mouth water a bit when he pulled on that shirt.
Abs. He had abs himself, but they were a bit … buried. By necessity, but still. Didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate the hell out of them on somebody else.
Nurturing, he reminded himself. “Brought you something to eat,” he told Hayden. “Easy on the wonky stomach.”
Hayden eyed the plate. “I don’t eat bread. And, yes, it was in my freezer, and I may also have had pizza last night. We’re glossing over that unfortunate episode. A moment of weakness.”
Luke set the plate down on the bedside table. “It’s Vogel’s soy and linseed, not a French pastry. Six grams of protein, heaps of fiber, the good kind of carbs, and no added sugar or preservatives. I’d eat it every day and twice on Sunday if I could get it, and I’m about as careful of my diet as it’s possible to be. Also, you didn’t get much out of that dinner.”
“Sausage roll, though,” Hayden said, but Luke could tell he was weakening.
“Doubt the sausage roll stuck, either,” Luke said. “I saw how much came out.”
Hayden groaned and sat on the bed again. “Thanks for reminding me. I needed that.” The cat jumped into his lap again, and he clutched it and kept on looking white and exhausted.
“Get in there,” Luke said.
Hayden tried to glare at him. It didn’t work. “If I’d wanted somebody to boss me around, I’d have invited Rhys over.”
“Yeh, well, you didn’t,” Luke said. “You invited me.”
“Not exactly,” Hayden said. “As I recall, you invited yourself.”
Luke sighed. “Get in bed. Eat your eggs. Turf me out in the morning, if you like, once you tell somebody else that you’ve had a TBI, so I don’t have to worry about you dying alone.”
Hayden got himself under the duvet, but of course, he had one more parting shot. “Who knew that the hot rugby player of my dreams would be so bloody maternal?” He picked up his mug of tea, which was at least a start, and the cat crawled onto his stomach, curled up, and got stuck into purring like he was motorized.
“That’s not maternal,” Luke said. “That’s the daddy of your dreams.”
“Fine,” Hayden muttered. “Be irresistible. If I ask you to sleep with me, can it be because I find you sexually enticing, not because I want somebody policing how much of my eggs and toast I eat?”
Luke smiled. One of the weirdest days of his life, and it kept taking yet another odd turn. All the same, it was better than most any day he’d had for months. “You need a cuddle?”
“Yes,” Hayden said. “All right? Bloody yes.”
“Then that,” Luke said, “is what you’ll get.”
CHAPTER 12
He Toa Taumata Rao
So it hadn’t been exactly the way Hayden had imagined his first few days would go with a man too good to be true.
It had been better.
Weirdly.
He hadn’t done any more vomiting, for one thing. Always a plus. He’d fallen asleep surprisingly fast despite his headache, with the aid of a few Panadol. And, it must be confessed, with the aid of a bulky man in bed beside him, dressed in boxer briefs and T-shirt, whose body radiated more warmth than any beach.
First, though, Luke had given him the Panadol and told him to drink a glass of water. Hayden had objected, but only because he’d felt it was required. He’d been dozing even while Luke was in the shower, and once he’d come out, all thick thighs, chest, and biceps, and crawled in beside Hayden?
