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He was babbling. That was because Luke was looking … some way he couldn’t tell. “And I realize it’s your sister,” Hayden went on, “and that you care that somebody does it right. But I’m pretty good at marrying people. I think I believe in it, though I don’t know why I should. Astonishing, really. Anyway, Nyree told Zora they didn’t have anyone to do it when she rang to ask her about bringing flowers down there, and it’s in two days. And just because I seem frivolous—”
“Hayden.” It was a bit abrupt, and Hayden’s head jerked up, which hurt. He put a hand to it as Luke went on. “No. It’s just … I was hoping you’d come, I guess. I’m surprised, that’s all.”
“Taking a date to a wedding is normally a big step,” Hayden said. “We’ll excuse ourselves from that. No expectations here. I’ve married heaps of people. Hasn’t made me take the plunge yet.”
Luke smiled. “Nah. But you’re going to be sleeping in a tent this time. That may be new.”
Luke and Hayden didn’t have head-banging sex that night, either. Hayden still looked bloody fragile, and by three o’clock that afternoon, Luke sent him off to take a nap.
Half of him thought, What do you think you’re doing here, mate? It’s about a week until Christmas, and that’s when you’re leaving—for the place you actually live. And if you want a discreet fling, you’re in the wrong place. But his heart wasn’t listening. He’d never been good at being anyplace but where he was, and where he was just now was … here. So he turned some music on low—Paris jazz, the smoothest thing you could possibly listen to, and the most romantic, too, for his money—read his book some more, and eventually, as Hayden slept on, pulled out some more of the groceries he’d bought that morning in a completely unaccustomed and unreasonable moment of foolish hope, and set to work. Because, for one thing, every time he came back to New Zealand, he remembered the things he liked about it, and one of them was food.
Why should he be comfortable here? He’d lived his life in thirds: first England, then New Zealand, then France, and most of his time in New Zealand had been with his dad. And all the same, there was something about it he liked. The mountains, maybe. The humor. The fact that you could wear shorts to a restaurant.
He gave up thinking about it, because thinking about feelings wasn’t his best thing. Instead, he made a protein and fruit smoothie to tide him over, and then he caramelized onions, cubed and roasted four different colors of kumara—New Zealand had the best veg in the world—had to do with the soil, he guessed—and, when the cubes had been through their own caramelization in the oven, whisked together tahini, wholegrain mustard, olive oil, maple syrup, sea salt, and a bit of juiced orange into a dressing.
Hayden came out of the bedroom at last, still looking tired in that way you did when you were recovering from a head injury, and Luke said, “Ten minutes till dinner. You could find us a movie, maybe.” While Hayden did it, looking like that was about the limits of his powers, Luke coated his four salmon filets—one for Hayden and three for him—in a mix of spices and seared them in a pan while he tossed the cooled kumara and caramelized onions with the dressing and two bags of tender, tiny-leaved rocket with just enough kick to it. He toasted and buttered a few slices of that Vogel’s bread, because his calorie counts had been pretty low today, arranged two plates and one mixing bowl—his salad wouldn’t fit on the plate—and brought it all over to the coffee table.
“Shocking to the French,” he told Hayden, “eating in front of the TV, but I may be an uncultured fella. You ate fish last night, so I thought you might like this.”
Hayden put a fork through the blackened crust of the salmon, uncovered the tender pink flakes beneath, and sighed. “I may’ve died after all last night. You’d better be bad in bed, because otherwise, you’re too good to be true.”
Luke smiled. “You may find out. Although there’s a tent in our future.”
“Yes,” Hayden said. “The tent. You could kiss me tonight, though. I could even touch you at last. We could be gentle, I guess. Go slow. What d’you think?”
“I think,” Luke said, “that it’d be good to go slow.”
They went, in fact, very slow. That was because Hayden fell asleep before the movie was over. Which meant another night with Luke’s arm over Hayden’s chest and Hayden pulled up close against him.
Hayden went to sleep right away. Luke lay awake and ached, and tried not to think about Sunday.
CHAPTER 14
A Bad Idea All Around
Hayden woke early. At least there was that, he thought as he sat up in bed and his head didn’t actually swim. It didn’t feel good, but he could form a somewhat coherent thought. Which was, Where’d he go?
No smell of bacon this morning, and no sign of a living soul in the apartment except George, who was, at the moment, not draped over Hayden’s head like a hat. That was because Hayden had dislodged him when he’d sat up, which George had protested loudly just before he’d jumped off the bed and trotted off. After a minute, he came back, meowing like he had a knot in his tail.
“You can wait five minutes,” Hayden told him. “You’re about one kG away from qualifying as a sumo wrestler.” Upon which George let out a series of grumbles that clearly translated to, I am a starving wraith of a cat, and I’m calling the SPCA.
“I hate to tell you, but you’re going to be alone for nearly two days starting tomorrow,” Hayden said. “Nothing but water and kibble. I’m expecting a picket line of cats out on the pavement.” He did, though, go into the kitchen and open a can of food. He was possibly a sucker. Also, he was trying not to wonder where Luke was. Letting you sleep, that’s where. Off living his life, which he has every right to do. If you get needy and clingy, you know he’ll be gone. Insouciant, that’s you. He could be insouciant now that his head was better.
He hoped.
George was already scoffing the disgusting mixture—trout, the smelliest and his favorite— when Hayden saw the note.
Meeting Kane to work out. Back around 11. I fed the cat.
Luke was feeling better. More settled. Not because he’d had a chat with his brother, because he hadn’t, but because they’d done what they always did instead, which was go for a run up every hill around, including three times fast up and down the steps to Mount Eden, feet flying. Agility was important.
Unfortunately, now that he wasn’t nine, Kane was faster. Either that, or Luke had got unfit as hell in a few days. Afterward, though, they ran back to Les Mills in Britomart and started stacking weights on barbells, and the Earth was back on its axis again.
This was more like it. Three sets of kettlebell jumps, power cleans, clap push-ups, and much more, followed by minutes of side and front planks, and this time, it was Luke setting the pace. Always his preference. After that, it was on to pullups with a weight chained to the belt around your waist, and then the bench press. When Luke had added the last weight to the bar, locked it down, and was lying on his back, Kane asked, “How long have you been benching a hundred ninety kGs?”
“A while,” Luke answered. “Ready?”
“If you are,” Kane said, which was what passed for banter between them, and spotted him.
