AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He was more than fine.
This man, however—Victor whatever-his-last-name-was—was not.
He was alone, lonely, brokenhearted, and seemed oddly terrified to be out on his own. If this were a different era, Victor could have easily been some disabled rich dude who was just seeing outside his manor for the first time in his life.
Which was most definitelynotthe plot to the last historical romance book he’d read before his thesis took over every single one of his brain cells.
“So,” Oliver said when they were about ten minutes from the arena, “home or away?”
Victor was silent for so long Oliver started to wonder if it was one of those snobby rich guys who didn’t talk to “the help.”
Then Victor cleared his throat. “I don’t know what that means.” He gave a sheepish laugh. “You probably already think I’m a giant moron.”
Oliver’s eyes widened, and he chanced a look at him as he pulled up to a red light. Victor had a sort of classic beauty about him. Strong jawline, salt-and-pepper hair that spoke of early greys instead of age, piercingly dark eyes, and strong arms, which probably came from accommodating his off-balanced gait. He had a feeling that if Victor had a way to brace himself, he could probably lift Oliver like he weighed nothing, and goddamnif that wasn’t appealing.
He shook himself out of those thoughts quickly. “Oh, honey. Not at all. I’m sorry, I just figured you were a fan.” He braced himself for the second time that night, waiting for the very stoic, likely very straight man to give him some kind of shit about being queer as hell.
Instead, Victor just laughed softly and shook his head. “Ah. I’m afraid not.”
“I like your honesty,” Oliver told him, and he meant it.
With a small sigh, Victor settled further back against the seat as Oliver took off again. “So…what is home or away?”
Oliver frowned, trying to remember what the hell he’d asked. Right. The hockey game. His frown deepened. “Oh, uh, your team,” he clarified. “It means the home or away team.”
“Ah. I…” Victor passed a hand down his face, and out of his periphery, Oliver could see there was a slight tremble to his fingers. “I bought these tickets for my fi—for my…my ex.”
Oliver felt the weight of that admission, and he said nothing until he passed into the parking garage. When he attempted to turn left, Victor touched his arm and pointed to a subtle sign on one of the beams that read VIP.
“We’re there. I have a pass.”
Oliver damn near choked on his own tongue and felt like the world’s biggest fraud when he drove two floors up, then parked between a Bentley and a classic cherry Jaguar. Jesus Christ, they were going to arrest him for having the audacity tobreathenear these cars.
“Maybe I should drop you off,” he said as he idled in the spot, “and park somewhere else. I can pick you up after.”
Victor was looking at him with a confused frown. “Why would you do that?”
Oliver made a strangled noise as he gestured to the cars on either side of them. “Hello? I can’t park my fucking Civic here, man.”
Victor blinked, then laughed. “Why not? It’s a parking garage, and last I checked, this was a car.”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “It’s a twenty-twelveCivic, darling. I’m pretty sure they’re gonna call me out over the loudspeaker.”
“I’m pretty sure they’re not going to say a word,” Victor said, then opened his door and set both legs out. “Come on. I haven’t eaten since this morning.”
Oliver wanted to keep arguing, but his need to take care of this disaster of a man took over, and he jumped out, closing his door, Oliver following a second later. He walked around to the back, then hovered, not sure if he should be doing something to help.
Victor caught his gaze after a second and sighed, looking almost hurt, which made Oliver feel like immediate shit. “I’m okay. I can walk on my own.”
Oliver fidgeted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what you might need.”
Victor regarded him for a second, then gestured at his legs. “I have cerebral palsy. I’m not going to give you the WebMD rundown. I can walk. My balance gets a little weird sometimes, and my legs are stiff, but I’m not going to collapse. When I have bad days, I need a cane or crutches. When I have good nights, I don’t. I promise it’s not that complicated. Even if I fall again.”
Don’t get weird, Victor’s following silence seemed to beg.
Oliver nodded, then shoved his hands into his back pockets and followed Victor to the elevators, relaxing when he realized Victor wasn’t trying to save face. His gait was slow, and Oliver might call it wobbly if pressed, but he stood just fine as he pushed the button and then stepped inside the elevator when the doors slid open.
Victor hit the button for the top floor, where the owner’s box was.
