Page 72 of Must Love Christmas

So it was only now, outside the mists of passion and contentment, that Simon recalled a potential problem.

Garen stirred beside him. “You awake?” he murmured.

“Mmm-hm.” Simon opened his eyes wide to see the ceiling. He turned his head to look at Garen, who was sprawled on his stomach, hair falling over the collar of his blue T-shirt and obscuring his face.

Simon couldn’t decide whether now was the best or worst time to broach the subject, so he just went for it. “Shall I start looking for another flat?”

Garen’s head jerked up. “What? Why?”

“You said we can’t live together and be together. The morning after we met, remember?”

“Ohhhh.” Garen flipped over onto his back, then ran his palms up and down over his forehead, as if coaxing blood to flow to his brain. “Well, considering all that’s happened since that morning…” His voice trembled a bit. “I think maybe we’ve moved beyond that?”

Simon’s hard exhale ended in a nervous laugh. “Definitely. This was your rule, anyway, not mine.”

“It made total sense at the time.” Garen moved in to snuggle close against Simon’s side, pressing his face into his shirt and inhaling deeply.

“I don’t disagree.” Simon wanted to turn over to face Garen, to give him a thorough kiss, damn the morning breath. First he mentally reviewed the three simple steps:

1. To roll to the left, fling the right arm over the chest.

2. Pull up the right knee, keeping the right foot on the bed, until that leg forms a triangle, and allow it to fall over the other leg.

3. Shift hips slightly, and boom—rollover complete.

But as Simon went to start Step 1, he realized it wasn’t that easy. His right arm felt like a breeze block had fallen on it. He tried harder to budge it, which only made the imaginary breeze block catch fire.

“Garen…I can’t move.”

“Mmm, me neither.” He nuzzled Simon’s shoulder. “Glad it’s my day off. I need to be at the rink by ten, though, so—”

“I mean, I literally can’t move.”

“What?” Garen reached across him to turn on the faerie lights. “What’s wrong? You’re paralyzed? Is it all starting over?”

“No.” Simon tried to move his left arm and was rewarded with a shooting pain from his shoulder to the tip of his middle finger. “At least, I don’t think so.”

“Oh my God.” Garen went to touch him, then drew back his hands, his eyes flashing up and down Simon’s body. “Oh my God.”

Simon cautiously stretched one leg, then the other, feeling only half the pain he felt in his arms. “What time is it?”

“About seven.” Garen’s voice shook. “Why does it matter?”

“My physio will be here for my appointment in two hours. Catriona will tell me what to do.”

“‘Do’?”

“Like if I need to go back in hospital.”

“Oh my God.” Garen scrambled off the end of the bed and began to pace. “This is because of yesterday, isn’t it? I never should’ve made you do the race. How could I be so stupid?” He pounded his temple with the heel of his hand.

“You didn’t make me, and it wasn’t stupid. My physio cleared me to try it, remember? She said I have to balance the risks of overexertion with the benefits of boosting my spirits.” Simon hissed in a breath as the pain seemed to leap from one shoulder to the other. “She said there’d be setbacks, that it’s all part of the process.” He was trying to convince himself as much as Garen.

“How can you be so calm? You can’t move.”

Simon started to reply that hewasn’tcalm, before realizing he actually was. Maybe he was simply too tired to panic, or maybe he’d already overcome so much that this latest development seemed almost routine. “I’ve been worse, and I got better. And I know I’m safe now. You’re here.”

“Yes, I’m here. That’s the problem, isn’t it? This is all my fault. You shouldn’t have done the Santa Dash, and you certainly shouldn’t have fucked me.”

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