Page 63 of How to Belong with a Billionaire

“But you always said you were fine—oh shit, I’m the worst friend ever.”

One of the shrugs that had become familiar to me from Skype. “It’s not your fault. I liked being able to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. That I was still…you know. The same.”

“Nik, youarethe same. And I can see what good progress you’re making. I mean, last time I was here, you were in a bed covered in tubes. Now you’re whizzing around and—not to objectify you or anything—your arms are seriously jacked.”

His mouth pulled downwards. “Don’t pity-objectify me.”

“Oh my God. I’m not. I wouldn’t.” He didn’t answer, so I pressed on. “You know I’ve had a queer boy crush on you forever. I mean, okay, I put thoughts of my penis aside when I was legit worried you were going to die. But now you’re not, I promise I’m still creepily into you.”

“The first thing you saw when you looked at me was the chair.”

“Only because I wasn’t used to it. Now I’m perving over your muscles just like old times.”

“Nobody’s ever going to look at me the way they used to.” His hair had got quite long in the intervening months, giving him a touch of the David Hasselhoffs, and now he pushed it impatiently out of his eyes. “And I know that’s a fucking shallow thing to be obsessing over when I’m surrounded by people who’ve suffered strokes or brain injury or lost their actual limbs.”

I shrugged. “I think you can probably obsess about whatever the hell you want.”

“They’ve got these phrases they use here: maximum possible recovery, best quality of life attainable, optimum results for you, highest level of function. It’s meant to be encouraging but it’s also about managing your expectations. Making sure you know that it’s different for you now. That this is how it is and how it’s going to be. And you can’t take anything for granted ever again.”

“You can take some things for granted, though.”

“I’d say walking is pretty baseline for most of us.”

“Bit of a sweeping statement considering the amount of times you’ve watched me fall over literally nothing.”

He laughed—harsher than I was used to, but it was so good to hear.

“And anyway,” I continued, “walking only feels baseline because the world is set up in a way that ignores people who don’t use their legs to get around.”

Nik snorted. “Did you read that on Tumblr?”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true. And the point is, just because you’re moving differently now, doesn’t mean you’ve stopped being you.”

“It’s not that simple. Rationally, I know I’m not my legs or my spine or the titanium inside my body. But sometimes I get so fucking claustrophobic, like I’m in prison, except what I’m stuck inside is me.” He finished the last swallow of his coffee and crumpled up the environmentally friendly cup. “I don’t know how to feel that way and still understand who I am.”

“Oh, Nik.” It wasn’t much of an answer but he couldn’t have been expecting one.

“Don’t worry. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this kind of shit.”

I pouted at him. “I’m your best friend. I’m exactly who you should be telling. Well, me and maybe professionals who can concretely help.”

“I’ve got plenty of those.” He made a dismissive gesture. “It’s more that I know I’m supposed to be bearing this with grace and resilience, and clearly I’m not.”

“The fact you struggle sometimes doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong.”

He turned to look at me, his eyes and mouth framed by lines that hadn’t been there before. “I guess you always think…you’ll be braver, somehow.”

“Youarebrave,” I protested. “You are so brave.”

He didn’t answer for a long time. And then all he said was, “I could probably take another hug.”

I threw my arms around him and tucked myself tightly against his side, and this time he did nothing to push me away, so I stayed. So we both did, evening deepening into night beyond the horizons of the windows. Quietly we sat together, as we had at Oxford, except it was Boston we watched, gleaming on the silky waters of the harbour in shades of amber and scarlet and jade.

Chapter 20

The next day I was woken up by Ellery punching me urgently in the shoulder. “Come on. You’re missing stuff.”

“I’m missing sleep.”

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