Page 1 of We Were Never Lovers
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Sean’s eyes wouldn’t open.He was awake, he knew he was awake, but his eyelids felt like they were sealed shut with concrete. He tried to take a deep breath and choked on something in his throat. He went to yank it out but his hand wouldn’t work. The weight of something on his forefinger spread through his hand, travelled up his arm like lead in his bloodstream. He struggled to gasp around the thing lodged in his windpipe. He tried to cry out, tried again to open his eyes.
“Easy, Sean. Easy,” a deep, familiar voice said from beside him as fingers slid between his and squeezed. “The nurse is here. Try and breathe through your nose ‘til he gets that out.”
He was so close that his breath fanned over Sean’s forehead, making the hair at his temples tickle. He smelled like he always did—fancy deodorant on clean skin. But no scent of sweat; the sweat that continued to burst on his skin long after he showered. It was replaced by a musk, tired and worn in. Sean remembered the smell of his fresh sweat, right before he ended up here.
A steady beeping layered with another beeping came from beside him. It was the second one that rose as his heart rate picked up. That hand tightened on his.
“Just relax, he’s getting it out,” the voice said gently, but it was laced with panic. “Can you do it any fucking faster?” he said over Sean’s head.
Sean’s heart went wild. He heard a huff of breath from his other side, felt a hand on his face.
“He’s choking,” the voice said angrily.
“Back up,” a brisk voice replied. “Sean,” that voice directed at him, “just relax for me for a second, mate, we’re gonna get this out. We had to intubate.”
Sean didn’t know what that meant. All he wanted to do was breathe. To open his eyes. To know what the fuck was going on—where was he? Why was he here?
And why in the fuck was Jack in the room with him?
His attention was drawn violently back to the plastic tube being wrestled out of his throat. He tried to scream, but it was muffled. He couldn’t breathe. The nurse kept telling him to relax, asked another nurse to get him a measure of something, said he shouldn’t be waking up like this. Jack breathed noisily beside him. Sean knew those breaths—Jack was upset, he was angry, snorting out of his nose and inhaling vocally. It drove Sean crazy—clearly he had something to say, so why not just fucking say it instead of standing there, breathing like a steam train over it?
The tube popped free and Sean sucked in gasps of wet air. He groaned, tried to make his voice work but came out with a garbled moan.
“You reckon you can sit up and drink something for me, Sean?” the efficient voice asked. “Might as well, he’s awake,” the voice said to someone else.
He felt his hand being flipped over, something being plugged in. He tried to pull it away, tried again to open his eyes. His other hand was still clasped in that large palm.
“Sean,” Jack said softly, “drink something, it’ll help you talk.”
His voice was so kind; it was alarming. Sean blinked his eyes open with effort and between the slits he saw him. Jack Reaver. He was close, the corners of his eyes creased with concern, his full lips flat. Between blinks, Sean took in more pieces. Jack’s eyes were bloodshot, the blue dull. He was watching Sean expectantly; Sean wasn’t sure what he was expecting here, unless it was a smack in the face when Sean recovered the use of his hand.
A straw was placed between his lips. He sucked and cool liquid bathed his abused throat. His sluggish eyes never left Jack’s as he blinked up at him. Jack stroked a thumb over the top of his knuckles. Sean’s heart beat faster.
“Alright, buddy,” the man who’d pulled the tube out said, taking the drink back, “not sure how much you remember, but you’ve been our honoured guest here at Royal Perth Hospital ICU for four days now. I’ve paged Doctor Harris, whose probably gonna be pretty happy to see you awake. You scared us—can’t lose the only player who can actually kick a goal now, can we?” The nurse laughed. Sean watched Jack’s face, but Jack didn’t wince, instead the corners of his lips lifted slightly at the pronouncement that Sean was their superior goal kicker.
Sean didn’t understand. He tried to clear his throat.
“Do you remember the accident?” Jack asked carefully.
Sean couldn’t remember an accident, but he was suddenly terrified. He could hear the monitor reflecting that, blaring loudly as he relived a fear in his body that he couldn’t see in his mind.
“What’s going on?” Jack asked, his eyes darting to the nurse.
“He’s re-living the accident,” the nurse said, and then something about more drugs.
Sean refocused on Jack. Those blue eyes searched his, the hand in his gripped him tighter as he murmured, “I’m here. You’re alright, you’re alright.”
And Sean didn’t understand, but euphoria hit him and he was dragged under, his eyes blinking up at Jack looking concerned, frightened, unfamiliar, and Sean found his voice.
“Cunt,” he bit out.
The last thing he saw before he slipped back into oblivion was Jack’s flinch, the widening of his eyes, the hurt beneath the surprise. Sean wondered when he’d stopped schooling his reactions so well. And then he was out.
Sean woke up again with a drawn-out groan. When he tried to roll over, he realised he was hurt. Opening his eyes, he felt a stabbing sensation in his head as he squinted into the gloom around him. His left leg was covered in a gigantic cast from groin to ankle and elevated off the bed with a white sheet and pulleys attached to a frame. The room was dark, save for the colours from the monitors casting greens and blues over the bedding, the nurses’ station a bright yellow box beyond the glass door and glass walls of his room. He was familiar enough with the pounding in his head to be grateful for the darkness—he had a concussion.
“Back with us again, Sean?” a cheerful voice asked. He tried to turn his head in her direction but couldn’t. “I’m just going to,” she stood over him and hit a button. “Now let’s see if we candrink something,” her voice went low. “He’s very worried about you…” She nodded her chin to the other side of Sean’s bed.
