Loving Jay (8 page)

I
T
TOOK
him a couple of hours to remember what he’d done. When I got back to my desk I plugged my earphones into my computer and streamed the PQ Program off the Internet as I posted journals in the accounting system.

It seemed that Harry had interviewed an indigenous ex-football legend on the program that morning. From the comments flowing in, it seemed as if the footballer had alleged racism by the umpires in a recent game where the local team lost by a single point. Football fans from both teams were flooding the lines, defending their players.

I listened in, smiling as I envisioned Jay sorting through the mess.

He messaged me on my phone during the afternoon, while I was traveling home.

How pissed off at me are you?

I laughed and texted back.
Only mildly. You owe me twice over now. How is Harry?

I sat staring at my phone, waiting for the reply. I didn’t have to wait long.
I sent Harry home with a bottle full of Prozac. I owe you twice as in two meals? Or owe you as in you will call me if you are ever arrested for public indecency along with a gay man wearing no pants?

He remembered my comment from that second day? I was completely charmed. I hurriedly answered him.
I have brothers for bail, so it looks like it has to be the meals. Unless you are planning on running again?

He replied back with a single word.
Arsehole.

Two could play that game.
Dick.
I pressed the “send” button and left the train. I was on a later train that day, so I had to share my journey with obnoxious teenagers. I moved around the dawdlers and had to dodge traffic as mums came to pick up their children from the train station. I felt the buzz of a message, but waited until I was in my apartment to check.

I was glad I did. I glanced at the screen and all the blood in my body rushed for my cock, leaving me feeling light-headed and wobbly legged.

Yes, please. Are you offering yours?

Immediately came the vision of Jay on his knees in front of me while I offered my dick up for his inspection. His thorough inspection. My phone buzzed again in my hand. Jay again.

OMG! Delete that last message! I have trouble remembering to behave around straight friends. Are we still friends? Or are you going to deny me my mocha as punishment?

I shook my head at his hysterics.
Drama Queen. I can handle the teasing. See you in the morning?

I was jerking off in the bedroom when he replied.
See you in the morning.

R
AIN
POURED
down and rivers had formed on the roads by the time Jay arrived at the train station the next morning, resplendent in tight black pants and a hot pink shirt under his black suit jacket. Winter in Perth is dark, cold, and depressing, but Jay provided a rainbow of relief in my day.

“Whoa! Check out the pink! I think I need my sunnies,” I teased as he approached. He stuck his tongue out at me and opened his suit jacket to reveal a black satin waistcoat and plain black tie.

“Whaddaya think?”

I grinned at him and passed him his mocha. “I think you look like a blond John Travolta off
Grease
. Didn’t he wear pink at one stage? I can remember laughing over his pink socks. Please tell me you don’t have pink socks on!”

Jay gave me a coy look and pulled up his cuffs. I closed my eyes in resignation. How utterly Jay-like—black socks with hot pink hearts. He laughed and grabbed his drink.

The train pulled in and we boarded. “So why so spiffy today, Jay?”

He groaned. “Big meeting over yesterday’s debacle. The big bosses will be there.”

“So what went so wrong with yesterday’s interview? I thought all that attention was good for the radio station?”

“Two things—firstly it is the wrong type of attention. We had people turning up at the station, throwing racial insults at the staff. Stupid, huh? Like it was their fault one guy expressed his view during an interview. The second problem is the rest of the interviews we have lined up for the week. Now we are in the middle of a hot item, so all the interviews I worked so hard to line up for the next three days need to be canceled and rescheduled while we line up the hot item. It is a major nightmare. Some advertisers had booked ads at certain times to coincide with certain interviews. The sponsors aren’t happy; the interviewees aren’t happy; the bosses aren’t happy. A total shit storm. And they will be throwing out orders left, right, and center.”

As it turned out, Jay wasn’t the only one in a shit storm. My day took a huge downturn at midday when someone discovered an error on a report. Someone had missed a decimal point, making forecasts and budgets wrong all over the place. Chan and I had forty site managers breathing down our necks to check their reports and redo them.

My supervisor was having troubles of his own and just looked at me and said, “Overtime. Paid. Don’t argue.” He then found a spare person who was not busy and sent him out for coffee, Danish, and pizza—all on his business credit card. I rubbed my aching leg and got back to work.

At 6:00 p.m. I told Chan I was seeing double and packed up. I limped to the train, fought my way through the crowd, and managed to snag a seat after three station stops. My leg was killing me and I was looking forward to a couple of hot packs and some extra-strength ibuprofen. The journey seemed to take forever, and each shudder of the carriage sent pain up my spine. I gritted my teeth and began to sing songs in my head, a distraction technique I’d learned in physio.

Finally Cockburn Station appeared and I limped off, pushing through the pain with each step. At the top of the escalator I paused against the wall, and allowed the peak-hour commuters to pass me by. The sun had already set and they were all anxious to get home to their dinner and warmth. I psyched myself up to walk the rest of the way. It was about thirty meters to the train station entrance, and I made it painfully.

At the entrance I paused for breath, distracted by a commotion happening nearby. Three men surrounded another, bailing him up against the station’s brick wall, and shouting at him. People stood nearby waiting for connecting buses, watching the scene but not interfering, some with their phones out taking pictures, some with their phones to their ears. I hoped they were calling the police.

No one seemed willing to come to the aid of the outnumbered man, and it was three to one. The bullies were men—barely. Late teens, I judged. Local unemployed thugs who seemed to spend their time vandalizing buildings and cars from what the newspaper said. They pushed their victim between them, laughing loudly and having great fun. I suddenly saw a flash of hot pink and my head swung around, zeroing in on the blond head I could see between the shoulders of the bullies.

Jay.

He must’ve been on the train with me and I didn’t see him in the crowd. He must’ve had to work late, like me. He must’ve run into trouble out here with the three stooges.

I registered these thoughts in a millisecond, and my heart froze as I watched Thug Number One swing him around and slam him face-first, hard, up against the brick wall. Jay’s head snapped back as he crumpled to the ground with a cry of pain. I heard the yelp of pain and didn’t even realize I was moving until Thug Number One was within arm’s reach. Thug Number Two had moved in and landed a kick in Jay’s side and I saw red. But I was already running on my bung leg, yelling at the top of my voice. Number One turned at my yell as I barreled into him, dropping my shoulder into his side, pushing him into Thug Number Two and sending them both sprawling on the concrete.

“You leave him the fuck alone!” I realized it was my voice shouting and the violence in it scared me.

Thug Number Three turned and eyed me up and down. “Who the fuck do you think you are, motherfucker?” he growled at me.

All I heard was Jay whimpering in pain. Number Three took a swing at me, which I dodged, so he brought his foot around to kick out at me. The useless idiot was wearing white sneakers so I saw the foot coming at me from a mile away. Four brothers and roughhousing with them for twenty-four years stood me in good stead, and I jumped to the side to avoid the upward thrust of his shoe, followed through with my arm, chopped upward, pushed his leg up beyond its normal flexibility, and sent him completely off balance.

He smashed into the ground with a large thud. I heard the crack of his skull with great pleasure.

I turned to defend myself from Number One and Number Two, only to find that not all humankind had lost their humanity. A middle-age woman was thumping Number One over the head with her handbag, while a white-haired old-timer in a business suit had Number Two’s arm twisted up behind his back and was kneeing him to the ground.

I registered the flashing lights approaching with relief, but my focus turned to Jay. Beautiful, lively Jay who was still curled in a ball on the ground. I dropped to my knees beside him, ignoring the blast of pain from my leg, and slowly turned him toward me, terrified of what I would see.

It was better and worse than I expected. Half his face was covered in blood, but I quickly noted that it was just a gash under his eye—the blood dripping down to his chin. I could see grazes on his cheek where he had hit the wall, and his eye was swelling, turning purple already. But his eyes were thankfully open, and he blinked rapidly as he struggled to focus on me.

“Jay? Jay? Shit, dude! Are you okay?”

He turned toward me, confused and scared. “Liam?”

“Yeah, man. It’s me. It’s okay, dude. I’ve got you. They won’t hurt you again. I won’t let them get you again.” He buried his bloody face in my shirt and I hugged him tight, rocking him slightly back and forth. “They won’t get you. I’ll take care of you. It’ll be okay.” I felt him burst into tears against my chest and I stroked his back in comfort. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

I was aware of people shouting and yelling behind me, but I just crouched over Jay, protecting him from any further harm. Someone touched my shoulder and said, “Is he okay?”

I continued my rocking as Jay sobbed. “I don’t know,” I answered the stranger. “I think so. Shh, Jay! It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

“Okay,” the stranger answered. “The ambulance is on its way.”

Ambulance? With shock I comprehended what had just happened. Jay had been attacked by three men and I had fought them. Was I in trouble? Was I going to be arrested?
Shit!
Maybe I would need to call Dale for that favor before the night was through. I looked around and there were a heck of a lot of cars with flashing lights on them and men in uniform. And, of course, the gawkers. I could see two cops cars and a rail transit guard car, all stopped at odd angles with their doors open, as if the men inside had rushed out, too hurried to even close the doors. The stranger who talked to me turned out to be a rail guard, and he just stood next to me, waiting in silence. There were cops talking to commuters, their notebooks and pens out, taking notes.

“Liam?” Jay’s feeble voice reached me and I looked down at him. His good eye looked unfocused and that worried me. His left eye was swollen so only a small slit remained. The bit I could see was blood filled.

“Yeah, dude?”

“Liam, my head hurts.” He sounded confused and dazed.

“I know, man. Can you hang on just a bit longer? Help is coming.” Reaction had set in and he was beginning to shiver. I rubbed his arm up and down.

“Don’t leave me, Liam.”

The ambulance people finally arrived and made their way toward us. One was a woman and she gently touched me. “Hi. I’m Mandy. I’m a paramedic. Can I have a look at your friend?”

“He’s hurt.” That sounded dumb, even to me. But the flashing lights were beginning to give me a headache. I wasn’t thinking properly.

Mandy smiled. “I know, love. So just let him go and I can have a look at him. We can take him to the hospital and make him all better, hmm?”

I loosened my arms around him and she gently took him from me, laying him on the ground and asking him questions. He looked terrible covered in blood.

The paramedics asked me to step back and give them some room and I was ashamed to admit to them I couldn’t move. “I’ve done something to my leg. It’s all cramped up and killing me. Can you give me a hand to stand?”

The transit guard helped me to my feet—make that foot. I couldn’t straighten my bad leg so he sat me back down on the curb where I could watch Jay. They checked him out, shining lights in his eyes, placing white squares of gauze on his face to stop the bleeding, checking his blood pressure and all. Then they brought the gurney over and loaded him on. Mandy turned to me while her workmate tucked him in a white blanket and tightened the straps around him. She squatted in front of me.

“Are you Liam?”

I nodded. “Is he going to be alright?”

She smiled gently. “He’ll need some stitches under his eye and he has some bruising to his abdomen. Our biggest worry at the moment is concussion. They’ll run tests on him at the hospital and he’ll probably have to stay overnight, but I’m sure he’ll be fine. He was asking for you, you know.”

“Can I go with him?”

“Well, I was coming over here to check you out. Are you hurt?”

“Old injury. I have two plates and nine screws in my thigh. I’ve just reinjured the muscle around it, I think.”

Mandy nodded. “Okay, then. How about we help you up and you can take a ride with us and you can get it checked out?”

So they helped me into the van and I rode with Jay. We rushed toward the city and regretfully reversed the journey we had just endured on the crowded train. Jay seemed really out of it, rambling on about nothing, before he recognized me and profusely apologized for leaving me with the bill at lunch. He seemed to think it had just happened.

At the hospital we were separated, much to my dismay. Jay was whisked straight inside for tests, and I had to wait in the ER for my turn with my less-urgent injury. I sat next to a woman with a three-day migraine and a man who’d managed to poke a knife through his hand while separating frozen hamburgers. I massaged my thigh and applauded at how joyful my life was turning out to be. Here I was, about six blocks away from my office—back in the city, when all I really wanted was my bed and a good beer.