Men of London 03 - Suit Yourself (21 page)

Oliver nodded a wordless
thank you
, his eyes brimming with tears of relief at
the realisation that Leslie was all right. He moved around the
waist-high pile and lost his breath when he saw him.

Leslie sat cradling a man in his arms, a man
whose face was waxen-white, eyes closed and so full of blood Oliver
thought he couldn’t possibly be alive. Leslie was hunched over the
still form, stroking the man’s face, murmuring something. His lover
looked like a dark phoenix about to rise from the ashes. His white
dress shirt was ripped and bloody, his hands scraped and bleeding.
Leslie’s dark hair was covered with dust and pieces of plaster. He
looked up and spoke to the man beside Oliver, not even seeming to
recognise he was there.

“Dasher, where are those paramedics?
Frankie’s really cold.”

The big man Oliver had spoken to moved
forward. “They’re on their way over, Leslie. I can see them. Just a
couple of minutes, little ’un.”

“But he doesn’t have minutes,” Leslie’s
agonised whisper tore at Oliver’s heart. “He’s dying, Dash. And we
haven’t even had that first date yet.”

Oliver quelled the fear those words caused.
There were more important things to think about right now. He
needed to be there for Leslie.

“Leslie, sweetheart? It’s Oliver.”

Leslie’s eyes flickered, looking dazed.
“Oliver?”

“Yes, love. I’m here.” He clambered over the
boards and knelt down beside both men. “I heard about the accident
and I rushed over. God, I was so worried about you.”

The blank stare he got back in return scared
him.

“He won’t wake up,” Leslie whispered, looking
down at the man in his arms. “I’ve been talking to him but he won’t
open his eyes.” His voice cut off as he choked up.

Oliver reached over and laid his fingers
against the Frankie’s throat, trying to track down a pulse. He
smiled in relief as his fingers found what he was looking for.

“He’s alive. Faint, but it’s there.” He
looked up as two people, the paramedics, pushed their way through
with a stretcher and crouched down beside them. The man and woman
looked tired and drawn but the woman smiled softly at Leslie as
they got to work.

“Hi, there. We’re going to try and help your
friend, okay? Do you think you could move a bit so I can get in,
see what needs doing?”

Leslie stared at them unseeingly and Oliver
wrapped his arms around him and tried to move him away. “Let’s let
them see to Frankie, shall we? If we move over here, they’ll have
room to work. Come on.”

He helped Leslie up with a little resistance,
and they stood and watched as the paramedics worked on the
unconscious man. Leslie was trembling and cold and Oliver thought
he might be in shock. He enfolded Leslie into his chest with a
feeling that this was exactly where he should be. He was never
letting go of him again, if Leslie took him back. From the sound of
it, he might already be too late to make amends.

“I was so bloody scared, Leslie,” he murmured
into his ear. “I saw someone covered up in a bag and he looked like
you. I died inside.”

Leslie said nothing, but his heart beat
steadily against Oliver’s chest, his cheek against Oliver’s
shoulder, as he watched the paramedics with Frankie. The man Leslie
had called Dasher was looking at him with a challenging look and he
moved over to them.

“You’re the git who broke up with him?” he
said quietly.

Oliver couldn’t deny it. “Yes, I’m that
git.”

Dasher nodded. “Broke his heart, you did. I’m
glad to see that you’re here for him now, but don’t ever fucking do
that again.” His tone was threatening, but conversational. Leslie
shifted in Oliver’s arms.

Oliver nodded. “I won’t.” He kissed the top
of Leslie’s head. “But now’s not the time to talk about it.”

Dasher’s eyes narrowed. “You got that right.
This is a fucking disaster.” He squinted and looked around. “I’m
going to go see if I can help some more. You look after him, you
hear? Or I’ll be coming after you.” He started to move away but was
stopped as the paramedics moved across his path bearing the
stretcher with Frankie on it.

Leslie pulled away from Oliver and walked
toward them. “I want to go with him,” he murmured softly. “I need
to be there with him when he wakes up.”

The paramedic looked a bit uncertain. “Are
you his boyfriend or family perhaps?” she asked as she bit her lip
worriedly.

“I’m his friend. And I’ve been sitting with
him there talking to him and making sure he stays alive until you
got here.” Leslie’s voice was pure steel. “And I
am
going in that ambulance.”

Dasher snorted. “
There’s
my boy.” He turned to the paramedics. “I’d
really suggest you let him go with you unless you want a strop. And
he’s right. He’s the one who kept that young ’un alive, and was
there for him. He deserves to be with him.”

The male paramedic nodded curtly. “Come on,
then. We need to get him in the ambulance.” They walked away and
Leslie moved to follow them. Oliver touched his arm and Leslie
looked at him.

“I’ll see you at the hospital,” Oliver said.
“Is that okay?”

Leslie’s blue eyes regarded him evenly. “I’d
rather you didn’t. Frankie needs me right now and I don’t have time
for anything else. I’ll call you.” He walked after the paramedics
and Oliver watched him go with a sense of helplessness and
dread.

Dasher gave him a sympathetic glance. “Best
leave him be at the moment,” he advised gently. “He’s got enough to
think about without wondering what the ex is doing here when he
wanted nothing more to do with him.”

Those blunt words stabbed Oliver in the heart
and he nodded as he swallowed the lump in his throat. “I know. It’s
just hard seeing him so upset, you know? I just want to be there
for him.” His voice trembled. “And I fucked up so badly and I don’t
know if I can get him back now.”

“That’s a tale for later, my boy.” Dasher
looked around. “Right now, we could use your help cleaning up. You
in?”

Oliver nodded. “Of course. Just tell me what
you want me to do.”

Later that night when he lay in bed, his
muscles stiff and sore, chest aching and wondering how Leslie was
doing, Oliver closed his eyes and sent into the ether of the
universe both heartfelt thanks that Leslie was safe and a desperate
plea that he still had a chance to win Leslie back. This event had
opened his eyes once again to the fact life was fleeting and you
had to make the most of every minute while you could, and stop
feeling sorry for yourself.

I promise I’ll do better
this time. I’ll be the best boyfriend ever. Just love me still,
Leslie. That’s all I’m asking.

Chapter 16

Eddie Tripp nudged Leslie on the shoulder and smiled
at him from beneath untidy red locks of hair that spilled over his
forehead. “Come on, Leslie,” he shouted over the clamour of the
stage and the fans surrounding it. “At least look as if you’re
having fun. You’re at a Killers concert, for God’s sake.” He waved
his hands over his head and sang along to the lyrics blaring out of
the speakers all over the park.

Leslie sighed heavily and looked around the
crowded venue. It was filled with happy people for the most part, a
few drunks, stoners, and in the corner one man was stark naked and
being escorted away by security staff. Even that sight did nothing
to lift Leslie’s darkened spirits.

In the two weeks since the construction
accident, he’d seen Frankie through his surgery to repair multiple
broken bones and lacerations, hugged him close when he had a bad
day. Frankie was now back home in Suffolk with his parents, who
were taking care of him until he was fully recovered. Leslie had
also tried to forget the memory of Oliver’s stark white face at the
accident site. The sight of him standing there shocked and scared
had made Leslie’s heart beat faster despite his own panic at seeing
Frankie injured. In the middle of calamity, being in Oliver’s
strong, warm arms had been heaven.

But he couldn’t forget that Oliver had pushed
him away. That Leslie had had his tender heart well and truly
stomped on and then ground into the dirt. He’d said
I love you
to Oliver and it had counted for nothing.
He didn’t think he could go through that pain again.

In the days following his trip to the
hospital with his friend, Oliver had texted him simply asking if
they could talk. Leslie had texted back, telling him thanks for
being there, but asked him to give him some more time.

Oliver had texted back one simple
sentence.

I’ll wait. Call me when
you’re ready.

Leslie’s eyes had misted up reading that, but
his resolve to take things slowly was at the forefront of his mind.
He wanted Oliver back so badly it was all he thought about, but he
wasn’t sure he was ready to face him yet. He sighed again and
decided his bladder definitely needed respite.

He tapped Eddie on the shoulder. “I’m going
to the loo, Edster. At least,” he looked doubtfully at the Portaloo
about a hundred people away, “I’m going to try get there. Send out
the Mounties if I don’t come back in a while, will you?”

Eddie nodded and danced around to the music.
Leslie rolled his eyes. His friend had a real thing for the band,
and Brandon Flowers in particular. Although, who wouldn’t have a
thing for him, Leslie mused. The man was drop-dead sexy. He battled
his way through screaming women, men and kids; his bladder about to
shed its load and he fervently hoped he got there in time.

When he eventually arrived at the rather
foul-smelling Portaloo, he almost decided not to go through with
it. He looked around furtively. Maybe there was a spot he could
just whip it out and no one would see. One grey-haired granny woman
(really, at a Killers Concert? It just went to show that
appearances could be deceiving—or perhaps it was Brandon Flowers’
granny) gave him the evil eye as if she knew he was about to try to
pee in public and he scowled at her.

“I hope you’re not going to do what I think
you are,” she shouted at him across half a dozen dancing, waving,
screaming people.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he called back and
with a hidden snarl he made his way into the loo. It was as bad as
he thought it would be and as he took out his aching dick and
pissed into the grey, black-smeared urinal, (he didn’t want to even
imagine what that stuff was) he closed his eyes and pretended he
was in the Ritz Hotel, aiming his pecker at a beautiful, porcelain
vault, ready and waiting to catch the stream of his golden pee as
it flowed effortlessly into its waiting mouth. When he opened his
eyes and shook his dick, using some scrunched-up toilet paper to
dry himself off, reality hit him and he shuddered.

“Ughh. This is just
so
not cool,” he muttered as he tucked himself away
and zipped up his Calvin Kleins. “Why do I let Eddie drag me to
these bloody concerts? He knows I hate this public toilet
stuff.”

He knew the answer. His friends were once
again trying to take his mind off Oliver. He wished his mind could
take
itself
off his ex-lover.

As he left the Portaloo and stepped gingerly
down the rickety stairs, drying his hands on his pants, someone
gripped his shoulder. He turned, half defensively because who knew
what tossers hung around public toilets at rock concerts, and his
jaw dropped when he saw the shining blond hair of a person he now
considered his archenemy. Gregori Golovin stood before him, a smirk
on his face and eyes so dilated and black Leslie knew he was on
something.

“I was right the first time,” Leslie muttered
to himself. “It
is
a tosser.”

Gregori stared at him blearily and Leslie
looked at the hand still on his shoulder.

“Do you want to remove that?” he said as
loudly as he could. “It doesn’t belong there.” He looked around.
“And where’s your entourage? I though you always travelled with a
pair of twats.” He felt brave enough to chance being bold seeing
the condition of the man standing before him. Leslie knew some
moves. He’d watched Bruce Lee.

“I thought it was you,” slurred Gregori.
“Pretty boy, with the nice, tight arse. I told Nicky I wouldn’t
mind fucking it.”

Leslie frowned.

When had Oliver seen
Gregori? While they’d been apart? And they’d talked about fucking
his arse?

His stomach lurched uncomfortably at the
thought Oliver might have gone back to Gregori since they’d split
up. The next words put his mind at ease a little but gave him
something else to think about.

“You know, at that fancy fashion party you
were both at, the one with all the naked guys,” drawled Gregori. “I
had a little chat with him. Told him a few home truths, showed him
the picture of you getting off with your muscle man.” He belched
and Leslie stepped back, fearing he might be vomited on from the
state of the other man’s foul breath.

His heart was beating faster with every word
spewing out of Gregori’s mouth.

All this had happened the
night before he broke up with me.

“What did you say to him?” Leslie demanded
fiercely. Hope flared in his chest that perhaps now he might
understand what made Oliver send him away.

Gregor grinned and swayed. “Told him he was
an ugly loser, and that you were off kissing other guys anyway, so
he wasn’t going to keep you.”

A light bulb went on in Leslie’s head. “What
else did you tell him?” His temper sparked at the look of greedy
satisfaction in Gregori’s eyes.

“Just the usual truths. That he’s a worthless
prat that didn’t deserve to have anything good in his life.” He
squinted at Leslie. “You do know he got me kicked out of the best
gig I ever had, yeah? Just for giving some kids what they needed.”
His face twisted into a snarl. “He turned the whole crew against
me. They thought I was shit. I’ll never forgive him for that.
Fucking Nicky Starr, always more popular than me and I could never
figure out why.”