When they got into bed that night, Adam wriggled backward until his hips were nestled in Etienne’s groin.
“Adam—”
“I like to spoon,” Adam said without looking at him. “Just fucking hold me already, would you?”
Etienne bit the inside of his cheek viciously. You will not get hard, he told himself, and slipped an arm around Adam’s waist. Adam was soft and pliant against him, hair tickling Etienne’s nose. He smelled like soap and hospital sanitizer.
“Sponge-bath tomorrow,” Etienne murmured. “Wash the hospital off you. How’s your head?”
“Hurts,” Adam said. “Tenny—”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” Adam said. He found Etienne’s hand and twined their fingers. “I know… I know you’re busy, and you didn’t want to do this, but—”
“I did,” Etienne said fiercely. Just because I shouldn’t be here doesn’t mean there’s anywhere I’d rather be. He kept his mouth shut on the words.
“But you always have excuses when I try to hang out with you,” Adam mumbled, pressing the good side of his face into the pillow. “You never—”
“Adam, stop,” Etienne said. Adam shut up. Etienne sighed, the gust of his breath stirring the curls on Adam’s nape. “I’ll… look, I’ll try to explain. Later. When you’re not so doped up and hurting, okay? But it wasn’t you. It was never you.”
Adam said nothing, but he wriggled just a little closer and relaxed in Etienne’s arms.
7
Etienne was up before the sun the next day. He wasn’t sure what Adam would be able to keep down, so he made soft-scrambled eggs, toast, and added yogurt he found in the fridge to the tray before carrying it into the bedroom.
Adam stirred, groaning. He pushed himself to a sitting position, hand to his head. “Smells good,” he mumbled.
“Think you can eat?” Etienne asked. He settled the tray across Adam’s lap and leaned over to inspect the side of his face, taking Adam’s chin in two fingers and turning his head gently to get a better look. The bruising was becoming a mottled green, yellow seeping in around the edges. “How’s it feeling?”
“Still hurts,” Adam said, letting Etienne move his head back and forth.
Etienne held up a finger, just out of Adam’s line of sight.
Adam tensed. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure your vision’s not compromised.” Etienne moved his hand across Adam’s field of vision. “Tell me when you see it.”
Adam pushed his hand away. “I’m fine.”
Etienne frowned. Something was wrong—Adam’s shoulders were tense and hunched and he was looking anywhere but at Etienne.
He held up his hand again and Adam slapped it away.
“What the fuck,” Etienne demanded.
“Just leave it,” Adam snarled.
“No,” Etienne snapped. “You wanted me here, you made me your official emergency contact, for Christ’s sake—the least you can do is tell me what the fuck is going on with you right now.”
Adam squeezed his eyes shut, tucking his chin to his chest. The gesture took years off his age, making him look young and vulnerable, and Etienne’s heart clenched.
“Cary,” he said gently. “Talk to me.”
There was a beat of silence. Just as Etienne had decided Adam wasn’t going to tell him, he reached for Etienne’s hand, holding it up and opening his eyes. He fixed his gaze on Etienne’s finger and Etienne got the message.
“Tell me when you see it,” he said again, and moved his hand.
Adam said nothing, his mouth set and miserable, until Etienne’s finger was well past where he should have been able to see it.
“There,” he said, and he sounded resigned.
“Adam,” Etienne said.
“I know!” Adam shouted. He flinched at the volume of his own voice and turned his face away.
“Dr. Khatri said you might have blurred vision for a couple of days, but this is more than that, isn’t it?” Etienne asked. “How much can you see, Adam?”
The reply was a long time coming. “It’s—I’ve always had a blind spot in my left eye. But now… I can only see about forty percent from it. Right is fine.”
Forty percent. Etienne drew a breath and Adam hunched his shoulders.
“Leave me alone.”
“Do you want me to leave you alone?” Etienne said, keeping his tone gentle. “Or do you want me to not ask you why your left eye is almost blind and stay with you while you eat breakfast?” And how you managed to hide it from the team doctor?
Adam turned back just enough to look at him. “That one,” he said, almost inaudible.
Etienne settled beside him on the bed, lying flat on his back and lacing his fingers across his stomach. He could hear clinking as Adam picked up the fork and began to eat.
A lot of things suddenly made more sense. The way Adam got pucks stolen more from his left side. How much he complained about his left winger and how Jake never seemed to read his cues. Etienne stiffened, a thought striking him. He’d been on Adam’s left the night of the bar. No wonder Adam hadn’t seemed bothered by Etienne’s looks—he hadn’t been able to see him.
In spite of everything, a tiny worm of disappointment twisted in his gut. He’d thought—he’d hoped—Adam was different. But it had just been a combination of bad vision and alcohol, nothing more.
Adam set the tray on the floor and scooted down the bed, on his side next to Etienne. He said nothing, and after a minute, Etienne rolled sideways so they were facing. The morning sun crept over the bed, making Etienne blink in the light. He was exposed, vulnerable, laid bare for Adam’s searching gaze.
Let him look. Etienne wasn’t the only one who’d hidden, who’d kept a piece of themselves from view. He met Adam’s eyes knowing there was defiance in his, waiting for the disappointment, the rejection.
But it wasn’t there. Adam searched his face, his gaze so intent it felt like a finger brushing across Etienne’s eyes, down his nose, up over his forehead and along his cheeks. And then he smiled.
“I know what would make me feel better,” he said.
Etienne raised an eyebrow.
“If you kissed me,” Adam said.
Startled, Etienne rolled off the bed so fast he nearly fell. When he made it to his feet, Adam was in the same position, looking very innocent. Had he really just said that?
“No,” Etienne said, pointing at him. “We’re not doing that.”
Adam pouted. “I think it would help.”
“Tough,” Etienne said. He stalked around the bed, giving Adam a wide berth, picked up the tray, and headed for the kitchen.
He washed dishes with his head spinning. Adam hadn’t. Adam had. Adam had looked straight at him and seemed to want, against all reason and logic, to kiss him. Him. The ugly duckling who’d never grown into a swan. Why? Even with a blind spot, Adam still knew, now, what Etienne looked like. It didn’t make sense. He went around and around with it, not finding an answer, and when he was done with the dishes, headed back for the bedroom.