Ollie caught the slip. It ricocheted in every fibre of himself.I love you too.He rested his cheek on Shay’s head. “Larry told me your last boyfriend was a bit of a dick.”
Shay snorted. “He was. It was my fault, though.”
“How so?”
“I let him get away with being a manipulative wanker, so he kept doing it.”
“That doesn’t make it your fault.”
Shay made a noncommittal noise. “It doesn’t make me blameless either.”
Ollie wanted to punch whoever had made Shay believe that he was worth anything less than the whole damn world. Then he recalled every moment he’d left Shay hanging, run from him, leaving nothing but bewilderment and hurt feelings in his wake, and realised he was no better than anyone who’d come before. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Shay shifted so he could stare at Ollie. “What for?”
“For being so weird about stuff. I wish I’d told you from the start about… everything.”
“Why? So we could bang on the bus and do this with an audience?” Shay gestured around the living room. “I can’t even begin to understand what you’ve been through, so cut yourself some slack, okay? We’re here now.”
We’re here now. Shay etched another indelible mark on Ollie’s heart, but it wasn’t enough. Ollie shook his head. “You don’t need to understand. I just… I need to get over it, and I know that.”
Shay slid off the couch so fast he blurred. He dropped to his knees and forced himself between Ollie’s legs. “Get over it? Why? Something horrific happened to you.”
“Did it?”
“I don’t—what?” Shay shook his head too, as if to clear it. “What are you trying to say?”
Ollie took a deep breath and tried to verbalise the jumble in his head. “I didn’t feel it… when it happened. I watched my arm burn, but I didn’t feel it. It didn’t hurt, and it was weeks before the pain kicked in. For the longest time, I thought it was a bad dream.”
“But it wasn’t a dream. Adrenaline from the crash and other injuries could’ve stopped you feeling it at the time, and then you’d have been dosed up on painkillers in hospital—fuck, I don’t know, but don’t tell me it didn’t hurt, Ollie, because I don’t believe you.”
“It did hurt,” Ollie said. “Only not when I expected it to, and I felt bad about that. It haunted me, so it started happening in my sleep instead.”
“Actual bad dreams?”
“Sometimes… or it would be a replay. It’s not a dream if it’s real, right?”
“No, it’s a flashback, and probably classed as PTSD.”
A sneer threatened. Ollie beat it back and shook his head. “They tested me for that. I didn’t have it.”
“When?”
“What?”
“When did they test you for PTSD?”
“In hospital, after I left the burn unit.”
“Not since?”
“No.” Ollie couldn’t quite work out how they’d got to this point. How they’d gone from eating his grandmother’s goulash to Shay clearly thinking he was out of his damn mind. And he didn’t know how to get back to the place where Shay smiled at him instead of the concerned frown he wore now. “Look,” he said quietly. “I know I’m fucked up, but you should’ve seen me a year ago. There’s no way I’d have been able to ride your tour bus all over the country.”
“What changed?”
Ollie shrugged. “Nothing. Everything. I got bored with wallowing in my own misery, and so I started forcing myself to do things that scared me.”
Shay squeezed Ollie’s knees. “Like being a passenger on the road?”
