Fatherhood, Football, and Other Contact Sports
Title: Fatherhood, Football, and Other Contact Sports - 3/16
Author: dylan_dufresne
Pairing: BB/DM
Rating: PG-14, for language.
Summary: Billy experiences confrontations, both at work and at home. Because his day has been wonderful so far. . .
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated as it’s my drug of choice. Many thanks to frojane, for the beta and educating me on all things Scottish. Credit for the banner goes to the very talented loki_girl. Thank you so much.
Disclaimer: Not at all true in reality. This is my imagination at work.
A/N: Here’s the next installment. Over 7,800 words this time. Enjoy! And hey, I even posted it in the right place this morning!
Previous Parts: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2
Chapter 3 - Confrontations & Complications
Billy works without a break the rest of the afternoon, the unscheduled patients outnumbering the ones with appointments nearly two to one. The nearly constant stream of minor injuries seem never-ending, and Billy is looking forward to when this day is finally over. All Billy wants to do is get through the day, go home, hug his son and fall into bed, congratulating himself on successfully navigating the mine field of a stressful first day as he falls into a deep, hopefully restful, sleep.
“Whoever invented Bank Holiday weekends should be shot,” Billy mutters under his breath while preparing an immobilizing cast for a teenager who’s pulled a ligament in his knee during a strenuous tennis match the previous day.
“Yeah, they’re definitely the worst,” Orlando agrees as he studies a set of x-rays. “Hey Billy, tell me what you think of this?”
Looking up, Billy focuses his attention on the backlit board. “A stress fracture,” he diagnoses easily. “But why did you bother with an x-ray? The treatment’s the same as a bad sprain.”
“Because it’s her third this year,” Orlando replies, brow furrowed in thought. “I’m thinking something else must be contributing to them.”
Stopping his work, Billy strips off his latex gloves, tossing them into a bin as he moves across the room to stand beside Orlando, taking a closer look at the x-ray. “Is she a runner?”
Orlando nods. “Long distance.”
“Pre-menopausal amenorrheic?” Billy inquires.
“She’s thirty-two and hasn’t had a normal menstrual cycle in more than three years,” Orlando confirms, examining the x-ray intently. “I’m thinking about scheduling a CT.”
Hating to argue with a colleague on his first day, Billy gives the idea serious consideration. The computerized axial tomography scanner detects bone density, and Billy is well aware of the recent findings that indicate that women who are hard-training, long-distance runners may be inadvertently causing irreversible damage to their bones. As a runner himself, Billy has studied all available data thus far, wanting to be as knowledgeable as possible, and be aware of the specific risks for women.
“Why don’t you check her calcium absorption first?” Billy suggests carefully.
“If the woman is suffering from osteoporosis, due to athletic amenorrhea, Dr. Bloom’s suggested course of action is sound enough.” Dr. McKellan’s voice enters the conversation as he walks up behind the younger doctors.
Reminding himself that it will definitely not help matters any to get into a heated argument with his superior, Billy takes several moments to give his reply some careful thought first.
“From what I’ve read on the subject so far, the reports are interesting, but little more than a scare. There’s no real factual data,” Billy elaborates, recalling all the research he’d done on the subject. “They’ve lumped a few women runners with fertility problems together with women who have amenorrhea from totally different causes. It’s as if we took a test group of individuals who all have broken legs and assume they’d gotten them the same way.”
Ian McKellan’s expression is inscrutable. “Are you saying Dr. Bloom should simply ignore the problem?”
Feeling Orlando’s encouraging, dark brown eyes on him, Billy realizes that Orlando never intended this to end up as an inquisition. Drawing in a deep breath, Billy says a silent prayer that he doesn’t offend the younger doctor.
“Of course not. But I still suggest Dr. Bloom first check his patient’s calcium intake. Then instead of the CT, if he still feels a need to measure bone density, I’d recommend gaining access to a photon absorptiometer instead,” Billy explains. “Not only does it provide a more precise and accurate measurement, it’s less expensive. Plus there’s the matter of a much lower radiation exposure.”
“The amount of radiation exposure required by a CT scanner isn’t all that significant, Dr. Boyd,” Dr. McKellan points out.
Managing a slight smile, Billy musters up the courage to stick to his point. “That’s true, of course, but it’s still more than it needs to be. Less would be an advantage because Dr. Bloom could then test more frequently to keep a close eye. With the photon absorptiometer, the patient would only be subjected to what she’d normally get from the normal background in two weeks, but from the CT, she’d receive the equivalent of a year and half’s natural radiation.”
Deciding to jump in all the way, Billy’s next words come out in a rush. “I know Dr. Bean applied for funds to purchase the machine. I’d like to second the motion.”
Dr. McKellan’s cool blue eyes flicker over Billy’s face. “Are you always so opinionated, Dr. Boyd?”
Back stiffening, Billy’s cheeks grow warm at the icy insinuation.
“I’m afraid so,” he answers honestly. “But only when I have strong feelings about something, as well as the knowledge to back those feelings up.”
“Yet you’re willing to ignore the fact women runners are possibly in grave danger of risking permanent bone loss.”
“I’m ignoring nothing,” Billy argues, his temper starting to flare at Dr. McKellan’s demeaning tone. “I simply believe the findings are preliminary and have been blown out of proportion by male sports journalists who want to force women off the athletic field and back to the kitchen.”
Dr. McKellan shoots Billy a sharp glance. “I really don’t believe this is the place for liberation speeches, Doctor, and even if it were, you’re a damn poor choice to talk about equality.”
Now incensed, Billy rises up to his full height, facing off with the older and taller man, forgetting his vow to discuss this issue calmly. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”
“I was referring to that outrageous display with you and that football player earlier.” There is a heaping amount of scorn on the term, Dr. McKellan’s biased opinion blatantly obvious. “One day on the job and you’re already arranging intimate evenings at home with one of your patients.”
Dr. McKellan’s eyes are steely marbles. “Is that why you turned to sports medicine in the first place, Dr. Boyd?” His tone, when stressing Billy’s specialty, is as acidly condescending as it had been earlier when stating Dom’s.
“That question does not justify an answer,” Billy says tightly.
“It was a rhetorical one, Doctor. After all, it’s obvious you’ll meet more eligible men in this field than you would in traditionally female specialties of gynecology, pediatrics or obstetrics.” With the last verbal slap in the face, Dr. McKellan turns on his heel and leaves the room.
“I can’t fecking believe that man,” Billy splutters furiously, nearly vibrating from the emotions swirling around him. “How dare he suggest-”
“Neither can I,” Orlando seconds in stunned amazement when Billy trails off. “The man’s never been Mr. Personality, but other than asking me why I hadn’t gone into acupuncture the first week I was here, he’s pretty much left me alone.”
“He was probably afraid you’d poison a pot of coffee and he’d never be able to tell until it was too bloody late,” Billy fires back, small hands on his hips as he shakes his head in disbelief.
Arms wrapping around his lean body, Orlando throws back his head and laughs appreciatively. “You’ve got a point there.”
Then Orlando’s look changes to one of obvious interest. “Uh, I was going to try to figure out how lead into the next subject gracefully, but since our fearless leader has already brought the subject up, what’s going on between you and Dominic Monaghan? This morning you were moaning about meeting the bloke.”
“I was moaning about treating him,” Billy corrects briskly. “I met him yesterday, under less than optimum circumstances.”
“And uh, not to point out the obvious here, but you have a kid,” Orlando says, brow furrowing in confusion behind his thin framed glasses. “I thought you were straight.”
“At one time I was, and that’s all I’d like to say about it,” Billy replies in a softer voice, the request to change topics shining clearly in his eyes.
“So, you and Monaghan. Anything juicy for the clinic’s gossip line?” Orlando says, dropping the evidently uncomfortable subject of Billy’s sexual orientation and focusing back on the scene that had caught Dr. McKellan’s attention.
“Not unless you’re into stories from ’Ripley’s Believe it or Not,’” Billy replies with a sigh. “My piano escaped the moving van yesterday afternoon and put a dent in Dom’s brand new Porsche.”
“How the bloody hell did that happen?” Orlando asks, his eyes wide with confusion and surprise.
Billy grimaces. “Believe me, Orli, you had to be there. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it.”
Rolling his eyes, Orlando shudders. “Actually, I’m glad I wasn’t. He must’ve been royally pissed.”
“Hey! What about my piano?” Billy counters.
Instead of answering, Billy’s colleague crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against a desk, eyeing Billy with renewed interest, and unless Billy is completely mistaken, some male appreciation. “Did you argue like this with Monaghan?”
“Of course I did,” Billy retorts. “Just because he’s a famous football player and we happen to be neighbors, that doesn’t mean-”
“Wait. You’re neighbors?” Orlando interrupts, eyes widening again as the wheels churn in his head, putting more pieces of the puzzle together.
“Yes,” Billy confirms with a heavy sigh and a shake of his head. “We are.”
“How close?”
“Next door, but I don’t see how what that has to do with anything,” Billy complains, smoothing down his tie as his anger starts to cool.
“Ah hah, so the plot thickens,” Orlando says with a grin as Billy curses softly in Gaelic under his breath and then returns to his work at the basin.
Unfortunately, the plaster mix has hardened during the consultation and argument delay, and now a frustrated Billy is forced to start all over again.
“Don’t start spreading tales,” Billy warns coolly as he pulls on fresh gloves. “There’s absolutely nothing between us and I intend to keep it that way.”
“Are you so sure about that?”
Orlando has just asked the same question Dom had when he’d issued the challenge, Billy realizes. He wonders if men got together in locker rooms periodically to rehearse the pat little lines and Billy’s just missed it somehow.
“Positive. Why do you ask?” Billy tacks on suspiciously when Orlando doesn’t answer.
Taking the x-ray down and slipping it into a wide white folder, Orlando tucks it under his arm. “Because,” he says as he turns to leave the room, “it doesn’t exactly take a rocket scientist to see that Dominic Monaghan has an entirely different idea about that.”
He only laughs in amusement as Billy scowls and threatens to throw the entire mess of soggy plaster at him.
* ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ *
Billy is exhausted when he finally pulls into his driveway much later that day. The sun is low on the horizon, but every last bone in Billy’s aching body is insisting that it’s much later, long past his bedtime. A quick glance confirms that Dom’s car must be in for repair, as an older model Porsche, still a great deal more flamboyant than Billy’s economical Mini, is now parked in the driveway next door.
“What do you have against the normal, average automobiles that the rest of us poor blokes drive?” Billy demands when Dom opens his front door to greet him before he can slide his key into the lock.
Bracing an elbow on the door frame, Dom tilts his head to one side and looks at Billy with a puzzled expression on his face.
“That’s a new one. Whatever happened to ‘Hello dear, did you have a nice day at the office?’ ”
“I was referring to your choice in transportation,” Billy explains. “I’ve never known anyone who gets a sports car for a loaner.”
Comprehension dawns and Dom grins boyishly. “Oh that. Well, they agreed to make an exception in my case. You see, my sexy arse is far too precious for vinyl.”
Billy can only shake his head. “Must be nice to get everything you want out of life.”
“It’s better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick,” Dom agrees cheerfully, choosing not to mention just how far off base Billy truly is with that statement.
Wondering why he even tries to relate to this obviously spoiled football star, Billy ducks under Dom’s long arm and enters his empty foyer.
“So how’s Cameron?” Billy asks with trepidation, looking around at the numerous piles of boxes yet to be unpacked in his living room, and the furniture that is waiting patiently to be arranged.
Honestly, Billy’s not sure if he’s up to handling tantrums and complaints this evening. The day has been hard enough without Cameron laying into him about hating it here in Glasgow, and wanting to move back to London. Tonight, Billy just doesn’t have the strength.
“Terrific,” Dom reports with a smile, following Billy through the house, quietly enjoying the view. “He impressed his teacher considerably with his knowledge and adorable charm, I was given to understand. Then he played rounders, hitting a double at lunch and driving in the winning run, although he regrettably got left on base when a clearly less adept batter struck out. Finally, his football has been signed by the entire Rangers team. As we speak, I’ve got him setting the table out by the pool so we can have a picnic under the stars.”
“Well, that’s a whole lot better than I dared to hope for,” Bill says under his breath, letting a small sigh of relief slip past his lips.
Dom grins as they enter the kitchen, his gaze sweeping appreciatively over Billy’s body as Billy tugs at his tie with one hand and opens the top button of his shirt. “Your son, Dr. Boyd, had a very good day. You, on the other hand, look about as beat up as I feel.”
Reaching over to the counter by the sink to pick something up, Dom turns and presses a tumbler of whiskey into Billy’s hand.
“Thank you,” Billy murmurs, forgetting for the moment that he’s annoyed with Dom for the embarrassing scene at the clinic this afternoon. Taking a sip of the whiskey and letting it flow over his tongue, Billy finds it to be the the perfect prescription. “Although I might point out, you don’t do a heck of a lot for a man’s ego, Monaghan. Whatever happened to pretty compliments?”
Taking Billy’s briefcase out of a nearly limp hand, Dom tosses it over onto a pile of boxes grouped together in the corner. “I didn’t think they’d work with you,” he says simply, shrugging his shoulders noncommittally.
A slight grin hovers at the corners of Dom’s mouth, and Billy suddenly notices a tiny scar just under his jaw line. A wayward stud from a football boot during a match perhaps, Billy decides, wondering what drives these professional athletes. It has to be more than fame or money. They suffer from their obsession far more than their fans will ever realize, or begin to comprehend.
“Would they?” Dom’s soft, velvet voice breaks into Billy’s thoughts.
“Would what? Billy answers blankly, dragging his appreciative gaze from Dom’s sensual and pouty lower lip.
“Would pretty compliments work?”
Taking another sip of his whiskey and letting it burn slowly down his throat to his stomach, Billy silently eyes Dom over the rim of his glass. Dom had located his dishes, he realizes irrelevantly. That in itself is a major achievement, considering Billy’s rather haphazard packing method while closing up his flat in London in preparation for the move to Scotland.
“I don’t know,” Billy answers finally, unable to lie. “Right now I’m so tired and discouraged that any kind word would probably seem like a gift from the heavens.”
He’s completely knackered, Dom determines, reading the vulnerability in Billy’s exhausted green eyes. Resisting the voice of of conscience trying to make itself heard in the back of his mind, Dom closes the slight gap between them, coming to stand so close that their bodies are mere inches apart. Billy draws in a sharp breath when Dom reaches out and tenderly cups his cheek.
“I could try telling you that your hair is so soft, that it reminds me of liquid silk,” Dom says in a low, husky voice. “Would that appeal to your ego, Billy?”
Part of Billy wants to close his eyes to the tantalizing, gentle touch, but that would mean giving up the view of Dom’s intense blue-grey eyes, warming his face with their darkening heat.
“It might,” Billy murmurs in response, tilting his head back slightly when Dom’s long fingers card through the ginger hair at the nape of his neck. “But not if you say it to every woman you meet.”
“I don’t,” Dom replies quietly, not wanting to break the spell that Billy is slipping under. “Usually the woman I meet have fat hair.”
And they know how to play this game, he adds silently, watching Billy’s eyes soften dangerously. Even with the fatigue lacing them, they’re still the most alluring, intoxicating eyes Dom’s ever seen. Dom feels as if he’s being pulled in and is now drowning in the deep, green pools.
Billy knows that encouraging such inviting words from a man who probably considers seduction a national pastime, is rash behavior at best. More like incredibly irresponsible, if he’s to be completely honest. However, Billy’s too tired to fight, powerless to move as he feels the slow, steady pull of the intimacy surrounding them, dragging them in deeper.
“Fat hair?”
Seeing the movement in Billy’s throat as he swallows, Dom muses that it’s like taking candy from a baby. Surprisingly, Billy’s let his guard down tonight, and it would be so, so easy to take advantage of the situation. After just a few seconds, Billy’s practically melting in Dom’s very capable hands.
Running his long, elegant fingers through Billy’s hair and mussing it a wee bit, Dom explains in a low, soothing voice. “Fat hair. You know - three feet high, two feet wide and hard as concrete. That stuff can put a bloke’s eye out if he’s not careful.”
“Oh. Fat hair,” Billy whispers, his eyelids starting to flutter closed as Dom’s fingers begin massaging the tense muscles in his neck.
The nearly total surrender in Billy’s eyes oddly fails to give Dom the expected pleasure, and he feels a flash of irritation at his uncharacteristic hesitation. This isn’t going as planned. Sure, Dom is creating havoc on Billy’s senses, but damn it, Billy’s not supposed to be doing the same damn thing to him. Billy Boyd is a challenge - a sexy, desirable man Dom intends to have, simply because he wants him. And Dom is used to getting what he wants, especially when it comes to lovers.
Frowning, Dom is suddenly annoyed by the way Billy’s liquid dark eyes are unnerving him, creating doubts that spread in Dom’s mind like thick clouds of smoke from a fire. He’s surprised and off balance, and is secretly relieved as a crash from outside shatters the mood.
Coming back to himself, Billy shakes his head.
“Oh my God! I completely forgot about Cameron!”
“He’s fine,” Dom says lightly, attempting to calm Billy. “Don’t worry about him.”
Breaking free of the intimate mood, Billy is grateful for the flare of anger invoked by Dom’s offhanded tone.
“Make up your mind, Monaghan,” Billy snaps, pulling out of Dom’s loose embrace. “This afternoon you questioned my parenting abilities, and now you’re telling me not to care when it sounds as if the house is falling down around my son’s ears!”
Muttering a soft curse of frustration under his breath, Dom follows Billy outside to the brick terrace overlooking the enclosed, rectangular, Grecian-style pool. Near the table, Cameron is fitfully sweeping up a pile of glass Billy recognizes as once having been a Waterford crystal jug. The boy pales as he looks up to see the two adults approach him.
“I’m really sorry, Dad. It just slipped right out of my hands. Dom and I made some Irn Bru, your favorite, and I wanted to put it in something special. To celebrate your first day at work.” A generous smattering of freckles stand out vividly on Cameron’s flushed complexion as the words spill out of his cherubic mouth quickly. “I promise I’ll buy you another jug. I’ll get a job mowing lawns after school.”
Billy’s heart turns over at his son’s earnest expression, and how much Cameron looks like a carbon copy of himself at that age, from the ginger hair that refuses to behave for very long, to his mossy green eyes and bow shaped lips. It touches Billy deeply that Cameron has made his favorite drink, the fruit flavored fizzy concoction that is very popular amongst Glaswegians. Of course, the fact that Abby detested it only made Billy hold onto it tighter, not wanting to lose another part of his beloved homeland while living in London.
Giving the boy an encouraging smile, Billy pulls Cameron close to hug him and kiss the top of his head. “It was only a jug, Cobby. Don’t worry about it.”
“I can deliver papers,” Cameron adds, breaking away to begin his furious sweeping once again. “Or wash cars, or something. Don’t worry, I’ll pay you back.”
“Hey, enough of that. Let me do it, I don’t want you to cut yourself.” Reaching over, Billy firmly extracts the broom from his son’s small hands and then tousles his hair. “Besides, I just realized you did me a big favor by getting rid of that old thing. I never should’ve brought it to Glasgow with me.”
“But it was your extra best jug!” Cameron protests with a confused frown. “You’ve had it forever, Dad. Longer than me, even.”
Silently, Dom watches the father-son interaction, his mouth quirking up into a smile at Billy’s use of an evidently often uttered pet name for his young son. They’re obviously very close, Billy’s unconditional love and deep affection for Cameron clear in his gaze. There isn’t even a hint of anger in Billy’s eyes at the shattered remains of the obviously very expensive jug.
“It was a wedding present from Grandma Taylor,” Billy informs his son dryly.
Recalling the image of the Taylor family’s grim-faced matriarch, Cameron then grimaces. “Yuck.”
Billy chuckles as he smoothes down Cameron’s endearingly tousled hair. “My sentiments exactly, Cobby. I should’ve just given it to Michael and Abby as a wedding present. It’s more their style.”
As soon as the words escape Billy’s mouth, he realizes he’s made a tactical error mentioning Abby’s new husband.
“I like Michael, Dad,” Cameron responds as if on cue.
Dom’s steady gaze rests on Billy’s face as he forces a smile.
“Of course. Me, too,” Billy lies quickly, not about to make his son choose sides. “It’s just that since they have a maid, they have more time to take care of things like silver and crystal. I should’ve given it to them in the first place.”
Apparently appeased, Cameron smiles, his voice bright with youthful enthusiasm. “I’ve got a great idea, Dad.”
Nervously, Billy expels a quiet sigh of relief that they’ve gotten over that touchy subject once again. Then unwittingly, Cameron manages to drive a stake deep into Billy’s already aching and wounded heart. “When I go home for Christmas, you can send all the fancy stuff you don’t want back with me, yeah?”
Feeling Dom’s curious study of his stricken expression, Billy kneels, keeping his head down as he picks up the larger shards of crystal. Ever since discovering Abby’s infertility, Michael has been urging Abby to talk Billy into allowing Cameron to live with them in London. Billy knows, all too well, his ex-wife has no real wish to have her son with her full-time, but if it makes her new husband happy, and more importantly makes them look like the perfect couple to high society, she’s certainly going to give it her best shot. While Abby hasn’t gone as far as suing for custody, Billy strongly suspects that she and Michael are planning to convince Cameron during his Christmas visit that he’ll be happier back in London.
Billy has to force his answer past the hard lump in his throat. “Good idea, Cobby. Do you have any of that Irn Bru left?” When Cameron nods, Billy continues with feigned brightness. “Why don’t you go fill a plastic pitcher this time and bring it out?”
His eyes are burning with unshed tears and his chest tight with tension as Billy rises and turns away from Dom’s observant gaze. “Home,” he murmurs to himself. “Of course he still thinks of London as home.”
While Dom can tell that Billy is obviously hurting, he wonders at the cause. It has to be more than the fact that Cameron is suffering from complete normal and understandable homesickness. He wonders how long Billy has been divorced, and if this Michael is the reason their marriage ended. Is some part of Billy still holding a torch for this Abby? Is he here in Glasgow because, unable to watch his ex-wife bask in wedded bliss with her new husband, Billy has run away? The idea causes an oddly unpleasant stab of jealousy in Dom’s stomach that he quickly forces away.
Moving up behind Billy, Dom cups his slumped shoulders in his strong hands, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Hey, it’s only natural. The kid’s lived in London his whole life, yeah? Give it some time, Billy. He’ll adjust.”
Embarrassed at his near loss of control, Billy clears his throat as he sniffs and brushes unobtrusively at the dampness in his eyes with the back of his hand, attempting to compose himself.
“I know all that, intellectually,” Billy replies as he turns around, decidedly uncomfortable at his display of emotion in front of Dom. “Christ. You must think me a bloody girl’s blouse or a fecking idiot at the very least.”
Forgetting for the moment his overwhelming desire to get Billy into his bed, right now, Dom only wants to soothe and comfort.
“No, I think you’re dead on your feet,” Dom corrects calmly. “Just wait until you get Dr. Monaghan’s famous, fast-acting, pleasant-tasting, secret formula for weary bodies and aching bones. It’s one hundred percent guaranteed to cure all ills that dare to plague sexy, Scottish physicians.”
Billy manages a shaky laugh at Dom’s encouraging tone. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“Do you like gourmet Italian fare, Doctor?” Dom inquires with an arched eyebrow.
“You’re kidding me,” Billy replies, not bothering to try to hide his disbelief.
“Of course I’m not,” Dom counters, an expression of mock offense gracing his tanned face. “In fact, even as we speak, the finest Italian chefs are preparing a feast that’ll make your lusciously attractive mouth water.”
Eyes dancing with a devilish gleam, Billy realizes that Dom reminds him of Cameron, when he’s gotten into mischief.
“I think you’ve just slipped the bonds of maturity once again, Monaghan,” Billy accuses lightly. “Why do I get the feeling there’s more to this than meets the eye?”
At that moment, as if on cue, Cameron reappears, supplying an answer. “Hey Dom? I need money. The delivery guy is here with the pizzas.”
“Gourmet?” Billy repeats incredulously, arching an eyebrow at Dom.
Shrugging, Dom digs into his back pocket for his wallet. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I spare no expense when it comes to my friends.”
Grinning, Dom ruffles Billy’s hair with the same easy familiarity Billy had Cameron’s just a few short minutes ago. “Take off that tie and your shoes, Dr. Boyd,” he prescribes over his shoulder as he leaves to pay for the food. “Dinner is served.”
* ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ *
Billy is amazed they get through the meal without a single argument, or a repeat of the disturbing sensuality that seems to settle over them from time to time. Talking a mile a minute, Cameron’s words come like machine-gun fire as he tells Billy all about his day. It’s easy to tell that the high point was when he’d gone with Dom to Murraypark, and watched the Ranger’s practice.
“Hey Dad,” he offers into a moment of comfortable silence. “You should’ve seen Dom! He got knocked down at the end of practice, but still ran shuttles after the match was over.”
A wedge of gooey pizza is on the way to Billy’s mouth, but at Cameron’s admiring statement, it is suddenly lowered back down to the plate as Billy’s gaze cuts to Dom’s unconcerned face.
“Since when is it acceptable to have violent, physical contact during practice?” he asks, eyes searching Dom’s face.
Dom shrugs with exaggerated nonchalance. “Since Holm took over as coach. His feeling is that sometimes there are collisions during matches, why not in practice?”
Staring in shock, Billy waits to hear that this is merely Dom’s idea of a bad joke.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” he says finally.
Silently, Dom wishes he was. “Nope. Coach has decided that there’s no such thing as special treatment for players while they’re healing up from an injury, at least as far as Rangers go. All the years I’ve put in don’t mean anything. And it was an accident, Billy.”
“That knee of yours can’t take that kind of abuse,” Billy says sharply. “The tendons aren’t as strong as they used to be. It’s bloody ridiculous that your own coach is allowing such behavior. Encouraging it, even.”
Waving a dismissive hand, Dom casts a quick glance towards Cameron, who is watching the exchange with avid interest. “Hey, don’t worry about it, yeah? I’m just as fast as the young blokes on the team, aren’t I, Cam? Maybe even a wee bit faster?”
Cameron nods vigorously, his small mouth filled with pizza, eyes bright with obvious hero worship. While Billy knows that as Dom’s physician, they’ll have to talk about this, but there’s no point in worrying his son. Against some incredible odds, Cameron’s had a wonderful day, and Billy can’t bear to take that away from him.
“Shuttles?” Billy asks under his breath as Cameron takes off towards the gate, carrying a thick slice of pepperoni pizza to Griffin, who has been whining from his side of the fence.
“You’d better believe it,” Dom groans, dropping his macho pose for the moment.
“What are shuttles?” Billy asks, wishing he his knowledge about football was more extensive than specific players and their injuries.
“The whole team does them. We run from one side of the pitch to the other, stop, turn around, then run half way across the pitch, then stop,” Dom explains, his hands sweeping from left to right, and then back again as he speaks. “Turn and run back to the side we’ve just come from, then they do the same again for a quarter of the pitch then back to the side. Then the whole thing stars all over again, and is done many times in a row as the coach decides. Most of the time it’s about three-and-a-half miles.”
“I’m not allowing that!”
“What am I supposed to do?” Dom asks, managing a wry grin. “Bring a note from my neighbor?”
Eyes narrowing, Billy crosses his arms over his chest. “No, from your doctor. You’re in danger of causing permanent injury to that knee, Monaghan. I can’t believe you’d take a stupid risk like that.”
“I’ve got to play, Billy, and I’ll put up with whatever Holm tries, to force me off the team, rather than quit.” Momentarily, Dom’s expression grows fierce. “Fuck, I’m not a bloody idiot. I know the message he’s sending. He’s letting me know that while I may admittedly be the star with the biggest salary, he pulls the strings. It’s just a power play with some blokes.”
Dom is amazed as Billy curses him fluently, his tone low in deference to his son, but his words extremely colorful and as imaginative as Dom’s ever heard.
“Is that any way to talk to your poor, wounded patient?” Dom objects fervently. “Don’t tell me they taught you that language in medical school, Dr. Boyd.”
Glaring at Dom, Billy finds the amusement in Dom’s blue-grey eyes even more maddening than his devil-may-care attitude about his safety.
“Stop making jokes. This isn’t funny,” Billy snaps.
Finally, Dom’s gaze turns solemn. “I never said it was, Billy.”
Sighing, Dom rises from his chair to pace back in forth in silent aggravation. For the first time, Billy notices the pronounced limp that hadn’t been been there when he’d examined Dom earlier, nor when he got home and was distracted by his immense exhaustion.
When Billy speaks again, his tone is measurably softer, coaxing compliance this time, rather than demanding obedience.
“Will you at least sit down?” Billy inquires. “Please?”
Doing as Billy gently requests, Dom flings his body onto a lounge chair, his right knee bent, linking his fingers behind his head and closing his eyes for a long, thoughtful moment.
Free to study Dom openly, Billy detects definite signs of fatigue he’d not noticed earlier. Weary from the unexpected patient load, trying to learn unfamiliar office procedures and putting up with Dr. McKellan’s less than cordial attitude, Billy simply hadn’t considered the possibility that Dom would be every bit as exhausted as he. More so, Billy amends, considering the outrageous practice he’d undergone late this afternoon. A wave of guilt washes over Billy, and he ducks his head, taking a few moments to think.
Rising slowly, Billy moves to sit on the edge of the lounge chair. “I’ve got an idea,” he suggests softly. “Why don’t I give you a massage and then you can get to bed? I’ve been a selfish bastard, letting you take care of Cameron, not to mention provide dinner as well. See what happens to people who volunteer? They get taken advantage of. Horribly.”
Stubbornly, Dom’s eyes remain shut. “It was only pizza, Billy. It’s not like I slaved over a hot stove all day or something.”
“Well, it sure tasted like gourmet Italian cooking to me, Monaghan,” Billy says with a smile, and Dom can hear it in his voice. “I was so ravenous I would’ve settled for the box it came in.”
Opening his eyes at that, Dom shares the smile with Billy. As their gazes lock, Dom finds his exhaustion being rapidly replaced by a familiar, escalating desire. What is it about Billy that makes his blood burn and his body hum with lust and need?
“Who’s suggesting this massage?” Dom asks, slowly and seductively. “Dr. Boyd, or his charming and sexy alter ego, Billy?”
The message in Dom’s low, velvety voice is unmistakable and Billy has to fight against every rebellious atom in his body as he forces a casual tone.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Football Star, but that offer comes from Dr. Boyd.”
Keeping his eyes locked with Billy’s, Dom trails a lone, elegant finger up Billy’s arm to his shoulder. “I know why you’re doing this, Billy.”
“Doing what?” Billy asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Taking care of me like this.”
“I’m your doctor,” Billy reminds Dom, as well as himself. “It’s my job.”
Dom’s gaze is bright with insinuation. “True, but there’s another reason, and you’re just not being honest enough to admit it.”
“Oh, really?” Billy’s voice is unsteady as the treacherous finger traces a line along his bare collarbone. Christ, it’s happening again. How does Dom do that?
Dom charmingly winks a blue-grey eye. “Of course. You need help unpacking all those boxes and I wouldn’t be of much use, hobbling around on crutches, now would I?”
This time, Billy doesn’t return Dom’s teasing smile. “If you’re not careful, Monaghan, you’ll end up in far worse shape than that.”
Shaking his head, Dom exhales a deep sigh. “Billy, Billy, Billy. Didn’t I tell you not to worry about it?”
“Mona-”
“Now, now. I don’t want to disillusion what may be my last remaining fan.”
Dom looks pointedly over Billy’s shoulder at Cameron, who is returning from feeding the dog. Biting off a frustrated response, Billy forces himself to save the argument for later.
Approaching the two men, Cameron’s broad grin claims his adorable, lightly freckled face. “Griffin’s a great dog, Dom.”
“I think so, too, Cam, but this past year he got used to having me around a lot, and he gets awfully lonely now that I’m back at work. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to help me out with that little problem, would you?” Dom asks casually.
Turning on the lounge chair, causing one of his knees to press against Dom’s thigh, Billy watches Cameron’s eyes light up with hopeful anticipation. “Sure! But how?”
Hating to break the physical contact with Billy, Dom sits up, swinging his legs to the ground on the other side of the lounge chair, focusing all his attention on Cameron. “Well, this battered old body isn’t as spry as it used to be, Cam. Especially after daily practice. Griffin needs someone younger to fetch, swim with him, spend a little time with him each evening. You wouldn’t know anyone willing to do that, would you?”
“I would!”
“And of course, I’d pay you,” Dom tacks on.
Cameron’s already huge eyes grow even wider. “Wow! Did you hear that, Dad?”
“Yes, I heard it, but you certainly can’t take any money for playing with Dom’s dog, Cameron Stuart Boyd, so get that sparkle of greed out of your Scottish green eyes.”
“He wouldn’t be playing, Billy,” Dom argues smoothly. “He’d be exercising Griffin for me.” His eyes twinkle shamelessly with mischief. “Unless you think a nightly jog with my dog would be good for my knees.”
“Of course not,’ Billy snaps, wishing Dom would take his situation more seriously.
Rubbing his hands together, Dom grins with obvious satisfaction. “Then it’s a deal. Two pounds a day, and all the Irn Bru you can drink.”
Cameron looks as though he’s just been given the assignment to search for the Holy Grail. “Wow,” he repeats, his tone hushed and reverent. “It’s a deal. And I promise to never miss a day!”
Dom laughs again, and Billy manages a tentative smile as Cameron begins talking about the practice once again. The conversation turns to anecdotes about matches played during Dom’s long, professional career, and as the last faint color of day fades to night, Cameron’s small body curls into Billy’s side, his long eyelashes beginning to drift closed.
“He’s had a very exciting day,” Billy murmurs, carefully lifting Cameron’s sleepy form into his embrace. “I think it’s time for him to go to bed.”
“Want some help?” Dom inquires as Cameron’s head settles comfortably into the curve of Billy’s neck, his breathing slow and steady. It’s clear to him that Cameron has been cradled this way in Billy’s arms numerous times before, their close bond achingly beautiful.
“No thanks, I can handle it,” Billy replies softly before tenderly kissing his son’s tousled, ginger hair. “Why don’t you pour us some whiskey and I’ll be back out to give you that massage I promised you.”
Arching an eyebrow for a moment, Dom sighs blithely. “Whiskey, a sexy man and a massage, all in one night? I’m not certain I can handle that much happiness, Billy.”
“You’re tough, Monaghan. Believe me, you’ll survive.”
The answering smile fades from Dom’s face as he watches Billy carefully rise and disappear into the house, Cameron sprawled limply and trustingly in his father’s arms. Laying back in the lounge chair, Dom attempts to sort out all the inexplicable feelings for Billy he keeps experiencing.
Now, Dom can’t say that he’d been instantly drawn to Billy. That would be a lie. Yet, from the moment Billy had begun arguing with him about that ridiculous excuse for a piano, Dom had felt a certain unwilling admiration for Billy’s behavior. Good, old-fashioned spunk is what his Dad would call it, Dom decides, not all that different from his own cheekiness that he’s failed to outgrow.
Sincerely empathizing with the way Billy’s life has suddenly altered, Dom knows how wearisome and oftentimes frightening it is to adapt to change. Honestly, he hasn’t handled his own life very well this past year, and now Dom hopes that he can salvage the situation by regaining his ranking as one of the top five players in the UK. Although he’s no longer capable of the intricate moves and seemingly endless strength and stamina that helped the Rangers earn numerous trips to Hampden and the Cup Finals, Dom will put up with all of Holm’s marine-sergeant drills to get back on top, if that’s what it takes.
Dom likes the way Billy seems honestly concerned about him and senses Billy’s worry comes just as much from the man as the doctor. He’s certainly not used to the genuine concern. Sure, most women gushed over him when he’d first been injured, but he’s always known that the first match he couldn’t drag himself out onto the field, the crowd of willing, admiring females would thin out. After that, Dom found out just how few real friends he truly had. It turned out that most of his supposed friends were along for the ride, and it was quietly understood that they wouldn’t be expected to tag along if it took a downhill turn anywhere along the way. David, on the other hand, didn’t waver for an instant, giving Dom some much needed support during the painful diagnosis process, and keeping a close eye after Dom’s knee surgery.
Superficial. That’s the only way to describe most of the ‘friendships’ in Dom’s life. The wounds to his heart, the one he so carefully keeps hidden, to protect it, is quite another matter. It was was a hard lesson to learn, one that Dom hasn’t fully recovered from, and he’s not sure he ever will.
Then there’s Billy.
Billy is on the flip side of that coin. In actual fact, they’ve only known each other a day, but because of Billy’s concern about him, medically, and an almost fierce protectiveness regarding Dom’s knee, somehow it feels much longer. Honestly, Dom expected one hell of an argument about his practice routines. He can practically see Billy storming onto the field, giving Coach Ian Holm a piece of his mind. That’s something Dom is going to have to make certain doesn’t happen, if he has to tie Billy up and sit on him.
“Something funny, Monaghan?”
While Dom has been thinking, Billy has returned and in now standing over him, a puzzled expression on his face. Then Dom realizes that he’s smiling at the thought of holding the feisty Dr. Boyd down, anywhere, against his will. There are a variety of situations that he’d love to explore, in great detail.
“Actually, I was considering the logistics of holding you down when you’d made up your mind to do something,” Dom admits with a genuine smile. “It was rather enjoyable.”
Back stiffening with irritation, Billy doesn’t mince words.
“Like telling that fecking idiot who’s masquerading as a football coach what I think of encouraging collisions in his bloody practices?” Billy spits out coldly.
Dom knows that the anger flashing in Billy’s dark eyes is not meant for him. Patting the lounge chair, Dom invites him to sit down. “That was one of the more unwelcome scenarios,” he agrees.
“I don’t know if you understand how important it is for you to go slowly, Monaghan,” Billy presses as he sinks down to the spot next to Dom’s thigh. “Slowly.”
Temporarily dropping the shield that usually hides the raw emotion in his eyes, Dom’s level gaze holds Billy’s. “And I’m positive that you don’t understand how important it is for me to make a full comeback this season. Taking it slowly is not an option.”
It suddenly dawns on Billy that Dom fully intends to jeopardize his knee in order to continue playing. It’s times like this that Billy wants to pick up the nearest object and knock some sense into all obsessive athletes. Sure, Billy runs, every day as a rule, but he’s never behaved as if it’s the only thing in his life.
Rising from the lounge chair in an abrupt, ungraceful movement, Billy shoves his small hands in the front pockets of his trousers as he walks barefoot over to the pool house, his warm breath fogging the clear panels as he rests his forehead against the cool surface. They’d turned on the underwater lights earlier in the evening, making the water gleam a bright, welcoming aquamarine, but Billy’s mind is not on the inviting depths. Instead he’s seeing Dom’s torn and battered knee, swollen and painful, damaged beyond repair.
“If you’re insisting on miracle cures, you’ve got the wrong doctor, Monaghan,” Billy says tightly, forcing his voice not to waver even though it desperately wants to. “Try signing on a faith healer instead, because I don’t have anything to offer you.”
Oh yes, you do, you sexy Scotsman, Dom could have answered. He wants Billy. His fingertips tingle with the need to experience the soft satin of Billy’s pale skin, and Dom knows that he’ll go completely mad if he doesn’t taste those rosy, cherubic lips soon. Tipping his head back, Dom downs the last of his whiskey in one swallow, knowing that he can’t remember a time when he’s wanted or needed someone more than he does right now. Billy is his only clear thought.
Although he’s vaguely disturbed by the fact that Billy has already affected him more deeply than anyone in his whole life, Dom refuses to allow himself to worry. If things get too difficult, he can always solve this dilemma by getting up, walking through the gate and remaining forever on his own side of the fence.
Dom knows this with an ironclad certainty, just as he knows he isn’t going to do it.
* ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ *
Chapter 4
Author: dylan_dufresne
Pairing: BB/DM
Rating: PG-14, for language.
Summary: Billy experiences confrontations, both at work and at home. Because his day has been wonderful so far. . .
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated as it’s my drug of choice. Many thanks to frojane, for the beta and educating me on all things Scottish. Credit for the banner goes to the very talented loki_girl. Thank you so much.
Disclaimer: Not at all true in reality. This is my imagination at work.
A/N: Here’s the next installment. Over 7,800 words this time. Enjoy! And hey, I even posted it in the right place this morning!
Previous Parts: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2
Chapter 3 - Confrontations & Complications
Billy works without a break the rest of the afternoon, the unscheduled patients outnumbering the ones with appointments nearly two to one. The nearly constant stream of minor injuries seem never-ending, and Billy is looking forward to when this day is finally over. All Billy wants to do is get through the day, go home, hug his son and fall into bed, congratulating himself on successfully navigating the mine field of a stressful first day as he falls into a deep, hopefully restful, sleep.
“Whoever invented Bank Holiday weekends should be shot,” Billy mutters under his breath while preparing an immobilizing cast for a teenager who’s pulled a ligament in his knee during a strenuous tennis match the previous day.
“Yeah, they’re definitely the worst,” Orlando agrees as he studies a set of x-rays. “Hey Billy, tell me what you think of this?”
Looking up, Billy focuses his attention on the backlit board. “A stress fracture,” he diagnoses easily. “But why did you bother with an x-ray? The treatment’s the same as a bad sprain.”
“Because it’s her third this year,” Orlando replies, brow furrowed in thought. “I’m thinking something else must be contributing to them.”
Stopping his work, Billy strips off his latex gloves, tossing them into a bin as he moves across the room to stand beside Orlando, taking a closer look at the x-ray. “Is she a runner?”
Orlando nods. “Long distance.”
“Pre-menopausal amenorrheic?” Billy inquires.
“She’s thirty-two and hasn’t had a normal menstrual cycle in more than three years,” Orlando confirms, examining the x-ray intently. “I’m thinking about scheduling a CT.”
Hating to argue with a colleague on his first day, Billy gives the idea serious consideration. The computerized axial tomography scanner detects bone density, and Billy is well aware of the recent findings that indicate that women who are hard-training, long-distance runners may be inadvertently causing irreversible damage to their bones. As a runner himself, Billy has studied all available data thus far, wanting to be as knowledgeable as possible, and be aware of the specific risks for women.
“Why don’t you check her calcium absorption first?” Billy suggests carefully.
“If the woman is suffering from osteoporosis, due to athletic amenorrhea, Dr. Bloom’s suggested course of action is sound enough.” Dr. McKellan’s voice enters the conversation as he walks up behind the younger doctors.
Reminding himself that it will definitely not help matters any to get into a heated argument with his superior, Billy takes several moments to give his reply some careful thought first.
“From what I’ve read on the subject so far, the reports are interesting, but little more than a scare. There’s no real factual data,” Billy elaborates, recalling all the research he’d done on the subject. “They’ve lumped a few women runners with fertility problems together with women who have amenorrhea from totally different causes. It’s as if we took a test group of individuals who all have broken legs and assume they’d gotten them the same way.”
Ian McKellan’s expression is inscrutable. “Are you saying Dr. Bloom should simply ignore the problem?”
Feeling Orlando’s encouraging, dark brown eyes on him, Billy realizes that Orlando never intended this to end up as an inquisition. Drawing in a deep breath, Billy says a silent prayer that he doesn’t offend the younger doctor.
“Of course not. But I still suggest Dr. Bloom first check his patient’s calcium intake. Then instead of the CT, if he still feels a need to measure bone density, I’d recommend gaining access to a photon absorptiometer instead,” Billy explains. “Not only does it provide a more precise and accurate measurement, it’s less expensive. Plus there’s the matter of a much lower radiation exposure.”
“The amount of radiation exposure required by a CT scanner isn’t all that significant, Dr. Boyd,” Dr. McKellan points out.
Managing a slight smile, Billy musters up the courage to stick to his point. “That’s true, of course, but it’s still more than it needs to be. Less would be an advantage because Dr. Bloom could then test more frequently to keep a close eye. With the photon absorptiometer, the patient would only be subjected to what she’d normally get from the normal background in two weeks, but from the CT, she’d receive the equivalent of a year and half’s natural radiation.”
Deciding to jump in all the way, Billy’s next words come out in a rush. “I know Dr. Bean applied for funds to purchase the machine. I’d like to second the motion.”
Dr. McKellan’s cool blue eyes flicker over Billy’s face. “Are you always so opinionated, Dr. Boyd?”
Back stiffening, Billy’s cheeks grow warm at the icy insinuation.
“I’m afraid so,” he answers honestly. “But only when I have strong feelings about something, as well as the knowledge to back those feelings up.”
“Yet you’re willing to ignore the fact women runners are possibly in grave danger of risking permanent bone loss.”
“I’m ignoring nothing,” Billy argues, his temper starting to flare at Dr. McKellan’s demeaning tone. “I simply believe the findings are preliminary and have been blown out of proportion by male sports journalists who want to force women off the athletic field and back to the kitchen.”
Dr. McKellan shoots Billy a sharp glance. “I really don’t believe this is the place for liberation speeches, Doctor, and even if it were, you’re a damn poor choice to talk about equality.”
Now incensed, Billy rises up to his full height, facing off with the older and taller man, forgetting his vow to discuss this issue calmly. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”
“I was referring to that outrageous display with you and that football player earlier.” There is a heaping amount of scorn on the term, Dr. McKellan’s biased opinion blatantly obvious. “One day on the job and you’re already arranging intimate evenings at home with one of your patients.”
Dr. McKellan’s eyes are steely marbles. “Is that why you turned to sports medicine in the first place, Dr. Boyd?” His tone, when stressing Billy’s specialty, is as acidly condescending as it had been earlier when stating Dom’s.
“That question does not justify an answer,” Billy says tightly.
“It was a rhetorical one, Doctor. After all, it’s obvious you’ll meet more eligible men in this field than you would in traditionally female specialties of gynecology, pediatrics or obstetrics.” With the last verbal slap in the face, Dr. McKellan turns on his heel and leaves the room.
“I can’t fecking believe that man,” Billy splutters furiously, nearly vibrating from the emotions swirling around him. “How dare he suggest-”
“Neither can I,” Orlando seconds in stunned amazement when Billy trails off. “The man’s never been Mr. Personality, but other than asking me why I hadn’t gone into acupuncture the first week I was here, he’s pretty much left me alone.”
“He was probably afraid you’d poison a pot of coffee and he’d never be able to tell until it was too bloody late,” Billy fires back, small hands on his hips as he shakes his head in disbelief.
Arms wrapping around his lean body, Orlando throws back his head and laughs appreciatively. “You’ve got a point there.”
Then Orlando’s look changes to one of obvious interest. “Uh, I was going to try to figure out how lead into the next subject gracefully, but since our fearless leader has already brought the subject up, what’s going on between you and Dominic Monaghan? This morning you were moaning about meeting the bloke.”
“I was moaning about treating him,” Billy corrects briskly. “I met him yesterday, under less than optimum circumstances.”
“And uh, not to point out the obvious here, but you have a kid,” Orlando says, brow furrowing in confusion behind his thin framed glasses. “I thought you were straight.”
“At one time I was, and that’s all I’d like to say about it,” Billy replies in a softer voice, the request to change topics shining clearly in his eyes.
“So, you and Monaghan. Anything juicy for the clinic’s gossip line?” Orlando says, dropping the evidently uncomfortable subject of Billy’s sexual orientation and focusing back on the scene that had caught Dr. McKellan’s attention.
“Not unless you’re into stories from ’Ripley’s Believe it or Not,’” Billy replies with a sigh. “My piano escaped the moving van yesterday afternoon and put a dent in Dom’s brand new Porsche.”
“How the bloody hell did that happen?” Orlando asks, his eyes wide with confusion and surprise.
Billy grimaces. “Believe me, Orli, you had to be there. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it.”
Rolling his eyes, Orlando shudders. “Actually, I’m glad I wasn’t. He must’ve been royally pissed.”
“Hey! What about my piano?” Billy counters.
Instead of answering, Billy’s colleague crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against a desk, eyeing Billy with renewed interest, and unless Billy is completely mistaken, some male appreciation. “Did you argue like this with Monaghan?”
“Of course I did,” Billy retorts. “Just because he’s a famous football player and we happen to be neighbors, that doesn’t mean-”
“Wait. You’re neighbors?” Orlando interrupts, eyes widening again as the wheels churn in his head, putting more pieces of the puzzle together.
“Yes,” Billy confirms with a heavy sigh and a shake of his head. “We are.”
“How close?”
“Next door, but I don’t see how what that has to do with anything,” Billy complains, smoothing down his tie as his anger starts to cool.
“Ah hah, so the plot thickens,” Orlando says with a grin as Billy curses softly in Gaelic under his breath and then returns to his work at the basin.
Unfortunately, the plaster mix has hardened during the consultation and argument delay, and now a frustrated Billy is forced to start all over again.
“Don’t start spreading tales,” Billy warns coolly as he pulls on fresh gloves. “There’s absolutely nothing between us and I intend to keep it that way.”
“Are you so sure about that?”
Orlando has just asked the same question Dom had when he’d issued the challenge, Billy realizes. He wonders if men got together in locker rooms periodically to rehearse the pat little lines and Billy’s just missed it somehow.
“Positive. Why do you ask?” Billy tacks on suspiciously when Orlando doesn’t answer.
Taking the x-ray down and slipping it into a wide white folder, Orlando tucks it under his arm. “Because,” he says as he turns to leave the room, “it doesn’t exactly take a rocket scientist to see that Dominic Monaghan has an entirely different idea about that.”
He only laughs in amusement as Billy scowls and threatens to throw the entire mess of soggy plaster at him.
* ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ *
Billy is exhausted when he finally pulls into his driveway much later that day. The sun is low on the horizon, but every last bone in Billy’s aching body is insisting that it’s much later, long past his bedtime. A quick glance confirms that Dom’s car must be in for repair, as an older model Porsche, still a great deal more flamboyant than Billy’s economical Mini, is now parked in the driveway next door.
“What do you have against the normal, average automobiles that the rest of us poor blokes drive?” Billy demands when Dom opens his front door to greet him before he can slide his key into the lock.
Bracing an elbow on the door frame, Dom tilts his head to one side and looks at Billy with a puzzled expression on his face.
“That’s a new one. Whatever happened to ‘Hello dear, did you have a nice day at the office?’ ”
“I was referring to your choice in transportation,” Billy explains. “I’ve never known anyone who gets a sports car for a loaner.”
Comprehension dawns and Dom grins boyishly. “Oh that. Well, they agreed to make an exception in my case. You see, my sexy arse is far too precious for vinyl.”
Billy can only shake his head. “Must be nice to get everything you want out of life.”
“It’s better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick,” Dom agrees cheerfully, choosing not to mention just how far off base Billy truly is with that statement.
Wondering why he even tries to relate to this obviously spoiled football star, Billy ducks under Dom’s long arm and enters his empty foyer.
“So how’s Cameron?” Billy asks with trepidation, looking around at the numerous piles of boxes yet to be unpacked in his living room, and the furniture that is waiting patiently to be arranged.
Honestly, Billy’s not sure if he’s up to handling tantrums and complaints this evening. The day has been hard enough without Cameron laying into him about hating it here in Glasgow, and wanting to move back to London. Tonight, Billy just doesn’t have the strength.
“Terrific,” Dom reports with a smile, following Billy through the house, quietly enjoying the view. “He impressed his teacher considerably with his knowledge and adorable charm, I was given to understand. Then he played rounders, hitting a double at lunch and driving in the winning run, although he regrettably got left on base when a clearly less adept batter struck out. Finally, his football has been signed by the entire Rangers team. As we speak, I’ve got him setting the table out by the pool so we can have a picnic under the stars.”
“Well, that’s a whole lot better than I dared to hope for,” Bill says under his breath, letting a small sigh of relief slip past his lips.
Dom grins as they enter the kitchen, his gaze sweeping appreciatively over Billy’s body as Billy tugs at his tie with one hand and opens the top button of his shirt. “Your son, Dr. Boyd, had a very good day. You, on the other hand, look about as beat up as I feel.”
Reaching over to the counter by the sink to pick something up, Dom turns and presses a tumbler of whiskey into Billy’s hand.
“Thank you,” Billy murmurs, forgetting for the moment that he’s annoyed with Dom for the embarrassing scene at the clinic this afternoon. Taking a sip of the whiskey and letting it flow over his tongue, Billy finds it to be the the perfect prescription. “Although I might point out, you don’t do a heck of a lot for a man’s ego, Monaghan. Whatever happened to pretty compliments?”
Taking Billy’s briefcase out of a nearly limp hand, Dom tosses it over onto a pile of boxes grouped together in the corner. “I didn’t think they’d work with you,” he says simply, shrugging his shoulders noncommittally.
A slight grin hovers at the corners of Dom’s mouth, and Billy suddenly notices a tiny scar just under his jaw line. A wayward stud from a football boot during a match perhaps, Billy decides, wondering what drives these professional athletes. It has to be more than fame or money. They suffer from their obsession far more than their fans will ever realize, or begin to comprehend.
“Would they?” Dom’s soft, velvet voice breaks into Billy’s thoughts.
“Would what? Billy answers blankly, dragging his appreciative gaze from Dom’s sensual and pouty lower lip.
“Would pretty compliments work?”
Taking another sip of his whiskey and letting it burn slowly down his throat to his stomach, Billy silently eyes Dom over the rim of his glass. Dom had located his dishes, he realizes irrelevantly. That in itself is a major achievement, considering Billy’s rather haphazard packing method while closing up his flat in London in preparation for the move to Scotland.
“I don’t know,” Billy answers finally, unable to lie. “Right now I’m so tired and discouraged that any kind word would probably seem like a gift from the heavens.”
He’s completely knackered, Dom determines, reading the vulnerability in Billy’s exhausted green eyes. Resisting the voice of of conscience trying to make itself heard in the back of his mind, Dom closes the slight gap between them, coming to stand so close that their bodies are mere inches apart. Billy draws in a sharp breath when Dom reaches out and tenderly cups his cheek.
“I could try telling you that your hair is so soft, that it reminds me of liquid silk,” Dom says in a low, husky voice. “Would that appeal to your ego, Billy?”
Part of Billy wants to close his eyes to the tantalizing, gentle touch, but that would mean giving up the view of Dom’s intense blue-grey eyes, warming his face with their darkening heat.
“It might,” Billy murmurs in response, tilting his head back slightly when Dom’s long fingers card through the ginger hair at the nape of his neck. “But not if you say it to every woman you meet.”
“I don’t,” Dom replies quietly, not wanting to break the spell that Billy is slipping under. “Usually the woman I meet have fat hair.”
And they know how to play this game, he adds silently, watching Billy’s eyes soften dangerously. Even with the fatigue lacing them, they’re still the most alluring, intoxicating eyes Dom’s ever seen. Dom feels as if he’s being pulled in and is now drowning in the deep, green pools.
Billy knows that encouraging such inviting words from a man who probably considers seduction a national pastime, is rash behavior at best. More like incredibly irresponsible, if he’s to be completely honest. However, Billy’s too tired to fight, powerless to move as he feels the slow, steady pull of the intimacy surrounding them, dragging them in deeper.
“Fat hair?”
Seeing the movement in Billy’s throat as he swallows, Dom muses that it’s like taking candy from a baby. Surprisingly, Billy’s let his guard down tonight, and it would be so, so easy to take advantage of the situation. After just a few seconds, Billy’s practically melting in Dom’s very capable hands.
Running his long, elegant fingers through Billy’s hair and mussing it a wee bit, Dom explains in a low, soothing voice. “Fat hair. You know - three feet high, two feet wide and hard as concrete. That stuff can put a bloke’s eye out if he’s not careful.”
“Oh. Fat hair,” Billy whispers, his eyelids starting to flutter closed as Dom’s fingers begin massaging the tense muscles in his neck.
The nearly total surrender in Billy’s eyes oddly fails to give Dom the expected pleasure, and he feels a flash of irritation at his uncharacteristic hesitation. This isn’t going as planned. Sure, Dom is creating havoc on Billy’s senses, but damn it, Billy’s not supposed to be doing the same damn thing to him. Billy Boyd is a challenge - a sexy, desirable man Dom intends to have, simply because he wants him. And Dom is used to getting what he wants, especially when it comes to lovers.
Frowning, Dom is suddenly annoyed by the way Billy’s liquid dark eyes are unnerving him, creating doubts that spread in Dom’s mind like thick clouds of smoke from a fire. He’s surprised and off balance, and is secretly relieved as a crash from outside shatters the mood.
Coming back to himself, Billy shakes his head.
“Oh my God! I completely forgot about Cameron!”
“He’s fine,” Dom says lightly, attempting to calm Billy. “Don’t worry about him.”
Breaking free of the intimate mood, Billy is grateful for the flare of anger invoked by Dom’s offhanded tone.
“Make up your mind, Monaghan,” Billy snaps, pulling out of Dom’s loose embrace. “This afternoon you questioned my parenting abilities, and now you’re telling me not to care when it sounds as if the house is falling down around my son’s ears!”
Muttering a soft curse of frustration under his breath, Dom follows Billy outside to the brick terrace overlooking the enclosed, rectangular, Grecian-style pool. Near the table, Cameron is fitfully sweeping up a pile of glass Billy recognizes as once having been a Waterford crystal jug. The boy pales as he looks up to see the two adults approach him.
“I’m really sorry, Dad. It just slipped right out of my hands. Dom and I made some Irn Bru, your favorite, and I wanted to put it in something special. To celebrate your first day at work.” A generous smattering of freckles stand out vividly on Cameron’s flushed complexion as the words spill out of his cherubic mouth quickly. “I promise I’ll buy you another jug. I’ll get a job mowing lawns after school.”
Billy’s heart turns over at his son’s earnest expression, and how much Cameron looks like a carbon copy of himself at that age, from the ginger hair that refuses to behave for very long, to his mossy green eyes and bow shaped lips. It touches Billy deeply that Cameron has made his favorite drink, the fruit flavored fizzy concoction that is very popular amongst Glaswegians. Of course, the fact that Abby detested it only made Billy hold onto it tighter, not wanting to lose another part of his beloved homeland while living in London.
Giving the boy an encouraging smile, Billy pulls Cameron close to hug him and kiss the top of his head. “It was only a jug, Cobby. Don’t worry about it.”
“I can deliver papers,” Cameron adds, breaking away to begin his furious sweeping once again. “Or wash cars, or something. Don’t worry, I’ll pay you back.”
“Hey, enough of that. Let me do it, I don’t want you to cut yourself.” Reaching over, Billy firmly extracts the broom from his son’s small hands and then tousles his hair. “Besides, I just realized you did me a big favor by getting rid of that old thing. I never should’ve brought it to Glasgow with me.”
“But it was your extra best jug!” Cameron protests with a confused frown. “You’ve had it forever, Dad. Longer than me, even.”
Silently, Dom watches the father-son interaction, his mouth quirking up into a smile at Billy’s use of an evidently often uttered pet name for his young son. They’re obviously very close, Billy’s unconditional love and deep affection for Cameron clear in his gaze. There isn’t even a hint of anger in Billy’s eyes at the shattered remains of the obviously very expensive jug.
“It was a wedding present from Grandma Taylor,” Billy informs his son dryly.
Recalling the image of the Taylor family’s grim-faced matriarch, Cameron then grimaces. “Yuck.”
Billy chuckles as he smoothes down Cameron’s endearingly tousled hair. “My sentiments exactly, Cobby. I should’ve just given it to Michael and Abby as a wedding present. It’s more their style.”
As soon as the words escape Billy’s mouth, he realizes he’s made a tactical error mentioning Abby’s new husband.
“I like Michael, Dad,” Cameron responds as if on cue.
Dom’s steady gaze rests on Billy’s face as he forces a smile.
“Of course. Me, too,” Billy lies quickly, not about to make his son choose sides. “It’s just that since they have a maid, they have more time to take care of things like silver and crystal. I should’ve given it to them in the first place.”
Apparently appeased, Cameron smiles, his voice bright with youthful enthusiasm. “I’ve got a great idea, Dad.”
Nervously, Billy expels a quiet sigh of relief that they’ve gotten over that touchy subject once again. Then unwittingly, Cameron manages to drive a stake deep into Billy’s already aching and wounded heart. “When I go home for Christmas, you can send all the fancy stuff you don’t want back with me, yeah?”
Feeling Dom’s curious study of his stricken expression, Billy kneels, keeping his head down as he picks up the larger shards of crystal. Ever since discovering Abby’s infertility, Michael has been urging Abby to talk Billy into allowing Cameron to live with them in London. Billy knows, all too well, his ex-wife has no real wish to have her son with her full-time, but if it makes her new husband happy, and more importantly makes them look like the perfect couple to high society, she’s certainly going to give it her best shot. While Abby hasn’t gone as far as suing for custody, Billy strongly suspects that she and Michael are planning to convince Cameron during his Christmas visit that he’ll be happier back in London.
Billy has to force his answer past the hard lump in his throat. “Good idea, Cobby. Do you have any of that Irn Bru left?” When Cameron nods, Billy continues with feigned brightness. “Why don’t you go fill a plastic pitcher this time and bring it out?”
His eyes are burning with unshed tears and his chest tight with tension as Billy rises and turns away from Dom’s observant gaze. “Home,” he murmurs to himself. “Of course he still thinks of London as home.”
While Dom can tell that Billy is obviously hurting, he wonders at the cause. It has to be more than the fact that Cameron is suffering from complete normal and understandable homesickness. He wonders how long Billy has been divorced, and if this Michael is the reason their marriage ended. Is some part of Billy still holding a torch for this Abby? Is he here in Glasgow because, unable to watch his ex-wife bask in wedded bliss with her new husband, Billy has run away? The idea causes an oddly unpleasant stab of jealousy in Dom’s stomach that he quickly forces away.
Moving up behind Billy, Dom cups his slumped shoulders in his strong hands, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Hey, it’s only natural. The kid’s lived in London his whole life, yeah? Give it some time, Billy. He’ll adjust.”
Embarrassed at his near loss of control, Billy clears his throat as he sniffs and brushes unobtrusively at the dampness in his eyes with the back of his hand, attempting to compose himself.
“I know all that, intellectually,” Billy replies as he turns around, decidedly uncomfortable at his display of emotion in front of Dom. “Christ. You must think me a bloody girl’s blouse or a fecking idiot at the very least.”
Forgetting for the moment his overwhelming desire to get Billy into his bed, right now, Dom only wants to soothe and comfort.
“No, I think you’re dead on your feet,” Dom corrects calmly. “Just wait until you get Dr. Monaghan’s famous, fast-acting, pleasant-tasting, secret formula for weary bodies and aching bones. It’s one hundred percent guaranteed to cure all ills that dare to plague sexy, Scottish physicians.”
Billy manages a shaky laugh at Dom’s encouraging tone. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“Do you like gourmet Italian fare, Doctor?” Dom inquires with an arched eyebrow.
“You’re kidding me,” Billy replies, not bothering to try to hide his disbelief.
“Of course I’m not,” Dom counters, an expression of mock offense gracing his tanned face. “In fact, even as we speak, the finest Italian chefs are preparing a feast that’ll make your lusciously attractive mouth water.”
Eyes dancing with a devilish gleam, Billy realizes that Dom reminds him of Cameron, when he’s gotten into mischief.
“I think you’ve just slipped the bonds of maturity once again, Monaghan,” Billy accuses lightly. “Why do I get the feeling there’s more to this than meets the eye?”
At that moment, as if on cue, Cameron reappears, supplying an answer. “Hey Dom? I need money. The delivery guy is here with the pizzas.”
“Gourmet?” Billy repeats incredulously, arching an eyebrow at Dom.
Shrugging, Dom digs into his back pocket for his wallet. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I spare no expense when it comes to my friends.”
Grinning, Dom ruffles Billy’s hair with the same easy familiarity Billy had Cameron’s just a few short minutes ago. “Take off that tie and your shoes, Dr. Boyd,” he prescribes over his shoulder as he leaves to pay for the food. “Dinner is served.”
* ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ *
Billy is amazed they get through the meal without a single argument, or a repeat of the disturbing sensuality that seems to settle over them from time to time. Talking a mile a minute, Cameron’s words come like machine-gun fire as he tells Billy all about his day. It’s easy to tell that the high point was when he’d gone with Dom to Murraypark, and watched the Ranger’s practice.
“Hey Dad,” he offers into a moment of comfortable silence. “You should’ve seen Dom! He got knocked down at the end of practice, but still ran shuttles after the match was over.”
A wedge of gooey pizza is on the way to Billy’s mouth, but at Cameron’s admiring statement, it is suddenly lowered back down to the plate as Billy’s gaze cuts to Dom’s unconcerned face.
“Since when is it acceptable to have violent, physical contact during practice?” he asks, eyes searching Dom’s face.
Dom shrugs with exaggerated nonchalance. “Since Holm took over as coach. His feeling is that sometimes there are collisions during matches, why not in practice?”
Staring in shock, Billy waits to hear that this is merely Dom’s idea of a bad joke.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” he says finally.
Silently, Dom wishes he was. “Nope. Coach has decided that there’s no such thing as special treatment for players while they’re healing up from an injury, at least as far as Rangers go. All the years I’ve put in don’t mean anything. And it was an accident, Billy.”
“That knee of yours can’t take that kind of abuse,” Billy says sharply. “The tendons aren’t as strong as they used to be. It’s bloody ridiculous that your own coach is allowing such behavior. Encouraging it, even.”
Waving a dismissive hand, Dom casts a quick glance towards Cameron, who is watching the exchange with avid interest. “Hey, don’t worry about it, yeah? I’m just as fast as the young blokes on the team, aren’t I, Cam? Maybe even a wee bit faster?”
Cameron nods vigorously, his small mouth filled with pizza, eyes bright with obvious hero worship. While Billy knows that as Dom’s physician, they’ll have to talk about this, but there’s no point in worrying his son. Against some incredible odds, Cameron’s had a wonderful day, and Billy can’t bear to take that away from him.
“Shuttles?” Billy asks under his breath as Cameron takes off towards the gate, carrying a thick slice of pepperoni pizza to Griffin, who has been whining from his side of the fence.
“You’d better believe it,” Dom groans, dropping his macho pose for the moment.
“What are shuttles?” Billy asks, wishing he his knowledge about football was more extensive than specific players and their injuries.
“The whole team does them. We run from one side of the pitch to the other, stop, turn around, then run half way across the pitch, then stop,” Dom explains, his hands sweeping from left to right, and then back again as he speaks. “Turn and run back to the side we’ve just come from, then they do the same again for a quarter of the pitch then back to the side. Then the whole thing stars all over again, and is done many times in a row as the coach decides. Most of the time it’s about three-and-a-half miles.”
“I’m not allowing that!”
“What am I supposed to do?” Dom asks, managing a wry grin. “Bring a note from my neighbor?”
Eyes narrowing, Billy crosses his arms over his chest. “No, from your doctor. You’re in danger of causing permanent injury to that knee, Monaghan. I can’t believe you’d take a stupid risk like that.”
“I’ve got to play, Billy, and I’ll put up with whatever Holm tries, to force me off the team, rather than quit.” Momentarily, Dom’s expression grows fierce. “Fuck, I’m not a bloody idiot. I know the message he’s sending. He’s letting me know that while I may admittedly be the star with the biggest salary, he pulls the strings. It’s just a power play with some blokes.”
Dom is amazed as Billy curses him fluently, his tone low in deference to his son, but his words extremely colorful and as imaginative as Dom’s ever heard.
“Is that any way to talk to your poor, wounded patient?” Dom objects fervently. “Don’t tell me they taught you that language in medical school, Dr. Boyd.”
Glaring at Dom, Billy finds the amusement in Dom’s blue-grey eyes even more maddening than his devil-may-care attitude about his safety.
“Stop making jokes. This isn’t funny,” Billy snaps.
Finally, Dom’s gaze turns solemn. “I never said it was, Billy.”
Sighing, Dom rises from his chair to pace back in forth in silent aggravation. For the first time, Billy notices the pronounced limp that hadn’t been been there when he’d examined Dom earlier, nor when he got home and was distracted by his immense exhaustion.
When Billy speaks again, his tone is measurably softer, coaxing compliance this time, rather than demanding obedience.
“Will you at least sit down?” Billy inquires. “Please?”
Doing as Billy gently requests, Dom flings his body onto a lounge chair, his right knee bent, linking his fingers behind his head and closing his eyes for a long, thoughtful moment.
Free to study Dom openly, Billy detects definite signs of fatigue he’d not noticed earlier. Weary from the unexpected patient load, trying to learn unfamiliar office procedures and putting up with Dr. McKellan’s less than cordial attitude, Billy simply hadn’t considered the possibility that Dom would be every bit as exhausted as he. More so, Billy amends, considering the outrageous practice he’d undergone late this afternoon. A wave of guilt washes over Billy, and he ducks his head, taking a few moments to think.
Rising slowly, Billy moves to sit on the edge of the lounge chair. “I’ve got an idea,” he suggests softly. “Why don’t I give you a massage and then you can get to bed? I’ve been a selfish bastard, letting you take care of Cameron, not to mention provide dinner as well. See what happens to people who volunteer? They get taken advantage of. Horribly.”
Stubbornly, Dom’s eyes remain shut. “It was only pizza, Billy. It’s not like I slaved over a hot stove all day or something.”
“Well, it sure tasted like gourmet Italian cooking to me, Monaghan,” Billy says with a smile, and Dom can hear it in his voice. “I was so ravenous I would’ve settled for the box it came in.”
Opening his eyes at that, Dom shares the smile with Billy. As their gazes lock, Dom finds his exhaustion being rapidly replaced by a familiar, escalating desire. What is it about Billy that makes his blood burn and his body hum with lust and need?
“Who’s suggesting this massage?” Dom asks, slowly and seductively. “Dr. Boyd, or his charming and sexy alter ego, Billy?”
The message in Dom’s low, velvety voice is unmistakable and Billy has to fight against every rebellious atom in his body as he forces a casual tone.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Football Star, but that offer comes from Dr. Boyd.”
Keeping his eyes locked with Billy’s, Dom trails a lone, elegant finger up Billy’s arm to his shoulder. “I know why you’re doing this, Billy.”
“Doing what?” Billy asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Taking care of me like this.”
“I’m your doctor,” Billy reminds Dom, as well as himself. “It’s my job.”
Dom’s gaze is bright with insinuation. “True, but there’s another reason, and you’re just not being honest enough to admit it.”
“Oh, really?” Billy’s voice is unsteady as the treacherous finger traces a line along his bare collarbone. Christ, it’s happening again. How does Dom do that?
Dom charmingly winks a blue-grey eye. “Of course. You need help unpacking all those boxes and I wouldn’t be of much use, hobbling around on crutches, now would I?”
This time, Billy doesn’t return Dom’s teasing smile. “If you’re not careful, Monaghan, you’ll end up in far worse shape than that.”
Shaking his head, Dom exhales a deep sigh. “Billy, Billy, Billy. Didn’t I tell you not to worry about it?”
“Mona-”
“Now, now. I don’t want to disillusion what may be my last remaining fan.”
Dom looks pointedly over Billy’s shoulder at Cameron, who is returning from feeding the dog. Biting off a frustrated response, Billy forces himself to save the argument for later.
Approaching the two men, Cameron’s broad grin claims his adorable, lightly freckled face. “Griffin’s a great dog, Dom.”
“I think so, too, Cam, but this past year he got used to having me around a lot, and he gets awfully lonely now that I’m back at work. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to help me out with that little problem, would you?” Dom asks casually.
Turning on the lounge chair, causing one of his knees to press against Dom’s thigh, Billy watches Cameron’s eyes light up with hopeful anticipation. “Sure! But how?”
Hating to break the physical contact with Billy, Dom sits up, swinging his legs to the ground on the other side of the lounge chair, focusing all his attention on Cameron. “Well, this battered old body isn’t as spry as it used to be, Cam. Especially after daily practice. Griffin needs someone younger to fetch, swim with him, spend a little time with him each evening. You wouldn’t know anyone willing to do that, would you?”
“I would!”
“And of course, I’d pay you,” Dom tacks on.
Cameron’s already huge eyes grow even wider. “Wow! Did you hear that, Dad?”
“Yes, I heard it, but you certainly can’t take any money for playing with Dom’s dog, Cameron Stuart Boyd, so get that sparkle of greed out of your Scottish green eyes.”
“He wouldn’t be playing, Billy,” Dom argues smoothly. “He’d be exercising Griffin for me.” His eyes twinkle shamelessly with mischief. “Unless you think a nightly jog with my dog would be good for my knees.”
“Of course not,’ Billy snaps, wishing Dom would take his situation more seriously.
Rubbing his hands together, Dom grins with obvious satisfaction. “Then it’s a deal. Two pounds a day, and all the Irn Bru you can drink.”
Cameron looks as though he’s just been given the assignment to search for the Holy Grail. “Wow,” he repeats, his tone hushed and reverent. “It’s a deal. And I promise to never miss a day!”
Dom laughs again, and Billy manages a tentative smile as Cameron begins talking about the practice once again. The conversation turns to anecdotes about matches played during Dom’s long, professional career, and as the last faint color of day fades to night, Cameron’s small body curls into Billy’s side, his long eyelashes beginning to drift closed.
“He’s had a very exciting day,” Billy murmurs, carefully lifting Cameron’s sleepy form into his embrace. “I think it’s time for him to go to bed.”
“Want some help?” Dom inquires as Cameron’s head settles comfortably into the curve of Billy’s neck, his breathing slow and steady. It’s clear to him that Cameron has been cradled this way in Billy’s arms numerous times before, their close bond achingly beautiful.
“No thanks, I can handle it,” Billy replies softly before tenderly kissing his son’s tousled, ginger hair. “Why don’t you pour us some whiskey and I’ll be back out to give you that massage I promised you.”
Arching an eyebrow for a moment, Dom sighs blithely. “Whiskey, a sexy man and a massage, all in one night? I’m not certain I can handle that much happiness, Billy.”
“You’re tough, Monaghan. Believe me, you’ll survive.”
The answering smile fades from Dom’s face as he watches Billy carefully rise and disappear into the house, Cameron sprawled limply and trustingly in his father’s arms. Laying back in the lounge chair, Dom attempts to sort out all the inexplicable feelings for Billy he keeps experiencing.
Now, Dom can’t say that he’d been instantly drawn to Billy. That would be a lie. Yet, from the moment Billy had begun arguing with him about that ridiculous excuse for a piano, Dom had felt a certain unwilling admiration for Billy’s behavior. Good, old-fashioned spunk is what his Dad would call it, Dom decides, not all that different from his own cheekiness that he’s failed to outgrow.
Sincerely empathizing with the way Billy’s life has suddenly altered, Dom knows how wearisome and oftentimes frightening it is to adapt to change. Honestly, he hasn’t handled his own life very well this past year, and now Dom hopes that he can salvage the situation by regaining his ranking as one of the top five players in the UK. Although he’s no longer capable of the intricate moves and seemingly endless strength and stamina that helped the Rangers earn numerous trips to Hampden and the Cup Finals, Dom will put up with all of Holm’s marine-sergeant drills to get back on top, if that’s what it takes.
Dom likes the way Billy seems honestly concerned about him and senses Billy’s worry comes just as much from the man as the doctor. He’s certainly not used to the genuine concern. Sure, most women gushed over him when he’d first been injured, but he’s always known that the first match he couldn’t drag himself out onto the field, the crowd of willing, admiring females would thin out. After that, Dom found out just how few real friends he truly had. It turned out that most of his supposed friends were along for the ride, and it was quietly understood that they wouldn’t be expected to tag along if it took a downhill turn anywhere along the way. David, on the other hand, didn’t waver for an instant, giving Dom some much needed support during the painful diagnosis process, and keeping a close eye after Dom’s knee surgery.
Superficial. That’s the only way to describe most of the ‘friendships’ in Dom’s life. The wounds to his heart, the one he so carefully keeps hidden, to protect it, is quite another matter. It was was a hard lesson to learn, one that Dom hasn’t fully recovered from, and he’s not sure he ever will.
Then there’s Billy.
Billy is on the flip side of that coin. In actual fact, they’ve only known each other a day, but because of Billy’s concern about him, medically, and an almost fierce protectiveness regarding Dom’s knee, somehow it feels much longer. Honestly, Dom expected one hell of an argument about his practice routines. He can practically see Billy storming onto the field, giving Coach Ian Holm a piece of his mind. That’s something Dom is going to have to make certain doesn’t happen, if he has to tie Billy up and sit on him.
“Something funny, Monaghan?”
While Dom has been thinking, Billy has returned and in now standing over him, a puzzled expression on his face. Then Dom realizes that he’s smiling at the thought of holding the feisty Dr. Boyd down, anywhere, against his will. There are a variety of situations that he’d love to explore, in great detail.
“Actually, I was considering the logistics of holding you down when you’d made up your mind to do something,” Dom admits with a genuine smile. “It was rather enjoyable.”
Back stiffening with irritation, Billy doesn’t mince words.
“Like telling that fecking idiot who’s masquerading as a football coach what I think of encouraging collisions in his bloody practices?” Billy spits out coldly.
Dom knows that the anger flashing in Billy’s dark eyes is not meant for him. Patting the lounge chair, Dom invites him to sit down. “That was one of the more unwelcome scenarios,” he agrees.
“I don’t know if you understand how important it is for you to go slowly, Monaghan,” Billy presses as he sinks down to the spot next to Dom’s thigh. “Slowly.”
Temporarily dropping the shield that usually hides the raw emotion in his eyes, Dom’s level gaze holds Billy’s. “And I’m positive that you don’t understand how important it is for me to make a full comeback this season. Taking it slowly is not an option.”
It suddenly dawns on Billy that Dom fully intends to jeopardize his knee in order to continue playing. It’s times like this that Billy wants to pick up the nearest object and knock some sense into all obsessive athletes. Sure, Billy runs, every day as a rule, but he’s never behaved as if it’s the only thing in his life.
Rising from the lounge chair in an abrupt, ungraceful movement, Billy shoves his small hands in the front pockets of his trousers as he walks barefoot over to the pool house, his warm breath fogging the clear panels as he rests his forehead against the cool surface. They’d turned on the underwater lights earlier in the evening, making the water gleam a bright, welcoming aquamarine, but Billy’s mind is not on the inviting depths. Instead he’s seeing Dom’s torn and battered knee, swollen and painful, damaged beyond repair.
“If you’re insisting on miracle cures, you’ve got the wrong doctor, Monaghan,” Billy says tightly, forcing his voice not to waver even though it desperately wants to. “Try signing on a faith healer instead, because I don’t have anything to offer you.”
Oh yes, you do, you sexy Scotsman, Dom could have answered. He wants Billy. His fingertips tingle with the need to experience the soft satin of Billy’s pale skin, and Dom knows that he’ll go completely mad if he doesn’t taste those rosy, cherubic lips soon. Tipping his head back, Dom downs the last of his whiskey in one swallow, knowing that he can’t remember a time when he’s wanted or needed someone more than he does right now. Billy is his only clear thought.
Although he’s vaguely disturbed by the fact that Billy has already affected him more deeply than anyone in his whole life, Dom refuses to allow himself to worry. If things get too difficult, he can always solve this dilemma by getting up, walking through the gate and remaining forever on his own side of the fence.
Dom knows this with an ironclad certainty, just as he knows he isn’t going to do it.
* ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ *
Chapter 4