The Commitment(62)

He sat up, pulling me up with him.

"Fucking Christ," Drake said, his face blanching. "She actually said staff would call the police if I went to the ward again?"

He ran his fingers through his hair, then held his head as if he had a headache.

"I'm sorry," I said and stroked his back. "She said you punched Chris."

He glanced at me and shook his head. "Yeah I punched the sonofabitch after he punched me. He said he didn’t want a pervert anywhere near his son as long as Liam was a minor. As if I'd be some bad influence on Liam. Christ," Drake said and got up, going to look out the window. "All I wanted was to see him and speak with him, give him the photograph of his grandfather. I don’t care what they told Liam – say it's some distant uncle on someone's side. Let him know he had a relative who was heroic and maybe one day tell him the truth about me. But no. So, yeah, when he punched me, I popped the bastard a good one in return."

I stood dumbstruck at Drake's anger. I'd never witnessed it before. I'd seen his happiness, his humor. I'd seen his passion. But never real anger. Even when I revealed that someone had seen our agreement, he didn't get angry.

We went to bed soon after that, and Drake tossed and turned in bed beside me. There was nothing I could do to soothe him and for some reason, he wasn't interested in sex, so I lay there and listened to him sigh for quite some time before sleep finally took him.



The next few days flew by. I worked at the studio while Drake was out getting his shot or doing whatever it was he did at the foundation or his father's business. He grew progressively achy and tired as the day approached for his procedure, but he never once initiated sex and so I waited, wondering what was wrong and whether it was just the medicine or everything that happened.

On my part, I'd sketched my drawing onto the canvas and had started to apply paint. By the end of the third morning, it was starting to look like a real painting. I was really happy with it – the lush smoothness of his body in the rumpled covers, the color of his fair skin against the white sheets, his dark hair, the morning light, his beautiful body… it would look wonderful over a bed. Even with his erection, it was artistic rather than pornographic. Still, I was glad Nathaniel talked me into making two canvases. I decided I'd copy the painting onto the second one, but would strategically place a corner of a sheet over his groin to cover his genitals. I could show that canvas to my family and friends, if I wanted to.

By the fourth day of his shots of Filgrastim, Drake didn't feel much like anything except lying on the couch with a blanket on, drinking tea and eating my homemade scones with jam the way my mother used to make them for me when I was sick. We still hadn't had sex, and it was just as well since I had my period. I was glad that he was under the weather for the duration and didn't try to seduce me. He went for his last shot first thing in the morning while I worked at the studio and I came home after lunch to spend the afternoon with him while he lay on the couch.

Finally, the day came when Drake was scheduled to do the procedure, and he woke up with a headache.

He groaned as he lay beside me. "As much as I'm glad I'm able to do this, I'll be really happy to get rid of this headache."

I stroked his back. "How long before you start feeling back to normal?"

He rolled over and faced me, dark circles under his eyes. "A few days. It's really nothing. Just a few aches and a headache. Nothing more than what I'd get after a really intense workout or a flu."

He leaned over and kissed me and then rolled slowly out of the bed, sitting on the edge for a moment, rubbing his head. He sighed and got up, padding naked to the bathroom where I heard him take a pee. Then, the shower started and he stepped inside. I didn't want to shower with him, so I stayed nestled in the thick coverlet, lying in Drake's warm spot, enjoying the scent of his cologne on his pillow.

"You not going to join me?" he said from the shower.

"No, you go ahead without me. I'll have one later."

He hummed to himself as he showered and so the water must have revitalized him. He'd be happy that today was the day he'd do the procedure. From what Maureen had written in emails, and from what Drake's contacts in the hospital told him, Liam was stable but the sooner he got the transplant the better.

He came out after the shower, a towel around his waist, his hair freshly brushed and I marveled once again at how sexy and beautiful he was. He stood in front of his closet and sorted through his shirts, selecting a deep blue one, which he hung over the chair beside the closet. Then he pulled out some suit trousers in a matching deep blue and the jacket that went with it. He went to his bureau and removed a fresh pair of socks and boxer briefs and started to dress while I watched.