After Felix - Lily Morton Page 0,48
see my cock again,” I say idly.
He laughs. “Well, it does so enhance all of your little stories.”
There’s a short silence. I realise what I’ve said at the same moment that Andrew says, “Wait. You’ve been together?”
“For a long time,” Max says.
I glare at him. “For a very short and eminently forgettable time we were together. Years ago.”
Max narrows his eyes, but before he can say anything, the cubicle curtain is whisked open and the doctor appears.
“We’ll wait outside,” I say hurriedly, spiriting Andrew out.
“You slept with him?” he hisses in the hallway.
“What feels like a millennium ago.”
“And you never thought to mention it to me?”
I stare at him in astonishment. “No, why would I?”
He opens his mouth to argue, but I jump in and say, “Max is old news. Such old news that the pages have gone yellow. It’s not important.”
The cubicle curtain opens and the doctor comes out. “I’m just sending him to get a cast on that arm,” he says, smiling at us before walking away to confer with a nurse.
I pop my head around the curtain. Max is staring at the wall with a very concentrated expression on his face. Wheels and cogs are turning at hyper speed in that big brain of his, and I’m pretty sure he’s plotting something.
“Everything okay?” I ask cheerfully.
He turns to me. “I’m afraid you’ll need to stay with me tonight, Felix,” he says slowly.
“What?” I gasp.
He puts up his good hand. “Not my idea,” he says in a sanctimonious tone. “It was the doctor. He’s concerned about my head.”
“Why? Did you finally knock some sense into it?”
“Felix,” Andrew says.
I ignore him in favour of glaring at Max. “There’s absolutely no reason for me to stay with you.”
“What about my arm?”
“You’ve got another one.” Even I can hear the hysteria in my voice, but I can’t stop it.
Max looks pensive. “Well, I suppose I’ll be alright. You mustn’t worry about me,” he says with a sigh.
“Oh, okay. That’s great,” I say quickly. “We’ll just be off, then. Nice to see you again, Max. Let’s leave it a lot longer next time.”
“Felix,” Andrew says reproachfully. “You have to stay. He’s helpless.”
“He is not helpless,” I argue. “He got through Syria with a bullet in him. I’m sure he can cope with the taxi ride from the hospital.”
Panic rises. I can’t stay with him. I’ve developed a routine over the last couple of years. Get in. Snark at him. Get out. My method will take a severe battering if I have to stay in the same house as him. I haven’t been in this close proximity to him since we were together in Cornwall.
My thoughts are interrupted when the doctor comes back into the cubicle. “Ah, Mr. Travers,” he says cheerfully. “Nurse is on her way. Have you arranged for someone to stay with you tonight? If not, I’m going to insist that you stay here because of that bump on the head.”
Max turns what can only be described as puppy-dog eyes on me. Against my will I sigh and say, “Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Yes,” Max says loudly. When we all turn to stare at him, he immediately assumes a pious expression. “How extremely thoughtful of you, Felix,” he intones.
“Good good,” the doctor says. “Now, I’ll give you a list of things to watch out for. Mainly unusual sleep patterns.”
“They usually happen when he’s been drinking,” I observe. The doctor immediately looks at Max, his expression indicating Max has suddenly turned into Charlie Sheen.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “No drinking tonight, then, Mr Travers.” He frowns at Max. “Or drugs,” he adds.
I grin, but wipe it away as the doctor turns back to me. “If you see anything that worries you about Mr Travers—like unusual personality fluctuations—please ring the hospital.”
“That’s a very wide field, if you know Max,” I say uneasily.
“Maybe if he’s too loud or not making any sense,” the doctor offers.
“Ooh, it’s going to be really hard to tell the difference from the way he is normally,” I say mournfully.
Max glares at me.
The doctor turns back to Max and gives him instructions about how to shower with his injured arm. I tune out the conversation. I’m going absolutely nowhere near a naked, wet Max.
Andrew tugs at my arm. “I need to talk to you,” he murmurs.
I follow Andrew outside, ignoring Max’s furtive glare. “What is it?” I ask. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to drive back to London on your own.”
“Felix, I think I’m probably not going to call