A Long Way Back (Unfinished Business #2) - Barbara Elsborg Page 0,3

one day he told him about Mr Difficult, who’d tried to check into McAllister’s at nine in the morning. As Jonty explained how they’d had to be rescued, Tay had heard something in his friend’s voice. This guy was different. Jonty liked him. Jealousy was another type of pain. An additional creature inside him, this one clawing at his heart. Sadly, with insufficient violence to kill him.

When Jonty kissed him on the lips and asked, “Going to thump me for that?” Tay’s heart cracked. He moaned and opened his eyes long enough to see Jonty, long enough to secure his image in his head before he slid under again.

Then Jonty came back with Mr Difficult, whose name was Devan. Tay opened his eyes again and looked at Jonty, then turned his head a little to look at Devan before he closed them—wanting to, this time, his heart broken. Devan was tall, dark, handsome, and about ten years older than Jonty. The strong, stable figure that Jonty needed. Even if Tay ever emerged from this, Jonty was lost. He hovered between being glad Jonty had someone better than Brad Greene, who’d never been good for him, and sorrow that Jonty would never know how much Tay loved him.

*

When Tay finally remembered everything, from somewhere came the absolute certainty that he would get better. Though he suspected the journey back would be a long one and he might never make it all the way. Now that he’d remembered Brad Greene’s role in his fall, something changed in his head. He’d told Jonty that Brad Greene was dangerous. He’d warned him, and look what had happened! This was Jonty’s fault as much as Brad Greene’s. Anger joined pain and frustration, and anger was gaining control.

Gradually Tay emerged from the darkness. He could nod or shake his head in response to questions. They removed the feeding tube. He tried to reach for things. He could keep his eyes focused on people when they crossed the room. The day he was taken outside was a milestone. In a special wheelchair with him fastened in place like a crash test dummy, but to be out of that room was enough to bring tears to his eyes. The sun on his face warmed more than his skin. The sight of the sea inspired him.

I will get better. I will.

He could watch TV and at least indicate whether he wanted a different channel. He could pretend to sleep when Jonty came.

Tay mouthed words, then whispered them, and gradually regained his voice. His first clear word was “Jonty.”

“Shall I call him?” his mother asked.

“Never…wan…see…him…gain.”

*

Tay continued on an intensive therapy programme. Two hours of occupational therapy, three hours of physiotherapy, and two hours of speech therapy a week, supplemented by his mother and father. He resisted all their efforts to persuade him to see Jonty. Even when Jonty came to the house, Tay said no. Why torture himself?

He could walk with crutches, but not safely. He looked like a newly born giraffe, legs all over the place. He needed the wheelchair if he wanted to go any distance.

He’d regained his speech, though his voice was slow and deliberate. His determination to get back the life he’d lost never wavered. He refused to accept it wouldn’t happen. If he just tried harder, worked at it longer, he’d succeed. Headaches plagued him, but he didn’t give in to them. Pills helped. His parents expected him to stay at home, but that wasn’t going to happen.

He was just at the beginning of his journey.

Chapter One

14 months after Tay’s fall

TAY WAS DETERMINED NOT TO show how much effort it was taking him to look and sound normal. Well, his version of normal. When his mother had given him the invite to the hotel reopening, he’d not taken it from her hand, so she’d left it on his desk. He had no intention of going back to Northumberland to see Jonty and fucking Devan. He didn’t want to talk about him, think about him, see either of them. How much clearer did he need to be? Irritation ate at him and taking a deep breath didn’t help.

His parents had spent the morning doing things to his flat and he’d just brewed coffee. He was glad they’d chosen to sit at the table, because he couldn’t even carry his own drink to the couch without risk of spilling it and if they watched him move through a door on his crutches, they’d realise how much he