This Other Country (21 page)

They didn’t see him.

He backed off silently. Finding himself in the vast kitchen, he leant against a counter, his heart beating overly fast in his chest.

“What’s wrong?”

He turned, his boss was standing there watching him. He had no idea what to say. Did this man know? Surely he couldn’t.
Squeezy
for fuck’s sake. What the hell was this? He licked his lips and shook his head. “Nothing.”

Nikolas regarded Ben thoughtfully. He suddenly pushed off the table he’d been perched on and strode over the way Ben had come in. He opened the door, spat out, “For fuck’s sake, you two!” and then slammed it shut.

Staring intently at his shoe, Nikolas muttered, “It repulsed you.”

Ben couldn’t tell whether this was a question or a pretty obvious bloody statement of fact. “Yeah! What d’ya fucking think?
Squeezy
? Since when?”

Nikolas shrugged. “The jury is still out on that one.”

“You think this is funny? Sir. I mean. Sorry.” Ben hung his head. Nikolas came nearer.

“A lot can change in ten years. Is it that shocking?”

§ § §

Nikolas wondered if his face was white. He’d actually felt the blood drain from it. Ben lifted his eyes. The piercing green was almost the only colour in the chrome, industrial kitchen. Suddenly, the green seemed to intensify—liquefy. Ben clenched his jaw. “I don’t know what to think about any of this. Who the fuck am I? What am I doing here? Squeezy…” He dashed away a tear, which had escaped the lockdown scrunch of his face. Nikolas came a little closer.

Suddenly he pulled Ben into a hug. He felt a huge surge of resistance until there was none at all so he tightened his grip. He didn’t run his fingers into Ben’s hair or rub his back. He just held him and murmured, “Everything is still the same and will wait for you until you can remember. Nothing here can hurt you. This is your home.
We’re
your home.”

Ben pulled away but it was a gentle easing apart. He stared at Nikolas, his eyes flickering quickly, scanning Nikolas’s features. He nodded and took a breath. “There’s stuff you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”

Nikolas hesitated for a moment. “Doctor Gillian concluded your memory loss is a protective mechanism your brain has thrown up to prevent you being hurt by…well, memories, I suppose.”

“You know what these things are—the things I don’t want to remember?”

“Yes. I do.”

Ben’s eyes widened. “Is it Squeezy being gay?”

Nikolas actually laughed, and he hadn’t thought he’d be doing that for a long time to come. “Why don’t you go and watch a movie. Just relax for a while.”

Ben nodded and ground the heel of his hand into his eyes. The gesture almost undid Nikolas. But Nikolas Mikkelsen had reserves of strength rarely tested these days. He called on them now, and they responded. Merely patting Ben on the shoulder as any boss might do to a favoured employee, he selected a couple of bottles of wine from the rack and ushered Ben in to watch something mindless on the eighty-four-inch TV they’d recently bought together on the understanding Ben didn’t try to explain to Nikolas anything about resolution or pixels, and Nikolas didn’t tell the Ben the price. Again, such thoughts didn’t help Nikolas’s equanimity. He sat back on the sofa just outside Ben’s range of vision as he fiddled with the remotes. He could hear faint sounds from the rest of the house—Tim’s voice on the telephone, Squeezy bringing a car around. The two men going out. This normal soundtrack of their life passed Ben by.

Suddenly, Ben clicked pause and hung his head for a moment before leaning back in the sofa. “I was thinking, sir.” He turned to Nikolas to see if he was listening and then continued, “What happens when I remember what I’m forgetting?—this thing you alleged happened. Won’t I just…lose it all again? If it’s that bad? Repress it again?”

Nikolas twisted around a little on the sofa so he was sitting sideward, facing Ben. “I don’t know. Would you like me to ask Andrea Gillian?”

“What’s that from?”

Ben’s eyes had drifted to one side, to the scar on Nikolas’s cheekbone.

Nikolas smiled faintly. “We both have a lot of scars. Have you not seen this one yet?” He laid a finger very briefly on Ben’s thigh, his whole hand tingling from a touch Ben didn’t even register.

“Where, what?” Ben immediately fumbled for his zip, and before Nikolas could choke out a horrified
don’t do that
he’d lifted his hips and slid his jeans down to his knees. Nikolas rose swiftly from the sofa and went to take the DVD out of the machine, randomly stabbing at buttons, because that was Ben’s job and he didn’t know how to work it. Nikolas’s job was to comment on the movies, giving Ben the benefit of his wisdom.

“Fucking hell! Look at that! I’ve taken a piss, course, but I didn’t lower…How did I get this?”

Nikolas turned slowly and saw only the familiar body, the smooth, taut brown skin he’d licked from ankle up. Ben was tipped to one side examining the scar, and his buttocks were firm beneath his shorts, hard, moulded. And, of course, in loose boxers, not much of importance was hidden. Nikolas could see Ben’s large cock, heavy and semi-hard. He forced his gaze to the scar. “You were in a plane crash.”

“I was? Fucking hell.”

“Do
not
swear at me, Ben, I don’t—”

Very slowly, Ben’s eyes lifted from his scar. At the look, Nikolas’s familiar refrain died in his mouth.

Ben stood slowly, fastening his jeans. “You’ve said that to me before.”

“Yes, I believe only a few moments ago!”

“No,
before
before. Before
this
before. You. I remember you. Telling me not to swear.”

He could probably see by Nikolas’s reaction that this wasn’t the great revelation he’d hoped it to be. “What’s wrong? That’s good, yeah?”

Nikolas nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry. It is good. Perhaps this will just be a trickle of returning memory until you have it all—some of the more important things I might have shared with you in eight years—other than telling you not to swear.”

Ben put a hand on Nikolas’s arm. “It was you saying it
now
that did it. Maybe you could say or do other things that are normal for us. Everyone is tiptoeing around me trying not to be…normal. I mean…Squeezy. Is that normal now?”

Nikolas wobbled his hand. “Not in front of me, no. They hadn’t seen each other for some days, and your friend was missing…” He had a sudden and slightly evil thought and asked before he talked himself out of it, “Do you know how your friend got that ridiculous name?”

Ben chuckled. “Course. When we first met, we had a who-can-take-the-most-squeezing-of-his-balls competition and he won—bloody strong hand.”

Nikolas’s eyebrows rose.

Ben was clearly consumed with his new idea now and carried on talking enthusiastically, following Nikolas to the kitchen. “Do you see what I’m saying? You’re all pussyfooting around my memory, scared it’ll come back and wham me or something. Maybe you should force it back by being totally normal around me—telling me everything.”

Nikolas leant on the counter and sighed. “What if you don’t like the way things are now? What if, over the ten years you’re missing, you changed?”

“What do you—?”

“What if, for example, you’d fallen in love during those missing years…?”

“You mean Kate?”

“No, not Kate. Someone twenty-two-year-old you wouldn’t have fallen for. Someone you don’t remember but have known for almost nine years.”

Ben came closer. “The whole time of my missing memory? I’ve been in a relationship that whole time with someone? Not Kate?”

“
No
! Forget Kate! Someone
else
!”

“Where is she? Why isn’t she here? Why can’t I meet her?”

Nikolas gritted his teeth. “And what would you say, Benjamin? Hello, who are you?”

Ben looked crestfallen then angry. “Well, I wouldn’t remember her, so I might, yes, I guess, why?”

“Well, fucking hell! How would that make them feel?”

Ben’s fury appeared to falter, and he leant on the counter across from Nikolas, so close their fingers almost touched on the cool granite. “That’s…so you’re keeping her from me for
her
sake? To protect her?”

Nikolas nodded.

“But she could be the key! Surely if we’ve been together that long, I’ll still love her when I meet her. I’ll know her! I’m
sure
I will.” He suddenly shot out his hand and grabbed Nikolas’s wrist. “I’ll
pretend
until I do remember. Where is she? I want to meet her.”

“Pretend?”

“Yes! She doesn’t have to know I’ll be pretending. Only you and I will, but I’ll go along with her until my memories start to come back. Maybe they’ll trigger quickly…shit, I don’t believe I’d forget having sex with someone—I remembered Kate, didn’t I? We had a
lot
of sex, trust me. Please, sir. I need to remember.” Suddenly, he appeared to see something in Nikolas’s expression and hung his head. “Bloody hell, have I become a selfish bastard in these ten years?”

Nikolas found a tiny ounce of strength more and forced out. “No. Anything but. Ignore me.”

“I can’t believe I suggested that. We’ll tell her.” He raised his eyes beseechingly. “If she loves me, she’ll want to help. Even if she gets hurt? I wouldn’t have fallen in love with someone who wasn’t like that. I just know I wouldn’t.”

Nikolas looked down to where Ben still had hold of his wrist. At the same time, Ben did too. It was too noticeable not to see immediately—obvious. Ben’s voice hitched. “We have matching scars.” He ran his finger not over his, but over Nikolas’s, a gentle trail with a slightly chewed nail. Nikolas caught the finger. Ben kept his eyes lowered, watching their joined hands.

When Ben didn’t say more, or ask about the scars, which he’d been expecting, Nikolas asked evenly, “Will you give me a few days to think about all this? Please.”

Ben kept his head down and just nodded. He extricated their hands and straightened. “I think…I’m really tired now. Do you mind…?” He waved in the direction of his room and backed away a few paces. With a last glance at the scar on Nikolas’s wrist, Ben left the kitchen.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Sitting on the unfamiliar bed in the unfamiliar room, Ben thought about the man who had, for one startling, terrifying moment, become a great deal more familiar. For one instant, studying the scar upon his boss’s wrist, Ben had felt an intensity of emotion toward the man that had seized his throat to silence and made his heart pound fast and nervous in his chest. Everything was fear and darkness, chaos, but in that maelstrom he’d seen Sir Nikolas Mikkelsen like a beacon, a blond flash of power in the night. Safety. Nikolas Mikkelsen was shelter. Ben, tossed on a storm of terrifying confusion and doubt, desperately wanted that safe harbour.

He realized he was rubbing his scar.

He looked at the white bed and then around the large, pale room and stood uncertainly.

The kitchen was empty.

He heard an odd noise and followed the sound.

Nikolas Mikkelsen was swimming furious lengths in the blue-glass swim lane. Ben sank down on the walkway, wrapping his arms around his knees. Now he understood the man’s physique—the broad, powerful shoulders, which tapered to such a slim waist. He was doing butterfly strokes, barely rippling the surface of the blue water as his vast shoulders rose, bringing around muscled arms, cutting the water relentlessly.

When he reached the far end of one length, he propelled himself from the water and reached down for a towel, rubbing his face and hair as he came up to Ben. He stood over him, cool drops landing on Ben’s upturned face. Ben rose hesitantly to his feet. “I couldn’t stay in that room. It makes it worse somehow.” His eyes travelled over Nikolas’s scarred, ripped body. His boss tolerated the scrutiny then turned toward his own suite of rooms at the far end of the swim lane. He paused and Ben understood he was supposed to accompany him. They entered the darkened bedroom together. “Do I swim in there?”

Nikolas turned, a wry smile on his face. “You fell in once when you were drunk and pissed in it. I had to have it drained and refilled.”

Ben’s jaw dropped. “Oh, fuck. Sorry.”

Nikolas shrugged. “You’ve done worse.”

“And you still keep me on?”

“Yes. I still keep you on.”

“I must be a very good bodyguard.”

“Oh, I would say so, yes. You’ve cared for my body very well for years. You’re staring at me, Benjamin.”

Ben immediately jerked his eyes away. “I was looking at your scars. Are those cigarette burns?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not good.”

“No. I’ve never told you how I got them.”

Ben frowned. “Why would you have done?”

Nikolas smiled faintly. “We talk about a lot of things.”

“Oh.” He suddenly tipped his head to one side. “I think that’s what I was feeling in my room just now—I was missing…talking to you.”

“Missing…me?”

Ben heard the difference in these two but didn’t know how to interpret it so he just nodded. Then he shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and hunched his shoulders. “I’m not much of a talker normally.”

“Neither was I. Until I met you.”

“How did we meet? I mean, why did I leave the army and come work for you?”

§ § §

Nikolas eyed the bathroom for a moment then sighed and pulled some jeans on over his wet swimsuit. He sat on the end of the bed and indicated for Ben to sit in the armchair, which he did, perching on the edge, as if flight might become necessary. “These things all tie together. I can’t tell you one thing without venturing onto other things I don’t know whether to tell you…whether you’re ready to hear.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. I’m not a child! I’m…not going to break! Just tell me!”

“Do you trust me, Ben?”

Ben suddenly shot out of his chair and came close, making Nikolas lean back on his hands. Then Ben sat right alongside Nikolas, his expression intent. “I’ve always said yes to that, haven’t I? I’ve always trusted you. You’re my beacon.”

“What?” Nikolas cursed the quiver in his voice. He sounded like whiny ten-year-old Aleksey, questioning his father and that man’s dark desires.