Free Oliver's Online by Stephani Hecht, Amber Kell

brought a smile to his lips. Surely, a man that caring would give Oliver another chance.
    Muscles long underused protested, but Oliver didn’t care. His erection hardened as he remembered the hot lovemaking from the night before. If he hadn’t messed things up, he had no doubt Lane would help him with his morning wood. Lane seemed like the type of man to give another guy a hand.
    “I should’ve studied more for the phone sex,” Oliver muttered. If he’d listened to some porn or another phone-sex operator, he would’ve known the right thing to say to people when they called. Instead of lame responses, he could’ve said something hot and sultry.
    “I’m such a dork.” Oliver sighed. “Maybe Lane likes dorks.”
    He could only hope. He quickly rushed through his shower, so he could go see Lane, but upon stepping out the tub he tripped over the edge and fell forward. His damaged leg collapsed beneath the weight of supporting Oliver’s body. Before he knew what had happened, he tumbled headfirst into the sink.
     
    The eerily familiar scent of cleanser and stale air greeted Oliver when he opened his eyes. White walls sent a wave of fear through him. Hospital.
    It took several blinks for his vision to clear, and it still was a bit sparkly around the edges. “What happened?” he wondered out loud.
    “You smacked your head on the sink and scared the crap out of us,” Ronnie offered. “It was like something out of a horror movie, blood was everywhere.”
    Oliver shuddered. Memories of Dave bleeding to death and the sickly sweet scent of death soaking the air had bile rising in Oliver’s throat. He swallowed it back, thankfully grabbing onto the glass someone held out.
    He sucked down the cool liquid, not stopping until he’d drained the container dry. Sweat beaded Oliver’s forehead, and when he raised his hand to wipe at it, someone grabbed his wrist in a firm but gentle hold.
    “Careful, you don’t want to tear your stitches,” Lane said in a soothing voice.
    “Lane! What are you doing here?” Oliver asked. He couldn’t think of one reason his boss and lover, possibly ex-lover, would be at the hospital with him.
    “I called the house to find out why you didn’t show up for work. I wanted to make sure I hadn’t scared you away.” Lane frowned. “I heard you were in the hospital and came to check on you.”
    “What happened? Was I in another accident?” He searched his mind but couldn’t remember getting into a car.
    “Remember? You tripped in the bathroom and hit your head on the sink counter,” Patrick said.
    Oliver wrenched his attention away from Lane to focus on his friend. Had Patrick always been a little fuzzy around the edges? Oliver tilted his head and gasped when a hard spike zapped through his skull.
    “Ow!”
    “Easy, you have a mild concussion,” Patrick warned.
    “I have a case of the stupids,”Oliver snapped. His memory returned—well, part of it—as he recalled tripping on the tub.
    “Hey, bathroom accidents happen all the time,” Lane soothed.
    Oliver sighed. He touched his forehead, brushing across the rough spot with his fingertips.
    Lane grabbed his wrist. “Leave your stiches alone.”
    “How many are there?” Great, now he’d be a gimpy scarred freak.
    “Only five. I doubt it will scar much.”
    “I hope not.” Oliver sighed. Closing his eyes, he wished everyone would go away so he could peacefully wallow in his own angst.
    “Don’t!” Lane snapped.
    “Don’t what?” Oliver opened his eyes to glare at the bossy man.
    “Don’t shut me out. Don’t block me away as if I’ll disappear if you wish hard enough. I want to be part of your life. Please let me.”
    Oliver examined Lane’s expression, but he didn’t see pity or disgust or any of those other things he'd worried he’d spot. All he saw was concern and affection.
    “I’m a mess. If you were smart, you would run the other way.” Oliver meant what he said. Lane deserved someone who didn’t trip