After Death

Chapter Thirty Two

SUNDAY, THE DAY OF THE AWARDS

Oliver didn’t know how he had actually gotten on the seven-in-the-morning train back into New York. He had woken up because of an incessantly dry mouth, and stayed awake only because of the bomb that had gone off inside his head. He could barely see straight, and remembered practically nothing from the previous night, except for drinks and fists. Why had he gone out?

He was mortified when he finally saw himself in the mirror. He was caked in blood, and bruised in places he didn’t think he could have been bruised. He showered, which helped with the blood, but his face was practically malformed. What was he going to do? Then it hit him. The Tony’s were that day. Tears welled up, but couldn’t make it all the way through. He hurriedly called Trish.

“What is it? You should be on a train,” she had opened up with, ever the manager. 

“Trish, something happened,” he sounded desperate.

“Are you alive?”

“Yes, but-“

“Then get on a train and I’ll figure it out. Now,” she said, and then hung up. She knew how to get what she wanted. 

Oliver swallowed back as much water he could possibly handle, donned a hat and sunglasses then called a cab. Fortunately this one was older and didn’t recognize him. He slid through the station and onto the train without recognition, and paid extra so that he could have his own cabin, even just for the two hour journey. He was asleep as soon as he hit the seat and woke up just as the train was rounding along the side of the New York skyline. Everything hurt, he felt tired and generally just drained of all energy. He didn’t even realize where he had made the mistake, but he had made it and now was feeling it.

Keeping up the lucky streak, he made it through Grand Central and into a cab without drawing any attention. He feel asleep again, and was shuffled awake by the furious Hindi cab driver. He gave the man a large tip to make up for it. 

Trish was waiting impatiently inside, next to his tuxedo, which was ironed and hanging in the kitchen. She turned to him as he pushed through the door. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Trish…” he muttered, trying to muster any energy.

“Take your stuff off, take a shower. We’ve got to be there in two hours and you’re walking through the door now. Let’s go, bub.”

Oliver sighed and pulled off his glasses, revealing his bruised face. Trish’s face sank.

“Holy crap, kid. What the hell happened to you?” she said, and lunged forward towards him, inspecting the wounds. “Christ, that’s pretty bad.”

“Is it?”

“What happened?”

“My hometown.”

“And here I was, saying it was going to be good for you. Was it your dad?”

“No. Some guys at a bar.” 

“Well, let’s get you cleaned up. You’re OK?”

“Still alive.

“That’s what I want to hear. Let me think about this because we’re just going to have to use it.”

“You’re not telling me I can still go looking like this…”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. I’m also telling you to go get ready, now. I’ll make sure everything works out.”

Oliver nodded gruffly and headed for the bathroom. It felt good to be back in his place. He undressed and turned on his shower, which felt like salvation on his back. 

“Where’s your date?” Trish called from the other room.

His date. He hadn’t talked to Cade since he had gone home, and hadn’t been able to get in contact with him. “I, uh, don’t know.”

Trish stuck her head in the room, her eyebrow raised to the ceiling. “You don’t know? You need a date. This is all part of the image we’re working on kid.”

Oliver didn’t bother to cover himself up behind the clear glass shower. Trish had seen him naked enough times. “I don’t know. He hasn’t called me back.”

“You’re making a lot of work for me here,” Trish sighed and disappeared from the doorway. Oliver couldn’t even think about what she was going to do or was trying to do. His headache was getting better, but it was still pretty bad.

He finished up showering, shaved and fixed up his eyebrows. At least he looked somewhat presentable now, even if he didn’t feel it. He slid on underwear and an undershirt and went into the kitchen.

“Alright, I’m-“ he stopped short. Cade was standing in the kitchen next to Trish, dressed in a full tuxedo. “Cade?”

“Hi,” he said, his voice faltering.

“Don’t tell me I can’t do anything,” Trish interjected with a snide grin. 

“What are you doing here?” the words left Oliver’s mouth without much consideration.

Cade’s mouth opened but no words came out. 

“Let’s get a move on here, kids,” Trish snorted and flicked around on her phone. “Limo’s going to be here soon and then it’s game time.”

Cade inhaled, searching for the words. “I’m sorry.”

Oliver nodded. “I am too.”

“I got scared. With everything that was happening. All of a sudden it felt like a lot of things were changing and then you were gone and I didn’t know what to think, so I got scared,” Cade looked him straight in the eye, unwavering. “I never really told you this but I like you a lot and I just don’t know how to deal with having you in my life. I think you might be too good for me.”

Oliver looked Cade over. He was so genuine, and it was like he was reading his own mind. Cade looked ready for Oliver to turn and leave and never come back. Instead, he smiled. “I’m scared too Cade. But I’m ready to do it because this feels good. Nothing feels right like this feels right.”

Cade smiled wide, and they both embraced and kissed a deep, heartfelt kiss. 

“Alright, alright,” Trish looked up from her phone. “Don’t smudge the tuxes. We’ve got a few things that we still need to do today, if you haven’t already forgotten.”

Oliver grinned and looked into Cade’s eyes. He was so happy to be away from home.