Page 69 of Ship Happens

“You can sit down and stop worrying. I promise you I’ll be fine,” Owen reassures him, hoping the look he gives Jacob is a grateful one.

“You’re sure?”

“I am.” Owen nods.

“Was I going overboard?” Jacob asks as he falls to the couch.

Owen snorts, not bothering to hold back his laughter. But when he meets Jacob’s eyes again, the man just seems confused.

“What?”

“‘Overboard’ . . .” Owen gestures wildly. “Come on, you’re telling me that one wasn’t on purpose?”

Jacob’s lip twitches before he starts to laugh too. “I swear to you it wasn’t. I actually somehow keep forgetting we’re on a boat.”

“That makes one of us,” Owen tells him, sinking deeper into the couch.

“Do you want to change?” Jacob asks. “I can get you some clothes.”

“Later,” Owen replies, relaxing his head even further back. “Just stay here for a bit.”

Jacob gives him the tenderest of smiles. Owen knows that he should probably be a bit more conscious of inviting Jacob back in, but right now, he doesn’t care.

The last thing Owen wants right now is to be alone.

They find some awful reality television to watch, tearing into a few of the snacks and leftovers from dinner. They don’t talk much—at least not about anything important. Owen asks Jacob about his life outside of work, and Jacob tells Owen all about his new friends and the restaurants they enjoy going to, how under-flavored some of the food in Britain is. Jacob asks Owen about the books he’s been reading, listening intently as Owen recounts the entire plot of a series he started to hate-read.

And it’s normal.

So normal that Owen has to catch himself when he wants to reach for Jacob’s hand on the couch, to take it and place it on his thigh like Jacob always used to, his own little claim on Owen. At some point, Jacob gets up to shower, forcing Owen to promise that he won’t try and get up himself, that he’ll wait for Jacob.

He promises, but Jacob doesn’t make him lock it with his pinky, so the second Owen hears the shower start, he unfolds his cane. It’ll be good to stretch anyway. Owen makes his way back into his and Kevin’s room, changing—very carefully—into more comfortable clothing. He refills his water bottle and grabs a packet of Salonpas before he steps back out into the hallway.

“Dammit . . .” Owen hears the hushed voice from Jacob’s room.

Owen can’t help his curiosity, pushing the already cracked door open even farther. There’s the faintest hint of steam still lingering in the air from Jacob’s too-hot shower.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck . . .”

“Jacob?” Owen asks loud enough that Jacob has to hear him. “You okay?”

“Ah!” There’s some stumbling, and Owen hears something clink to the floor.

“Jacob?”

When Owen opens the bathroom door, he takes in quite the sight. A naked Jacob is standing there in front of the fogged-up mirror, all the supplies he typically uses for his testosterone shots laid out in front of him.

“Oh . . .” Jacob stares over his shoulder. “Hey, did you change? Why didn’t you call me, I could’ve helped.”

“I’m okay,” Owen promises with a smile so that Jacob knows this isn’t the moment to worry about him. “Got dressed all by myself and everything!”

“And you’re the one who said you’d never achieve your Olympic dreams.” Jacob shakes his head, going back to the syringe in his hand.

“Do you want help?” Owen asks, knowing that Jacob won’t.

He looks at Owen again, like he’s embarrassed. “Please?”

Surprised, Owen sits on the toilet, ordering Jacob to face him. He should probably be far more conscious about the fact that he’s face-to-face with Jacob’s crotch. But that doesn’t matter right now. Still, he can’t help but notice that Jacob’s normally trimmed pubic hair is a bit more unruly now, his top growth only having gotten more prominent over the last year.