Page 17 of Coming for the Champion
“Changed your mind again? What was that in there?”
“It was selfish of me to walk away when you needed this so much, and then something Tommy said about helping him coach, inspiring his younger lads, helped me figure out a solution. I—”
“You do realise that we’ll have to spend more time together now?” Rory’s heart was pounding, just like it used to before a match.
“I thought you wanted that.”
“Yes, but you don’t. Stop being confusing.”
Malcolm frowned. “Uncertainty on my part isn’t a reflection on you. Not all of us have a defined outcome for life.”
What was that supposed to mean? Rory just shook his head. “When you figure it out, let me know.” He nearly leaned in tokiss Malcolm goodbye, an instinct that would do neither of them any good, so he spun on the stair and trotted away with his head held up high.
By the time he’d returned to his rooms, his heart had stopped racing—damned thing betrayed him—and he could sit down and go over his proposals so he knew exactly what he wanted to say to Bennington. Should he be completely open about Bennington’s father ruining his father? Musing on it was a great way to avoid thinking about Malcolm. Malcolm. Rory closed his eyes and rested his head on the wall.
The man was a gift, almost too perfect in that he understood Rory’s problem on a level almost no one else did because he’d been there too. A champion. They’d both known the adoring crowds, the overwhelming interest from people, the fame and accolades. And they’d both walked away. Of course, there was also the sex which both complicated everything and made it all so much clearer. Rory had always struggled to find people who’d listen to him in bedsports and give him what he needed. People wanted him to push them around, for him to be the dominating Champion, but Malcolm was his equal in that way, and he’d provided exactly what Rory had needed. It should be simple. They should be able to have what Bennington and Mardin had.
All of Rory’s breath exhaled in a long sigh. How was he supposed to impress Bennington and save his farm when he was jealous of the man? Bennington had everything Rory wanted, money to indulge his whims, of course, but most especially he had a lover who he adored and quite obviously adored him. What did Rory have? A one time fling, made from desperation and despair, with a complicated Champion.
Chapter 13
The week dragged on, filled with pointless meetings at work where people didn’t listen to Malcolm, or worse, said exactly what he’d just said and then got praised for it. Every night, he’d bought himself a pint and a pie at the Bell, like he always did, listening to people like him talk about their lives, and he’d go back to his flat and read. Lately he’d been reading on Scottish history, and he didn’t even bother to lie to himself that it was for any reason except he wanted to know more about the land that Rory grew up on and lived on. At work, there was the latest catalogue to proof and plenty of other tasks to distract himself with, but Malcolm found himself musing on that one night at Tommy’s, over and over. There was really only one question and when his friend Lord Lawndry arrived for a visit, he almost blurted it out.
“How did you know that Mr Gilbert was worth the risk?” It wasn’t quite the same question—should he give up everything here at Sotheby’s and move to Scotland for a man with no guarantee that it would work or that he could find work—but it was almost the same question. Lawndry had lived with Mr Gilbert, a pair of confirmed bachelors, for years.
Lawndry’s face lit up, and damn, that was what Malcolm wanted. Someone who would think of him and look like that. Was Rory the one?
“In the end it was easy.”
“How so?”
“Losing him would have been worse than any other risk. He understands me. I know that I’m an odd person, obsessed with timepieces and often oblivious to how other people see the world, and he’s never tried to change me. He likes me and I like him and that’s everything.”
“And love?”
“Loving someone you like is the easiest thing in the world. He’s never tried to change me, when so many others have.” Lawndry flushed and waved his hand awkwardly. “Well, that’s basically it. I’m lucky that we muddle along together quite nicely.”
Luck. Malcolm didn’t believe in luck, he believed in training, preparation, technique. He was a champion because he worked harder than everyone to be better, stronger, faster than his opposition. He glanced around the room, around the office he’d spent so much of his adult life. At the door leading to the hallway where white men walked past him, ignoring him until he was useful, overlooking him for promotions time and again, giving the job to lessor qualified younger men with connections. All his training had become, not exactly worthless, but certainly under appreciated.
“I’m thinking of leaving Sotheby’s.”
Lawndry frowned. “I haven’t heard of anyone wanting a horologist. Who has offered you a job?”
“No one.”
“You are thinking of giving up horology?” Lawndry’s visage was a picture of puzzlement.
“Yes.”
“But you are an expert. One of the few in the world with knowledge on par with mine.”
It was true. “Yes, but unlike you, horology isn’t my passion, at least not to the same extent as you.”
Lawndry scoffed. “Nobbie would say that no one in the world has my singular focus for the subject. I don’t hold that against you.”
Malcolm laughed. “There is an opportunity to help someone set up a new business.”
“Is there a new watchmaker I haven’t heard of?”
