“About the trip or the concert or something. You get this really worried look and then hide it away.”
“I don’t—” He broke off when I scoffed. “Well, maybe, I guess. It’s not a big deal.”
“I don’t want to pry, but maybe it would help to share? Boyfriend to boyfriend?” We hadn’t been using that word for long but I liked the warm glow I got saying it.
Griffin kept folding the rejected shirts. “I just, well, I had an irritated throat for a couple of weeks…”
My mind jumped to infectious diseases but he kept going.
“…so I went in, did the strep and COVID tests and everything, and it was all negative, but the nurse thought maybe I was getting a vocal cord nodule. And it’s just the wrong fucking time for that.”
“Nodule?” I tried to remember my ENT lectures.
“Yeah. It’s from overuse, basically. And the treatment is, like, three to six months of vocal rest, sometimes surgery which would really suck.”
“But…” I waved at the hanging T-shirt. “You’re still planning to do Rocktoberfest?”
“Yeah. Luckily it hasn’t affected my voice too badly yet. I’m a little raspy, but that’s not a terrible thing. I’ll get through Rocktoberfest and then rest up.”
“I should take a look.” I stood up but Griffin fixed me with a glare.
“No, you shouldn’t. You’re my boyfriend, not my doctor.”
“Come on, take advantage of the free advice.”
“I almost puked on the nurse when she tried to look with just a tongue depressor. If you’re going to gag me, I want it to be your dick in there.”
“But you can’t ignore your health—”
“Look, she’s set me up with a proper ENT exam on Friday. Some kind of scope thing. I’m not ignoring it.”
“Oh.” I was pleased he was getting seen, but a little worried about how fast the appointment was happening, given the wait for most specialties these days. Was that his star power, or a sign the nurse was really worried? The specter of some kind oflaryngeal cancer hovered at the back of my mind. “And if she tells you not to do Rocktoberfest?”
Griffin’s grin seemed fake. “I’ll listen to her as soon as the concert is over. Lee, really, don’t make a big deal out of it. It’s just a pain in the ass thing. Hell, even Justin Timberlake had nodules.”
“Ooh, not Justin Timberlake.” I sat back on the bed, watching him. “Do you want me to come with you to the ENT?”
“No, seriously, I’m cool.”
“I just… can’t help worrying.” Griffin seemed fine and now he mentioned it, I thought I remembered Sam Smith had some kind of throat surgery too. And they were still singing. So probably it was no big deal. Almost certainly. But life had kicked me in the gut too many times for me to be complacent.
Griffin came and sat beside me, looping an arm around my shoulders. “Hey, thanks for caring. My biggest concern is if my voice will hold up for the show. Sixty thousand people paying to listen to me. I’ll take it easy till then, but I have to practice with Chaser Lost.”
“Surely they’ll understand.”
“Yeah, but we have to do a certain minimum not to sound like shit up there. Oh well, I’m sure it’ll work out.”
He didn’t look sure. I leaned close and kissed his cheek. “I can tell Kashira you don’t want to do singing or a lot of reading before you leave. Rest up.”
“That’s a good idea. Thanks.”
“And you’ll tell me what the ENT specialist says?”
His hesitation was brief, but I noticed it. “Sure, I’ll let you know.”
“Should you skip giving blow jobs for a while?”
That made him laugh. “Nah. Maybe semen’s the miracle cure for nodules. Ever think of that?”
