by A J Lange
Zane’s stomach growled and he wondered what Tanner would bring him to eat later. He hadn’t been hungry enough to eat more than a partial sandwich or crackers Lily had brought up from the hospital cafeteria. He thought the last thing he had eaten was a Poptart Tanner had shoved in his hand earlier that morning, or was it the evening before? Heavy, padded footsteps approached, alerting him to Irene’s presence before she appeared at the bedside, recording numbers perfunctorily on the chart she held in her hands. She reached into her pocket and retrieved a banana and a granola bar, silently placing them on the side table.
Zane looked up to find her dark eyes on his hand, entwined with Gray’s.
“If I brought you a Coca-cola, would you drink it?” She asked gruffly, the sound booming in the hushed quiet.
“Uh, yeah, thanks,” Zane croaked, voice rough from disuse.
“You should talk to him,” she said, turning on her squeaky nurse shoes and padding back out into the corridor.
Zane stared at the doorway, mouth open.
Irene returned a few minutes later, setting a can of Coke and a glass of ice on the tray table. Zane felt self-conscious; he was in the middle of telling Gray about Alanna's visit, and Luca, and how Tanner had brought him a piece of pie the day before, coconut cream, from the hospital cafeteria but Zane couldn’t eat it, he was so sick with worry. His cheeks flushed, but he kept talking and Irene paid him no mind, dropping a folded blanket and pillow onto the small couch against the wall before leaving again.
His eyes pricked, hot tears burning behind his eyelids, and he leaned close to Gray’s cheek, aching with the familiarity of the stubbled jaw, breathing the words into his skin, “Come on, baby, wake up. Open your eyes.”
◆◆◆
Zane must have fallen asleep; he woke with his face mashed into the crook of his arm on the edge of Gray’s bed. He winced, a massive crick in his neck as he rolled it, trying to loosen the tight soreness. He wondered what time it was; unfortunately, his phone had long since died and there was no clock in this room. He glanced at Gray, and startled to find him staring back, lids at half-mast.
“Gray,” he breathed, standing, knees and back popping painfully in his haste. He cupped Gray’s face gently in his trembling fingers. “Hey.”
One corner of that beautiful mouth lifted, a ghost of a smile, blue eyes dull but blessedly open. “I thought you were a dream,” he managed to whisper, before his eyelids fluttered closed again.
“Gray?” Zane stroked his cheek but he was out again. Zane laid his head on his chest and breathed deep, relief easing gently over him, tempering the fear and worry that had consumed him for three days.
◆◆◆
There were tests, MRI’s and CT scans, copious amounts of blood work, a flurry of activity in and out of the small room until Zane was forced back into the waiting room for the next several hours. Then he was hampered by Harry, Alanna, Luke, Gray’s mother. Michael. They were all there, and Zane lost his spot at Gray’s bedside for the better part of a day. He struggled under an agonizing frustration, wanting them all out, gone. He needed to see it again, the open eyes and the sound of his voice. Gray was awake, but Zane needed to see for himself, to know that finally, it was true.
It was not the truth he wanted, when he got it.
“Zane,” Harry broke into his reverie, as Zane stared blankly at a months-old Sports Illustrated. Tanner tensed beside him and Zane started to stand, but Harry waved them back into their seats.
“How is he?” Zane tried to read Harry's expression. The intense fear and anxiety that had been creasing Gray’s brother’s face for two days had been replaced with a tired sort of joy, but there was something new too. Zane’s neck prickled in alarm.
“He’s awake, talking a little.” Harry sat down in one of the chairs wearily. “This has been a week, hasn’t it?”
Zane had no use for small talk. His body was coiled tight with apprehension, and he had been unable to see Gray for hours. He was a cobra, ready to strike, but Harry could see that and held up his hand.
“Wait, okay? Just give me a minute.”
Zane waited, disquiet settling over his heart.
“He’s,” Harry paused. “He’s talking. He doesn’t remember the accident.” He swallowed and Zane watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “He’s not remembering much, actually. Not in the right order at least.”
“What do you mean?” Zane asked, low. Tanner gripped his arm. “I want to see him.”
Harry nodded. “I think you should, I think it will help.”
“Help what?” Zane bit out, frustrated at Harry for talking in circles, but he didn’t want to know the answer, not really. He couldn’t breathe again; how many times, how many days could he go without breathing fully, with lungs so shallow they burned?
Harry leaned forward slightly in his seat, voice blunt and quick when he spoke. “He doesn’t remember you, Zane. He doesn’t remember much about the past year.”
Zane stood. “I want to see him.” This was not happening. This was not happening. He exchanged a glance with Tanner.
Harry nodded with a sympathy Zane hated, his eyes glassy. “Take a minute, Zane, okay? He’s pretty out of it. You’re just going to upset him if you go in there looking like a crazy man.”
Zane resisted the urge to punch him in the mouth, realizing there was probably a grain of truth to his statement. He raked his hands through his hair. Tanner still held his arm, rock steady at his side.
“What does he remember?” Tanner’s voice was a soothing, low rumble.
“He knows I work at the Kill Devil Club, which only happened in the past six months, but he doesn’t remember starting the dig in Lawrence.” Harry frowned. “He knows Alanna is engaged, but he doesn’t remember to who. It’s, it’s all fractured. In pieces. He knows your name,” he said, meeting Zane’s gaze unflinchingly. “But he didn’t understand why you would want to see him when I said you were outside in the waiting room.”
Zane had heard enough. He shoved Tanner’s hand off of his arm and walked to the double doors, punching the call button to scrub in.
◆◆◆
Irene had cleared the room. Zane didn’t know how, he hadn’t passed Alanna or Gray’s mother, no one in the corridor, but when he stepped over the threshold, the room was empty save for the prone occupant of the hospital bed.
He cleared his throat softly, and Gray’s eyes blinked open sleepily. They stared at each other from across the small room, Zane’s heart racing, suddenly nervous, and God help him but he was ecstatic at the picture Gray made lying there, awake. Awake.
“Hey, Gray.”
Gray’s brow wrinkled slightly and Zane could see him struggle to sit up in the bed. Zane crossed the room quickly, pressing him back into the mattress. “Easy, take it easy,” he murmured.
Zane watched something flicker in his eyes, and then it was gone, wisping away, and Gray frowned again, staring down at Zane’s hand, still clutching his arm.
Zane released him, wiping his hands nervously on his jeans. He sat in the chair and let Gray study him. It was okay; Zane wanted to study him too. His head was a little lopsided, partially shaved, still sporting a large bandage on one side. But his eyes were clearer than they had been earlier, and his cheeks were faintly tinted in pink. His lips seemed slightly fuller, too, less dry.
Zane licked his lips and Gray’s eyes tracked the movement.
“How are you feeling?” Zane asked and winced when his voice seemed too loud in the tiny space.
Gray’s mouth worked and his brow furrowed again; Zane wondered if he was not answering because Zane was unfamiliar or because he couldn’t find the words.
“I’m,” Gray swallowed, then gestured to the side table, to a glass of ice chips. Zane used the Styrofoam pitcher to pour a half a cup of water and brought it to Gray’s lips. The water trembled in tiny waves against the rim of the cup; Zane’s hands were shaking. Gray reached up to place one palm around Zane’s, holding the cup steady so h
e could take a drink.
“One of us is shook up,” Zane joked pitifully.
Gray leaned back against the pillows, and Zane could see the exhaustion lining his handsome face. Zane set the cup back on the tray and waited, wondering if he had fallen asleep.
Gray blinked his eyes open again and he searched Zane’s face. “There’s something about your eyes,” he murmured. “I know you.”
Zane’s heart wrenched painfully. “Yeah, Gray, you know me,” he whispered.
“Tell me what happened.”
◆◆◆
Zane didn’t tell him everything; he left out most of the personal stuff.
He didn’t mention himself at all, other than to tell him how they met.
But he told Gray about his classes at KU and about the archaeological dig outside of Lawrence. Gray’s eyes flashed with recognition as Zane talked, but the pieces were so disjointed and scattered, they made no sense when he tried to talk, to puzzle it together aloud, so Zane shushed him and talked for him, filling the silence until Gray drifted off.
Zane watched him sleep, thinking of blizzards and closet organizers and Beethoven.
He was still sitting beside him when the neurologist made her rounds, late.
“Mr. Nolan?” She motioned for Zane to join her at the door, and Zane stood, squeezing Gray’s hand; he had been holding it since Gray fell asleep, needing the touch of his skin. “Walk with me.”
She took Zane to a small conference room, pulling the door shut behind them with a quiet click. “Grayson’s brother asked me to speak with you, relay what we know about his condition.”
Zane nodded. Her face was kind, if tired; it was probably a common affliction around here, he supposed. “His memory.”
She inclined her head once. “Memory is a tricky business with head injuries,” she said quietly. “Most traumatic brain injury victims don’t sustain long-term memory loss, the way you often see fictionalized.” She motioned for Zane to sit in a chair and he complied. She settled across from him with a tired sigh, meeting his eyes calmly. “Gray seems to be suffering from what is known as retrograde amnesia, specifically a loss of long-term episodic memory. He can remember everything since he woke up, and seems to have a good handle on the past, up to approximately a year ago.”
Zane wished for Tanner. His brain was foggy and his brother was his wingman, his backup. “Will it come back?”
“Probably.” The words were more confident than Zane expected and he looked at her in surprise. She shrugged and smiled. “I’m an optimist, Mr. Nolan. You kind of have to be in my line of work.”
Zane grinned for the first time in what felt like days. “What else can I expect?”
She took a deep breath and Zane watched the doctor visibly rise to the surface. “He’s going to recover, physically. He was very lucky. We’ll remove the shunt tomorrow and he’ll be moved to a private room. You might need to give him some time emotionally.” She paused, seeming to search for the correct phrasing. “The memories should start to return over time, as the brain begins to heal. Probably piecemeal, and it will likely be quite confusing for him as he struggles to manage it at first. He may struggle with some short term memory as well, which is more common with the area of trauma he suffered.”
She gave Zane’s hands a hard squeeze and stood to go. “Stability is your friend, Zane. He needs consistency and familiarity. With time, he should make a full recovery. Even if he never regains every memory he’s lost.”
Zane’s heart sank. “That’s possible?”
She shrugged. “There’s much we don’t understand about the brain. He’s missing a huge chunk of time. I know it’s hard, but it’s really a waiting game at this point.” She smiled gently. “He’s still Grayson, he’s still in there.”
◆◆◆
Zane smuggled two burgers and two Cokes into Gray’s room the next afternoon. Gray had been moved to one of the regular wings late the evening before. Zane had spent the night on a longer couch, at least, the regular waiting room more spacious and with a larger television. He had taken time this morning to run to Tanner and Lily’s to shower and change clothes. He couldn’t face his empty house just yet.
“Hey,” he said, surprised to find Gray sitting up. “You’re awake.”
Gray contemplated the bag in Zane’s hand. “I smell hamburgers.”
“Nothing wrong with your scent memory, then,” Zane joked, then blanched. “Um, sorry. That was probably-“
Gray chuckled. “Are you going to apologize every time you see me?”
“Do I do that?” Zane asked, surprised.
“Well, technically, I guess I don’t know.”
It took Zane a beat, but then he snorted. “Glad to see your sense of humor didn’t get knocked loose.”
“You should probably unwrap that cheeseburger now, before that shrew of a nurse returns.”
“Ooh, is it Irene?” Zane sat on the edge of Gray’s bed and passed him one of the wrapped burgers. “I thought she was an ICU nurse.”
Gray sighed happily, lifting the burger for a bite. He chewed thoughtfully, eyes carefully hooded as they watched Zane.
Zane was self-conscious under the scrutiny; he wondered what Gray remembered about him. What he would do if Zane leaned over and kissed the droplet of mustard hanging on this bottom lip, sucked it clean.
They ate the rest of their contraband in silence, then Zane took the trash and shoved it in the bottom of the wastebasket in the adjoining bathroom.
He cleared his throat, unsure if it would be appropriate for him to return to the bed or if he should sit in the only available chair. He preferred the bed, of course, because he could press his thigh against Gray, feel his warmth and vigor and life. But he had a feeling this Gray would protest.
This Gray.
Zane had a sudden, fierce longing for him, for Gray, and it was unsettling because he was here, so close. Zane’s head swam with a swirl of emotions and a sad loneliness that he didn’t know what to do with, where to put, how to set it aside and deal with what was right in front of him. In the end he chose the chair, but Gray’s voice stopped him when he went to drag it closer to the bed.
“I’m really tired.”
“Oh,” Zane froze. “Do you want me to go?” But where do I go?
“Maybe, yes.” Gray was already lying back, lowering the incline on the bed. “Thank you for the burger.”
Zane still couldn’t read his expression.
“You’re welcome. Uh,” he cleared his throat again. “Get some rest.” I love you.
I love you.
Gray turned stiffly on his side and pulled the blanket over his shoulder, effectively shutting Zane out.
Zane left the room with a new hole in his heart. He was surprised he could even feel it at this point.
◆◆◆
Zane’s next visit went worse, and worse was negligible at this point. He stuck his head tentatively inside the open door, the murmur of voices carrying into the hall. He stiffened when he recognized the man sitting on Gray’s bed beside him.
Collin.
Zane stepped into the room, fury, ice cold and deep, coursing through him.
Collin looked up and his smile fell. “Zane,” he said moving to stand, but Gray’s hand stopped him, clutching his arm.
Zane’s eyes focused on the movement, Gray’s long fingers gripping Collin's tanned skin.
Time stood still and then Zane spoke. “Get out.”
“Zane. ” Harry. Zane hadn’t seen him there, standing inside the room.
“Get him out of here, Harry," Zane growled, stepping further into the room, voice barely controlled rage. Pure anguish, if you listened hard enough.
“No.”
Zane stopped at the deep rasp of Gray’s voice. He locked eyes with him, the blue clear and focused now.
His fingers still held Collin's arm.
Gray’s gaze fell first and he sighed. "Harry," he said, voice weaker.
“Come on, Zane,” Harry was in f
ront of him now, urging him from the room. “Let’s go outside for a while.”
Harry was silent on the ride down the elevator and they left the hospital together, walking the perimeter of the hospital grounds, a foot trail some wealthy benefactor had paid for, a token to alleviate the stressors of being cooped in a room with a sick or dying loved one.
Zane allowed himself to be paced around the curving path, stopping at a bench. “You know this is fucked up, man, Gray needs me,” he finally said, hands fisting, begging to sink into bone, feel the give and the spurt of blood on contact when the skin split.
Harry sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, Zane. I really don’t.” He looked up at the hospital, hundreds of windows sparkling in the afternoon sun, pretty and cheerful when admittedly there should be little cheer here.
“Why is he here?” Zane wanted someone to blame, and Harry seemed entirely too convenient right now. He could still feel the anger in his blood and he relished it, welcomed it. His brain was clearing, the fog lifting after days of uncertainty. He was spoiling for a fight.
“Gray asked for him.”
It ripped the wind from Zane’s sails and he sagged.
“Look, Zane. Here’s what I do know, as much as it pains me to admit it.” His gaze was hard, glittering, and Zane instinctively understood that Harry was suffering, in his own way, too. “The Gray that is lying in that bed in there is still in love with Collin and he has no memory of you.”
Zane flinched as if he’d been struck. He doubled over, he was going to be sick, one hand on the bench at his side, a fist against his sternum as pain and nausea wracked his system. He felt fingers grasp his neck, soothing, firm.