Push & Pull (The Midwest Series Book 2)

by Brigham Vaughn

  Lowell got out of the car, and Brent followed. He pulled Lowell’s bags out of the trunk and gave him a helpless look.

  “Look, if you’re not going to come, you have the itinerary for the rest of the trip, and a bunch of reservations are already made. You should just finish the rest of it,” Brent said quietly.

  Lowell managed a hollow laugh. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “It wouldn’t be the same,” he said quietly. “Not without you.”

  “What do you care? You were just in this for the fun of it, right? You don’t need me to have a good time.”

  Lowell stared at him. “Seriously? That’s all this trip is to you now? I know things were weird in the beginning. But I thought it had changed. And I thought we were actually doing something here—you and me—but I guess not.”

  “Doing something? What the hell does that even mean?”

  “I just mean we ... we’re ... I don’t know what we’re doing. But I thought it meant something.” There was no way Lowell could tell Brent how he felt now.

  “Of course, it means something to me! God, I’m fucking crazy about you, Lowell.”

  “Well, you could have told me before now,” Lowell snapped. “How was I supposed to know otherwise?”

  “Maybe I would have if you weren’t so damn afraid of letting anyone get close to you. I figured if I said anything, you’d run off.”

  Lowell huffed. Damn it, Brent had a good point, but he couldn’t admit that aloud. Not now. “What do you want me to say?” Lowell asked.

  “I don’t know, maybe that you have feelings for me too? Would that really be so hard?”

  Brent had no idea just how hard it had been for him to even consider the idea. But he’d finally gotten there and now ... well, look how well that was going. Maybe he’d been right for thinking relationships only led to heartbreak.

  “Look, Brent, I ...”

  Lowell tried, but the words wouldn’t come.

  “You can’t say it, can you?” Brent threw up his hands. “God, I’ve tried to be patient with you, but I’m tired of pretending like I don’t care about you. Or that I don’t want to see where this will go.” Lowell swallowed hard as Brent continued. “But if you can’t admit you have feelings for me, I guess it doesn’t matter.”

  “Brent,” he said weakly, wanting to plead with Brent to just give him a little more time. To not go running off to Micah. To stay and finish the trip together. To tell Brent how he felt. But the words felt stuck now. He couldn’t seem to get them out.

  “Tell me how you feel or what you want and I’ll stay, but you can forget it if you expect me to just ignore my friend because you have a beef against him.”

  “That’s not it,” Lowell said, his blood rising hot at the implication. “I mean, yeah, he pisses me off, and it’s way more than a beef, but right now, I don’t give a fuck about Micah Warner! This is about you and me.”

  “Yeah, well, you still haven’t said anything about how you feel about me,” Brent pointed out. “So give me a reason to stay, Lowell, and I will. I swear it.”

  Lowell opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t manage a single word that would convince Brent to stay, so he closed it again.

  Brent looked at him for a long moment before he shook his head and began to walk backward toward the Porsche. “I’m heading back to Chicago. I’ll stay there for a few days, then go to Michigan. I’ll make sure you get your car back as soon as I’m in Kalamazoo.”

  He got in Lowell’s car, revved the engine, and drove away with a squeal of tires, the air still reverberating with the sound of the powerful V-8 long after he left.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  June 29, 2013 – Upper Peninsula, Michigan

  Brent

  Stupid, stubborn asshole, Brent ranted as he flew down US-141 heading south. Ugh, you drive me crazy, Lowell Prescott!

  Brent knew bad shit had happened between Micah and Lowell, and God, he wanted to strangle Micah too. He’d obviously been a complete asshole to Lowell in college. And Brent had pretty much written off their friendship after Micah’s nasty comments about him and Lowell at Pride.

  But Lowell hadn’t heard Micah on the phone.

  He hadn’t heard the scared, lonely pleading. Or the quaver in Micah’s voice. Micah had never told Brent he needed him. Had never let himself be vulnerable. If it was bad enough for Micah to do that, it was bad enough that Brent needed to be there. It wasn’t that he had any romantic feelings for Micah. He never had. The whole time they’d fucked, it had been just that, fucking. Friendly, but nothing more. It had never become what it was now with Lowell.

  Of course, that was assuming this fight hadn’t totally hosed any chance of that continuing. He pounded on the wheel of the car in frustration. Goddamn it. He and Lowell both had tempers, but Brent hoped that maybe once the dust cleared and they both calmed down, they could figure shit out. He’d yelled a lot at Lowell, but as pissed as he was at the moment for refusing to come with him—not to mention how frustrated he was at Lowell for not being able to say how he felt—he fucking loved Lowell. He hadn’t said anything because he was sure it would send Lowell into a blind panic. But, damn it, he knew Lowell felt the same thing.

  They were good together.

  But he had no idea how they were going to get out of this fucking mess at the moment. All he could do right now was get to Chicago, help Micah, and then he’d fix everything with Lowell.

  He hoped.

  ***

  Four hours into what should have been a roughly seven-hour trip, exhaustion hit. Brent could hardly keep his eyes open. He’d already tried rolling the windows down, blaring the music, and pumping himself full of caffeine, but it had done nothing. His eyes felt heavy, and he could barely keep them open.

  When he couldn’t fight it any longer, he looked for a place to pull over. He was just north of Green Bay, but he wasn’t even remotely familiar with the area. Unfortunately, he’d passed a rest area a while ago and didn’t know when the next one would be. Probably somewhere between Green Bay and Milwaukee, and he wasn’t sure he could make it that far.

  There was no way he was going to risk crashing and ruining Lowell’s car. He shuddered at the thought and took the next exit off the highway. He turned right and cruised along the road, looking for a place to pull over. He needed somewhere safe and relatively secluded. Maybe a school parking lot? A church or a strip mall might work too.

  He found a church first. The parking lot was deserted—not surprising at nearly one in the morning—and he parked in the darkest spot, away from any lights. He let out a sigh of relief after he turned the engine off. He made sure the doors were locked, grabbed his hoodie to wad up and rest his head on—his pillow was buried somewhere in the hastily packed car—and reclined the seat. It definitely wasn’t the most comfortable position he’d ever slept in, but it would do. He let his eyes close, and his last thought before he passed out was, I really hope no one calls the cops on me because I’m going to have a hell of a time explaining why I’m driving a Porsche that isn’t in my name.

  June 30, 2013 - Chicago, Illinois

  Brent

  It was after three when Brent awoke. He blinked at the clock, surprised to realize he’d slept for more than two hours. Shit. He hated to lose that much time, but apparently, he’d needed it. He did the math in his head and realized it would probably work out for the best anyway. He should hit Chicago traffic just before rush hour. He might have to wait for a bit at the hospital before he could see Micah, but that would be okay.

  He raised his seat back and rubbed his hands over his face. His eyes felt a little gritty, his neck was stiff, and he was sweaty from being in a car that hadn’t been running, but otherwise, he felt pretty good. Definitely way more rested.

  The cool air when he started the car was a relief. He programmed the GPS and headed back toward the highway. There was virtually no traffic around Green Bay, and he made good time as he headed t
oward Lake Michigan. The sky turned wild colors at sunrise as he neared Milwaukee. He stopped for gas, coffee, and doughnuts, and then made the final trek into Chicago.

  The highway dumped him out onto Chicago’s streets. The last time he’d arrived in Chicago was more than a month ago, but Lowell had been with him. He’d been pissed at Lowell then too.

  Brent sighed. Damn it, he missed Lowell. He didn’t care how mad Lowell made him. Okay, maybe he did care, but he’d rather have him around. He wondered if he should text or call Lowell but wasn’t sure what kind of a response he’d get. Maybe he should just let both their tempers cool and deal with Micah first.

  It turned out Northwestern Memorial Hospital wasn’t far from where he and Lowell had been before. It was just west of Navy Pier. He’d probably seen it from the Centennial Wheel, in fact. Brent wondered if that was ironic or just a weird fucking coincidence. He had to drive around the huge complex several times before he found a parking garage off Huron St.

  He saw signs for valet parking, but he didn’t trust anyone else to park Lowell’s car. He found a spot on the top floor as far away from other vehicles as possible and prayed for the best.

  He followed the signs to the lobby. He was grateful for the bathrooms where he could empty his bladder. And for the huge “Information” sign. He didn’t have a clue how to find Micah’s room. And although Brent had texted him, he hadn’t been answering his phone.

  Brent approached the woman at the desk. She was older, with silvery white curly hair and a friendly smile.

  “Good morning. How can I help you?”

  “Hey.” Brent tried to smile politely at her. How the hell could anyone be that bright-eyed and cheerful at that time of the day? “I know I’m probably very early, but what time do visiting hours start?”

  “Not until nine, I’m afraid.”

  Brent glanced at the clock on the wall behind her and sighed. More than an hour to wait.

  “We do have a café where you could get a cup of coffee. And the cafeteria where you could get something to eat if you haven’t had breakfast yet,” she offered.

  “Thanks.”

  “What is your patient’s name?” He gave her a quizzical look. “You’ll need a visitor’s badge before I let you go.”

  “Oh. Micah Warner.”

  She tapped in the name on the computer. “I’m sorry; could you spell the name for me?”

  “M-i-c-a-h. W-a-r—”

  “Got it. Thank you. He’s in room six-oh-eight. That’s on our orthopedic floor.” She wrote the room number onto a piece of paper and slipped it into a plastic sleeve before handing it to him. He clipped it onto his shirt.

  “Um, I’ve never been to this hospital before,” Brent admitted. “I have no idea how to get to that area.”

  “Let me show you.” She set a map down and traced the route through the hospital to the elevator, pointing out the café and cafeteria along the way. “You’ll need to use the elevators. You’ll take them to the sixth floor and when you get there, step to your left and you’ll see the nurses’ station. Check in with them, and they’ll direct you to the room.”

  “Thanks, you’re a lifesaver,” Brent said gratefully.

  She beamed at him. “Have a nice day.”

  But Brent wasn’t going to have a nice day until he got things squared away with Lowell again.

  ***

  An hour or so later, fortified with an actual breakfast and several cups of coffee, Brent went in search of Micah’s room. The hospital buzzed with activity, and from the flood of people in scrubs, he guessed it was probably the day shift arriving and the night shift leaving.

  He found the orthopedic floor with only a little back tracking and located Micah’s room without any problems.

  Brent peered around the hospital door at Micah, who lay with his eyes closed. Brent walked into the room, studying his friend. Micah’s normally tan skin was pale, and he had dark circles under his eyes. His right arm was secured in a complicated looking sling.

  “Micah? I made it,” Brent said quietly. Micah’s eyes blinked open, and he squinted at him.

  “Brent?” Micah’s voice was raspy, and he blinked a couple more times. “You really here or is it the drugs, man?”

  “I’m here.” Brent stepped close enough to touch Micah’s arm. The uninjured one. “How are you doing?”

  Micah shook his head and fiddled with the controls on the bed with his left hand until he sat upright. “I’m on so many pain meds I don’t know what the fuck’s going on,” he groused.

  “Yeah?” Brent sank into the chair near the bed, pulling it a little closer. “Any word on the surgery yet?”

  Micah scowled. “I’m scheduled for later today. But all the scans pretty much say the same thing. My shoulder’s completely fucked, my career is over, and I’m never going to be able to throw another damned ball.”

  Brent winced. “I’m sorry, that really sucks. I was hoping they’d find out it wasn’t as bad as they first thought it might be.”

  “Nope. My life is fucking over, man, and there’s nothing anyone can do.” Micah turned his head to stare out the window, and Brent gave him a moment, knowing Micah needed him to pretend like Brent hadn’t seen the tears in his eyes.

  When he turned back to Brent, his gaze was hard looking and his tone was bitter. “I don’t know why the hell you bothered to come, anyway. It’s not like I’m worth anything now.”

  “Dude, you’re my friend. Of course, I came. It took me a little while to get here. I had to figure out how to get back from Houghton without crashing, but I drove all night with a stop for a couple of hours of sleep. I, uh, kinda stole Lowell’s Porsche. Well, with his permission, but ...”

  “What the fuck were you doing with him all summer anyway?” Micah’s tone was sullen.

  “Lowell filled in when Nathan backed out of going on the road trip with me.” Brent decided to leave out the part about how it had all come about. There was no point in giving Micah more ammunition against Lowell.

  “How could you stand spending an entire summer with that little fruit?”

  “Hey!” Brent protested, his hackles rising at the insult to Lowell. No matter how pissed they were at each other, Lowell didn’t deserve to get badmouthed like that. Especially from Micah. God, why had he even come here? “Lowell’s a good guy. We’ve actually had a lot of fun on this road trip.”

  “Oh, I bet.” Micah sneered. “He probably begged you to fill all of his holes.” Brent swallowed, trying very, very hard not to think too closely about the night they’d had a few days ago. “Although, I know for a fact he doesn’t do repeats, so he probably left you high and dry after the first time, right?.”

  Brent raised an eyebrow at Micah and crossed his arms. “And how do you know that?”

  Micah looked away, his jaw clenching so hard the muscles popped. “I heard rumors.”

  Snorting, Brent shook his head. “Just fucking admit it, man, you slept with Lowell.” He tried to ignore the pang of jealousy at the thought. He wished he hadn’t heard some of the details from Lowell. He could picture it a little too well now.

  “Fine, I slept with him,” Micah hissed, glaring at him. “Once. Now can we shut the fuck up about that slutty little twink?”

  “Stop calling Lowell names!” Brent snapped. “And I’m pretty sure you two hooked up way more than once or you wouldn’t be so worked up about him.”

  “Fine, we had a thing for a while. But keep your fucking voice down. I don’t need you blabbing about shit when someone I know could walk in.”

  But who would come visit him? Micah’s mom and sisters were in California, and from what Micah had said earlier, they didn’t have much money, so they wouldn’t make it to Chicago until later in the week. Micah had been plenty popular in college, but it was all superficial stuff, and Brent doubted anyone would make the effort. From the phone call he’d gotten yesterday, Micah had sounded pretty damn alone. There were no cards or balloons or flowers in the room either. It was th
e loneliness in his voice that had convinced Brent to come, despite Micah’s hurtful words after Pride.

  “Micah ...” Brent hesitated. “C’mon, if this injury really was career-ending, don’t you think it’s time you stopped pretending you’re straight? I mean, if everyone knows you’re involved with the physical therapist you were hooking up with ...”

  “Fuck you, man!” Micah shouted, his face going red. “I can’t believe you’d come here just to tell me I need to ruin my life even more. Get the fuck out of here. I don’t know why I called you in the first place.”

  Brent blew out a heavy breath and straightened. “I’m sorry. Maybe that was shitty timing on my part, I just thought ...”

  “You thought wrong. Now get out.” Micah turned toward the window again, his jaw clenched. “I don’t want to see you again.”

  “C’mon, Micah. I didn’t mean to—”

  “I’m going to need you to leave now,” a voice behind him spoke, the tone crisp and no-nonsense. “You’ve upset my patient, and he needs to rest before his surgery.”

  Brent turned to see a nurse scowling at him, and he sighed, knowing there was no use arguing. Micah didn’t want him there, and Brent felt vaguely guilty about pissing Micah off when he was in such a shitty place emotionally. He stood with a sigh. “I’ll go.” Turning back to Micah, he apologized, “I am sorry I said anything. I’ll be in Chicago for a little while so call if you want me to come back to visit, okay?”

  Micah didn’t respond, or even look at him, so Brent walked out the door without a backward glance. I seem to be pissing people off left and right, he thought bitterly as he waited for the elevator. Nathan, Micah, Lowell. Fuck, Lowell. Brent’s heart ached at the memory of Lowell’s shattered expression when he drove away from the hotel. He had no idea how to fix what he’d done. What was worse, Micah didn’t even want him here, so he’d hurt Lowell for no good reason.

  “I’m really batting a thousand here, aren’t I?” he muttered to himself as the elevator doors slid open, and he stepped inside. He was alone, so no one answered.