by J. V. Speyer
Ash stood up as straight as he could. Everything in his body hurt, and the sweat was turning cold in the open air. “I’ve got a head injury—probably a mild concussion. Ross here is in bad shape. He’s still out cold and I think his leg’s hurt, but I can’t get to it under the rubble. I need more people down here, and I’m going to need help stabilizing his legs at least when I get this crap cleared.”
The trooper scrambled down the heap of debris, radio in hand. “I’m Sgt. Dixon. I’m a friend of Huber’s.” He clicked his radio on. “I’ve got two injured men and one very protective dog. He’s a good dog, so don’t get twitchy, but don’t make any sudden moves either. We’re going to need a backboard for one of the injuries.”
Ash almost sagged with relief, but there wasn’t time. He grabbed another piece of debris and pulled it off Ross’ leg. Now he could see the injury itself, and while his eyes were still blurry, he could see that Ross was going to have a rough time of it. That white blob sticking up out of his calf was almost certainly bone. The snow had turned red with his blood already.
Porthos barked, warning Ash of more people coming in. Two men in what were probably EMT uniforms appeared. Ash knew he should feel something, gratitude or wonder or relief. Right now, he was just numb. He’d tried to stop Ross from getting hurt, but it hadn’t helped.
“Hey, aren’t you the guy who leaked to the media about the tow truck driver?” Dixon asked, while the EMTs got Ross strapped to the back board.
Ash couldn’t tear his eyes away. He could almost hear the helicopter in the background, except there was no helicopter. They wouldn’t MedFlight a guy for a broken leg and a concussion. “Technically no. I’m the media.” He held out a hand. “Ash Machado.”
Dixon gave him a wry grin. “I should be mad about it, but they’ve raised over half a million for that guy’s family. I can’t be too upset, I guess.”
Ash smiled a little. “Then I guess some good came out of all of this, right?” He ran his hand through his hair. “It feels like we were in there for a year, you know? And I’ve been through worse, but it just…it felt like forever. I’m having trouble believing it’s over.”
Dixon tilted his head as the EMTs carried Ross out. “Army?”
“Combat reporter.” Ash waved a hand. “I’ll get over it. We always do, you know? I’m just kind of stunned.”
Dixon put a hand on his back. “Well, the head injury might have something to do with it. Let’s get you checked out and see what we can do for you. Do you want to wait for the EMTs or do you want to try to walk out on your own?”
Ash moistened his lips. “Do you think I can try to walk out myself?” He moved to climb out of the rubble pile, but Dixon hurried to his side.
“No need to take risks you don’t have to. Why don’t I go with you?” He smiled and took Ash’s arm, keeping him steady. Their ordeal was finally over.
Chapter 8
Ross woke up in a hospital room. His leg had a kind of dull ache to it, but he didn’t care. That meant someone had given him the good stuff. Well, that was just fine by him. He could just sit here on the bed all day, given that he was warm and not on a floor. He liked the bed. It was welcoming and home-like. He’d never leave it again, if he had his way.
He stretched and groaned, and found he couldn’t move his leg. When he looked down, he found his leg was in a cast. He laughed. The cast looked like a big marshmallow, and if that wasn’t funny then nothing in the world was funny.
“Man, when you’re on painkillers you’re a trip.” Dixon snorted and unfolded himself from the visitor chair. “How much do you remember?”
Ross tried to think. It wasn’t easy. “The painkillers are making my brain all fuzzy,” he admitted. “I remember I was in a house, right? And I was sleeping on the floor. And there was a dog. He was a good dog, but he was mad at me.” The next memory hit him like an arrow. “Ash! Where’s Ash? Did he make it?”
An irritating beeping sound got louder and faster, and Dixon eased Ross back into a reclining position. “Settle, Huber. Settle. Mr. Machado is in a different room. He did make it. In fact, if he hadn’t started digging you out of that mess, you’d probably have lost that leg. You get that, right?”
Ross closed his eyes as little flashes of memory exploded before him. “Yeah,” he said, drawing the word out. He was having trouble trying to parse out a timeline, but that was probably down to the drugs. “But wait—he had an old injury, from the war or whatever. He couldn’t have done anything.”
Dixon shrugged. “He managed. It looked like it wasn’t easy, and he definitely had a concussion. But he was doing what he could, you know? Anyway, they operated on his arm since he did re-injure it or whatever.” Dixon bit his lip and glanced around. Then he dropped his voice. “You know, most folks wouldn’t choose to risk serious injury for just anyone. Even just a nice guy helping out isn’t going to basically tear his own arm off for a stranger, you know?”
Ross looked away, both because he couldn’t meet Dixon’s eyes and because the little lights on his monitors were really shiny and distracting. Maybe painkillers were a mistake after all. “Look, no one’s going to just leave his buddy there. Even if they’ve only known them for a couple days, we’d been locked in there for a while.”
“Machado already admitted you knew each other in college, Huber. You’re not protecting him anyway. The guy got outed years ago and he’s been a huge advocate ever since.” Dixon chuckled.
“Oh.” Ross turned his eyes back to Dixon. “He has? I mean I knew he got outed. He told me. But I had no idea he was an advocate or anything. Seems kind of dangerous in his line of work, you know?”
“And yet, here he is.” Dixon chuckled. “And he was willing to risk further injury to himself to save you. That’s pretty special, don’t you think?”
Ross cleared his throat. His face felt hot. It was special. It was amazing, in fact, and it was a hell of a lot more than he deserved. “Is Porthos okay?”
“Is Porthos the dog? Yeah, he’s fine. They made an exception to allow him to stay in Machado’s room, so they’d both be more comfortable. The chaplain walks him in the morning, and the guy’s boss walks him in the evening. You’ve been pretty out of it for a couple of days, for the record.”
“A couple of days?” Ross squawked and pulled his blanket up. “Wait, that’s just not okay. I can’t take two days to just lie here.”
“You can and you did. Your bone was just sticking out of your body like it had someplace else to be, Huber. What do you think you’re going to do, chase down a drunk driver on crutches? You can’t drive, you can’t run, and on those painkillers, you can’t even go near a gun. You tried to shoot your heart rate monitor, by the way.”
Ross slouched down, trying to hide as much of himself as he could. “I did?”
“Fortunately, you just clicked the TV remote at it. We’d already taken your gun and put it someplace safe. It’s not like we hadn’t had enough guys coming out of anesthesia to know better than that.” Dixon smirked. “So anyway, it looks like you’re going to be on desk duty for a few weeks. Nothing wrong with that. You’re in the warm and dry, no one’s shooting at you, it’s kind of a best-case scenario, you know?”
Ross sighed. “Yeah, I guess. It’s not why I joined the force, but someone’s got to do it and I’m getting paid for something, not for sitting around and watching awful daytime TV.”
“That’s the best way of looking at it.” Dixon patted his shoulder. “When it comes down to a choice between paperwork and Judge Whoever, go for paperwork.”
“So, the house actually fell?” Ross turned his head. “On me?”
Dixon shook his head. “It’s that Machado guy again. Apparently, he’d heard it a few times, being where he’s been and stuff. He heard what he expected to hear, tackled you, and it was just bad luck that had so much stuff landing on your leg. If he hadn’t tackled you, it would’ve landed on your head instead of giving you a glancing blow on the bounce, you know? You’ve been out so
long because they kept you sedated until the surgery, and then you took your time coming out of it afterward.”
Ross nodded, which turned out to be a mistake considering that his stomach churned with the motion. “I’m starving,” he said when his perspective settled.
“Well, you’ve been getting nutrition through an IV, but yeah. We’ll talk to the docs about letting you eat and stuff. In the meantime, I think you’ve got a lot to think about. You know, with your buddy.” Dixon smiled and headed for the door. “I know your folks will want to stop by and visit when they’ve finished work for the day. I’ll see you later, buddy. My shift’s starting soon.”
Ross thanked him for sitting with him, although he had more than a small pang of jealousy. He’d love to be out there chasing bad guys and writing tickets too, but in his current state he knew he couldn’t. Hell, in his current state he couldn’t even drive a car.
Ash had really hurt himself trying to save Ross. That was love right there. They’d had their issues, but those were all in the past now. If Ash was willing to risk his arm to help Ross, there was still a chance for them.
The first thing Ross had to do was to wean himself off of these painkillers. He wouldn’t approach Ash about anything with a fuzzy brain, not even about the weather. Once his mind was clear, though, he was going to find Ash and they were going to talk.
* * * *
Ash swallowed some ibuprofen and stretched out. It was hard to remember that the surgery was supposed to help, in the immediate aftermath. He’d not only re-injured his shoulder, but dislocated it as well. It had been worth doing, of course. Maybe someone else wouldn’t think so, but he’d do it all and more for Ross.
The thought of Ross lying there in a pool of blood made him want to run back into the bathroom and throw up, even more than the memory of that bone sticking up out of Ross’ hairy leg.
Porthos stuck his head onto Ash’s thigh, and Ash scratched him behind his ears. “You ready to go out, buddy? Let’s do that.” He grabbed Porthos’ purely decorative leash and a coat from the little table near the door. This wasn’t so bad, and once he got back to work tomorrow it would be better. He’d be too busy to think about things like what he used to do, or collapsing houses, or poor Ross and his broken leg.
Porthos wasn’t inclined to stay outside in the snow any more than Ash was, at this point. They’d both become hothouse plants. At least Ash had the chance to get used to Boston, all those years ago. Poor Porthos came from freaking Syria. They didn’t get nor’easters in Syria. Three or more feet of snow in one night wasn’t a thing over there, unless you got deep into the mountains maybe.
Porthos still had to do his business, though, so they went out into the hotel parking lot and found a spot near the dumpster. Ash cleaned it up and chucked the bag into the dumpster and headed back toward the main lobby, only to see a State Police vehicle pull up.
He looked away. He wasn’t getting his hopes up, because that would be stupid. For one thing, Ross couldn’t drive. His leg was in a cast. For another, he wouldn’t be rolling up in a cruiser if he was off duty.
When Dixon got out of the driver’s side, Ash held his breath. Okay, Dixon was a friendly guy, but that didn’t mean Dixon was here for Ash. Dixon could just as easily be here for anyone at the hotel. All kinds of crap happened at hotels, even midrange hotels like the one Ash was staying in. Prostitution, drugs, murder, abuse—any one of a thousand reasons could have brought Dixon here. Ash gave him a friendly wave and let the guy go about his business, like a grownup.
When Dixon went around the car to open the passenger side door and help Ross out, Ash dropped Porthos’ leash. His hand was numb. Why would Ross be here, and dressed in civilian clothing to boot?
Dixon pulled a pair of crutches out of the back of the cruiser and passed them over to Ross, who hadn’t stopped looking over at Ash. Porthos nudged at Ash’s hand, and that finally jolted him out of his gaping. He jogged over to the two state troopers, Porthos by his side like always.
Porthos sat when Ash came to a stop, wagging his tail twice and barking once. Dixon scratched Porthos’ head. “Looks like someone’s glad to see us.”
Ash blushed. “We should probably get everyone out of the cold,” he muttered. “Um, come on in.”
Dixon shook his head. “I’m going to sit this one out. I’ve got a buddy who’s a Braintree cop, he owes me a beer. I’m going to go collect.” He waved and headed back to his cruiser.
Ross blushed. “Is it all right if I come inside?”
Ash nodded and led him to the doors. “I’m glad to see you up and around. I was getting worried, but I didn’t have your number.”
Ross huffed out a laugh. “Well you know, it’s not exactly easy to exchange numbers when a house falls on you. The timing never seems quite right.”
“I know!” Ash laughed, and looked around. “Do you want to talk down here or do you want to come upstairs? It’s not exactly an accessible room, but I’ve got some wine up there.”
Ross grinned. “I’d love to come up.”
They headed up in the elevator and sat down. Ash immediately regretted bringing him upstairs. The king-sized bed created such an aura of expectation. “So,” he said, bouncing his foot against the floor. “How are you doing? Is the leg healing up okay?”
“It should be.” Ross was on the couch with his leg up, patting Porthos for all he was worth. “It’s hard to tell, and it itches like hell. I think part of that is the withdrawal from those painkillers, though. Man, those things are hardcore.”
“Right?” Ash shook his head. “I mean they do their job. They help millions of people every day, but I hate taking them.”
“I, ah, I didn’t want to come and talk to you until I was off of them.” Ross blushed, and he blushed such a pretty color Ash hated to look away. “Ash, you hurt your shoulder for me. You risked yourself for me. And I’m just…I can’t even. I thought you hated me. Do you really love me that much?”
Ash took a deep breath. He should lie. He should say no, and chase Ross away. He should keep his heart safe and locked up. “I always did, Ross.”
“But you left me.” Ross blinked furiously. “I don’t understand.”
“You were asking something I couldn’t do, at that time. After graduation, sure, I wanted to come out. It just wasn’t safe for me then. I was never ashamed of being with you. I wasn’t even ashamed of being me. There are always other factors to consider. And I never stopped loving you.”
“I never stopped loving you either.” Ross pressed his lips together and looked away. “Listen, I’m not entirely sure how to say this. I want us to try again. I want to be with you, and only with you. In public, without fear or shame.”
Ash’s breath caught in his throat for a second. Could Ross really want this? Could Ash trust him?
He swallowed. “I’m nervous.” He tugged on his collar. “I’m nervous because having any kind of relationship has been out of reach for a while now, just because of my circumstances. But I’m settling here in Boston, and I do love you. We’ll probably have to be very patient with each other at first.”
“I can do that.” Ross’ eyes shone in the artificial light, but his little smile was confident and gentle. “I want to do that, if you’ll let me.”
“I want to do that too.” Ash sat down beside Ross on the couch. “You and me, together.”
Porthos put a paw over theirs.
“And Porthos,” Ross chuckled. “Can’t leave him out.” He leaned in for a kiss, and Ash gave it to him.
THE END
ABOUT J.V. SPEYER
J.V. Speyer has lived in upstate New York and rural Catalonia before making the greater Boston, Massachusetts, area her permanent home. She has worked in archaeology, security, accountancy, finance, and non-profit management. She currently lives just south of Boston in a house with more animals than people.
J.V. finds most of her inspiration from music. Her tastes run the gamut from traditional to industrial and back again. When
not writing, she can usually be found enjoying a baseball game. She’s learning to crochet so she can make blankets to fortify herself against the cold.
For more information, visit @JVSpeyer on Twitter or JVSpeyer on Facebook.
ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC
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