Blue Motel Room

by Tymber Dalton

  “It’s been a really bad day.”

  “Have you even had dinner yet?”

  “No. I’m going to nuke a pot pie when I get home.”

  “Can I buy you dinner, at least?”

  He finally sat back, blowing his nose and shaking his head. “I need to go home and…decompress. It was a bad day.”

  There was almost a flat tone to his voice, the way he’d said it. “If I remember correctly, you told me that night you lost a patient, too.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. But I…” He drew in a ragged breath. “I need to stick with my routine. I’ll probably need to go up there this weekend. To the Toucan. I…to decompress.”

  There was that word again. Kimbra felt horrible for him, but knew she couldn’t and wouldn’t be the one to help him out this time.

  Not now, especially, now having Eve firmly by her side and at least that part of their crazy sorted out.

  “Look, I have a lot of kinky friends. I can call around and see if any of the Tops I know—”

  “It’s okay.” His voice came out barely a whisper, but he wasn’t looking at her again. “I’m used to this. I have a…process. For when I can’t get away.”

  She cupped his face in her hands and made him look at her, a horribly good idea forming in her mind, but she decided to keep it to herself, for now. “You don’t look okay.”

  “I’m still trying to absorb the fact that I’m going to be a dad.”

  “Yeah, you are.” She smiled. “And fair warning, my parents are probably gonna adopt you, whether you want them to or not. Kind of what they do when they see someone they think needs ’em. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Your dad won’t want to kill me?”

  “Nah, he’ll be so happy he’s finally getting a grandbaby outta me he won’t even care about the how. We can let them assume IVF, and if they ask how we all met, we can be honest and say through mutual friends. I mean, Ron is my friend, and he did take me to the Toucan. I’m guessing you two will probably end up becoming friends.”

  He fumbled his phone out of his pocket, almost dropping it. After unlocking it, he handed it to her. “Please give me your contact info.”

  She punched in her phone number and address, texting her own phone from his so he could see it worked. “I wish you’d let me at least take you out and buy you a burger or something.”

  “No, thank you.” He almost sounded like a kid again now. A sad, wounded, broken kid. “I need to go home, I think.”

  She walked him out, even though he’d offered to walk her to her car. He kept his car clean, but even in the shadows of the parking lot she could tell it wasn’t the world’s best car. He wasn’t shitting that he wasn’t rich.

  “Tomorrow, our place,” she said. “Eight okay? Or can you make it earlier?”

  “I can probably make it by eight but I might have to come straight from here. If I get caught up in emergencies, I might be late.”

  “That’s fine. We’ll even feed you. I’ll be home by six, so anything after that’s fine. Just text me when you’re on your way. Sooner than eight’s fine, too.”

  He offered to drive her around to her car, and she took him up on that, feeling vaguely guilty that her car was in better shape and several years newer than his. She wasn’t exactly rolling in dough, considering her line of specialty, but she was a damn sight better off than he was, obviously.

  She’d suspected that after seeing his apartment complex.

  “Text me tomorrow when you’re on your way,” she told him. “Even if it’s early, that’s fine.”

  He nodded, and she hesitated, not wanting to leave him alone just yet.

  “Are you all right?” He shook his head and didn’t look her way. She reached over and touched his arm. “Ivan,” she gently said, “you’re not alone. You’ll have me, and Eve, and Ron, and our families. We’ll be a family. All of us.”

  He still wouldn’t look at her and she thought he was starting to cry again. “Are you going to be okay?” she asked.

  “I don’t have a choice,” he said. “I have to be okay.” A choked laugh softly grated free. “I’m going to be a dad.”

  She stroked his arm. “You’re going to be a great dad.”

  She hoped.

  “I’m just…in shock. Sorry.”

  “Yeah, join the club.” She belatedly realized she would have to tone her typical snark back around him. At least at first, until he was used to her. She felt torn between wanting to cuddle him close and nurture him, and realizing he was a grown-ass man, a surgeon, and the father of her baby.

  She finally climbed out and stood there as he drove off. After watching him drive away, she started her car and sat there for a moment. Then she texted Eve.

  Done. He’s in.

  Her phone rang seconds later. “Hey. How’d he take it?”

  “I’m pretty sure he’s got something going on in his past. He begged me not to get an abortion, and when I said I was keeping it, he broke down sobbing with relief. I’m not even exaggerating.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. I have a feeling he didn’t have a great childhood or something like that.”

  “That’s…good, though, right? That he wants to be involved?”

  “Yeah. But he’s not financially well off. I don’t know the full extent. I didn’t feel like going into the fact tonight that I want to run a full credit check on him, considering how upset he was. I guess a patient died on him during surgery today. He’s a wreck.”

  “Oh, poor guy.”

  “And…” She cleared her throat. “I didn’t make him any promises, but I told him after we get to know each other better, we might be able to work out him moving in with us to help him with his expenses.”

  Eve went silent for a moment. “You did what?”

  But it was a curious what, not an indignant one.

  “Hear me out, honey.” Kimbra gave her a brief outline of her thought process, and Eve giggled.

  “Oh, shit. Wouldn’t that be great?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t want to go there and Ivan turns out to be a fiery train wreck heading off the rails. I don’t want to do that to Ron.”

  “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow night, huh?”

  “Yeah. Let me get off here. I’m coming home. Need anything?”

  “Only you.”

  Kimbra closed her eyes, contentment filling her. “You know just what to say, sugar.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ivan struggled to focus on driving and not let his mind slip away for a while. He couldn’t afford to get in an accident and he needed to be safely home, locked in his apartment.

  Then he could do what he desperately needed right now to survive.

  Especially now, with the weight of Kimbra’s revelation standing on the shoulders of the pain of losing a patient.

  Call Porter.

  No. He absolutely could not do that. This was bad enough as it was without risking further emotional destruction in the process. He didn’t even know the guy. The last thing he wanted to do was call him with…this. He’d e-mailed him late yesterday, and from the guy’s response he could tell Porter was eager to spend more time with him.

  Which was exactly why Ivan had to hold him at arm’s length.

  Especially now.

  I’m going to be a…dad.

  He struggled to process that.

  Something he’d always wanted, but long ago had come to peace with the fact that it’d never happen.

  That maybe it was best it never happened.

  Now…it had, completely by accident.

  It was with a great deal of relief he finally pulled into his apartment complex and parked. Practically running upstairs, he safely locked himself inside and set his laptop bag down. Emptying his pockets, he took the knife out and laid it on the table as he followed his usual routine.

  For now.

  Wallet and keys on the counter. Phone on the charger, morning alarm switched on.

  He grabbed his
tablet, called up his playlist he always used for this ritual, and hooked it into the Bluetooth speaker he used.

  As music filled the space, a mix of new-age jazz and instrumental blues, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Dinner would have to wait tonight, the only time he’d disrupt his usual schedule. He wasn’t even going to try the first option tonight—he went straight to worst-case scenario contingency.

  After stripping, he grabbed the knife and headed for the bathroom. He kept everything he needed in a plastic storage tub in the cabinet under the sink. He pulled out the bottle of surgical soap and took it into the shower with him. After his usual shower, he scrubbed his right thigh with the surgical soap, rinsing it well before getting out.

  When drying off, he didn’t touch the towel to his right thigh. Instead, he used a sterile gauze pad and rubbing alcohol and swabbed the entire area. While that dried, he cleaned the knife, using another sterile gauze pad to wipe down the blade with alcohol. He prepped the nonstick dressing and triple-antibiotic ointment, readying the sterile swab he’d use to apply it with.

  He pulled a large beach towel from the small linen closet in the bathroom and draped it over the closed toilet lid before sitting. Staring at the knife for a long moment, he felt his brain trying to shut down, his soul reaching, yearning, needing the pain.

  He blanked out. When he came back, the knife was in his hand and a narrow line of blood welled from the first two-inch-long shallow incision along the top of his right thigh, the pain sharp and cutting through the mental static, driving it back.

  Slow and steady, he carved three more lines in his flesh, waiting, breathing, before adding the fifth and final one.

  The mental static had now faded to nothing more than background noise.

  Ignoring the tears rolling down his cheeks, he used another sterile gauze pad soaked with alcohol to wipe the marks, hissing as renewed pain bit into his brain and wrapped itself around his sanity, forcing it to stay in place, keeping it locked there, safe.

  Next the swab, loaded with ointment, covering each line before taping a sterile non-stick dressing in place over it. The cuts weren’t deep and would likely be mostly healed by the weekend.

  He cleaned the blade and closed the knife, tightly clutching it in his left hand, his fist balled around it and feeling its comforting heft pressing against his flesh. He pressed it against his left thigh, breathing, thinking, trying to steady his mind.

  As he lifted his fist he tried to concentrate on the knife’s bulk, the shape, the warmth it still held from riding in his front left pocket when he wasn’t wearing scrubs. His constant companion.

  Then he brought it down hard high onto his left thigh, the thick butt end digging into his flesh and another jolt of pain rocketing through his system.

  The magic number tonight was ten. By tomorrow morning, the dark red marks would be deep purple bruises he could touch through his pants and not even raise a single eyebrow over.

  Much like when he leaned against something with his right thigh and pressed on the dressing under his clothes.

  Undetectable.

  Another reason he couldn’t call Porter, especially not now.

  This was his secret.

  This was his.

  One thing no one could ever take away from him.

  * * * *

  After cleaning up the bathroom and putting everything away, Ivan pulled on a Yuri!!! on Ice T-shirt and sleeping shorts and almost forgot he hadn’t eaten anything. He nuked the pot pie, ate it standing in the kitchen, and washed the fork. The paper plate he tossed with the pot pie carton. After washing that down with a glass of water and then brushing his teeth, he shut the music off and retreated to bed, tuning the TV to Cartoon Network and setting the sleep timer.

  He tucked the knife under his pillow.

  I’m going to be a father.

  God help all of us.

  He closed his eyes and let the tears flow, allowed the grief to wash through him, finally free to cry with pain throbbing through his body.

  * * * *

  Ron wobbled through his weekend in an emotional daze. Fortunately, Meri had spent it at Wynn’s house, so he hadn’t had to break the news to her that she was going to be an aunt.

  He still wasn’t sure how to do that.

  Other than dinner Friday night with Kimbra and Eve at their house, he hadn’t really spent any time with anyone until he had to go to work Monday morning.

  Which was a special kind of hell, trying to avoid Kimbra’s father out of fear the man might sense something was…amiss.

  Confessing he was the baby daddy to a daughter-in-law the man didn’t even know he had yet wasn’t something Ron wanted to do. That genie couldn’t be shoved back into the bottle once it was released, and he wanted Kimbra and Eve to be the ones to do the uncorking.

  Fortunately, he’d been able to leave early with the excuse of a doctor’s appointment, and let the intimation be it was about Meri and not Kimbra and Eve—since they knew at work about Meri’s past bout of breast cancer—and he’d met the women at their doctor’s office.

  There were a few minutes of discomfort while Kimbra took over and clarified the situation with the doctor, explaining what was going on and who he was in relation to them.

  But what blew Ron’s mind was when they did the ultrasound on Kimbra first, while he recorded it all on his phone…

  And they could see the baby’s heart beating.

  His vision blurred with unexpected tears as he stared at the screen. “Oh, my god,” he whispered.

  It was…real.

  Eve plucked the phone from his hand and held it. He realized both his hands were being squeezed—Kimbra on his right, and Eve on his left. Ron also knew if the guy Kimbra had slept with was stupid enough to not want to be a part of this, then Ron would gladly step in and fill those shoes.

  The ultrasound tech made them three copies of the picture to take with them.

  When he absolutely lost it was when it was Eve’s turn. A week smaller than Kimbra’s baby, but still, he could see the heart beating, even though from the position and due to it being smaller it was impossible for the tech to get a clear picture of it like she had for Kimbra. Still, she printed out three more pictures for them, using the computer to draw a circle around the “blob” that would quickly grow into his baby.

  Kimbra draped an arm around his shoulders. “That’s your baby, honey.”

  He sobbed, overwhelmed, while the ultrasound tech passed him tissues. “How could they toss me out?” he tearfully asked Kimbra. “How could they have gone through this, knew I was their son, and throw me out when I told them I was gay? How could they not love me?”

  Eve squeezed his hand as Kimbra wrapped her arms around him in a hug. “Well, you got us. My mom and dad. And Meri and Wynn. Momma and Papi will formally want to adopt you into the family once the shock wears off. You’re gonna have more family than you’ll know what to do with.”

  “Don’t forget Ev, Wylie, and Lara and Brad,” Kimbra added. Ev’s ex-wife and her new husband, living just across the street from Ev and Wylie, were also considered extended family, and Lara was Eve’s friend.

  With the ultrasounds completed, the doctor returned to go over everything with them. “So, here’s the thing,” she said. “I’m actually going to be moving in three months because of my husband’s job. Unfortunately, I’m the only doctor in this practice who still handles obstetrics. I will give you a list of OB practitioners in the area, but I can’t specifically recommend one over the others.”

  “I’ll ask Lara,” Eve said. “She seemed to like her doctor.”

  Alone at home, Ron had watched and rewatched the videos of the ultrasounds several times, and he now stared at the two grainy black-and-white printouts of their babies.

  Yeah, he was the biological father to only one of them, but he was already thinking of them in terms of “his” babies.

  Did it make him a selfish shit to hope the other guy wanted nothing to do with this so he wou
ldn’t have to share them? He’d be Daddy to both of them and raise them as his own.

  He’d damn sure never turn his back on either of them.

  Before he realized what he was doing, he grabbed his cell phone and called his parents’ number. The last contact he’d had with them was a supposed birthday card his mom sent to him right before his last birthday.

  Except it’d been a religious card with a bible verse about repenting.

  He almost lost his nerve and hung up when his mom answered.

  “Hello?”

  Fuck it. “Hey, it’s Ron.”

  Brief hesitation. “Oh. Hello. Why are you calling?”

  Why the hell was he calling? Not like he’d gain any kind of satisfaction from this conversation. If anything, it’d leave him empty, hollow.

  Hurting.

  He knew that from past experience.

  Maybe I’m really a masochist.

  “Meri’s living with me now.” Sure, it was several months since she’d actually moved in, and she was likely going to be moving in full-time with Wynn shortly, but still…

  Any excuse in a bullshit session.

  “In Florida?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh.”

  He waited, realized she wasn’t going to fill the silence, and finally decided to go there. “Yeah, unlike you and Dad, I wanted to make sure she wasn’t homeless.” Meri hadn’t told them about her cancer yet and he damn sure wouldn’t.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Throwing me out when I was a kid, Mom. That’s what I’m talking about.”

  “Well, are you still gay?”

  “Yeah, I’m still gay.”

  “We couldn’t support you doing those kinds of behaviors. All you had to do was turn straight again and everything would have been fine. It’s your fault we had to throw you out.”

  Why the fuck did I do this to myself? “You do understand that’s not how this works, right?”

  “All I understand is you were fine, then you weren’t.”