Ice on Fire (Treble and the Lost Boys Book 1)

by G. R. Lyons

  It was only then that Zac realized, by telling that whole story, he'd just inadvertently outed himself again.

  Yet the man was still there, lending his quiet support.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” Zac blurted out.

  The man gave his shoulder one last squeeze and let go. “You remind me of a younger me. Poor. Lost. Thrown into a traumatic situation all on my own. Someone was nice enough to guide me through it.” He shrugged. “I'm just paying it forward.”

  Zac curled in on himself, hiding his face in his hands. “Shit. Fuck.” Reality just got twice as bad, and he still didn't even know if Adrian was going to be alright. “I don't have any money. I can't pay you, or the hospital–”

  “Don't worry about that right now,” the tech said in his soothing voice. “Just be strong for him. Worry about everything else later.”

  Zac shook his head, but didn't say anything. He had to worry about it. His whole life had centered around worry about money. Something that Adrian had never had to endure.

  Until he met Zac. Until Mr. Frost had caught them. Until Zac had dragged Adrian down into poverty, and then continued to publicly deny him.

  And now this.

  Gods, he didn't even begin to deserve that man. How could Adrian want someone like him?

  “Mr. Cinder?”

  Zac's head snapped up, and he found a doctor had joined them in the waiting room. He shot out of his chair.

  “Yes?”

  The doctor gave him a slight smile. “He's in recovery. We were able to stop the bleeding, and gave him donor blood to make up for what he lost. We want to keep him overnight, at least, for observation, but it looks like he's going to be just fine.”

  Zac's legs gave out, and he sank back into the chair. He tucked his hair behind his ears with shaky hands and let out a shuddering breath. Adrian was going to live.

  “Oh, thank gods,” he breathed.

  “You'll be able to see him once we get him settled into a room,” the doctor told him. “Is there anyone we can call for you?”

  Zac shook his head. “He doesn't have anyone.” Except me. But he didn't say it, because it was no longer true. He'd certainly lost Adrian for good, even if Adrian was going to live.

  “I'll send a nurse to get you when it's time,” the doctor said.

  Zac nodded absently, and a few more words were exchanged that Zac immediately forgot before the doctor left to go back to his patients.

  The med tech was still there, and he gave Zac an encouraging smile. “I need to get back at it. You gonna be alright?”

  “Huh? Oh. Yeah. Um. Thank you.”

  The man nodded and walked away, leaving Zac alone in the waiting room, his leg bouncing with nerves. He had to see Adrian for himself. He had to know his lover was going to be alright.

  Zac stifled a sob. His lover. Not anymore. Not after what he'd done.

  An hour later, Zac was finally escorted to Adrian's room, and he found his beautiful man fast asleep on the hospital bed, an IV drip in one arm and a blanket pulled up to his chest over the hospital gown.

  Zac lost track of time while he watched Adrian sleep. He sat there, holding Adrian's hand, committing every detail of Adrian's face to memory. As soon as Adrian woke, it would all be over. There was no way Adrian would ever forgive him for what he'd done. He'd denied the man one time too many.

  Adrian stirred, and Zac bolted from the room. He just couldn't face him. Not yet. Not when he'd caused Adrian so much pain. Zac was the last person Adrian would want to see when he woke.

  Zac pressed himself back against the wall in the hallway just outside Adrian's room and closed his eyes, trying to take slow, steady breaths. He waited long enough that he saw the doctor go into the room. With the door still open, Zac was able to listen in on their conversation, hearing Adrian's confusion as to his whereabouts, the doctor's explanation of what they'd done to treat him, and what his recovery was going to be like.

  As soon as the doctor mentioned Zac, he tore himself away and rushed down the hall. He didn't want to hear whatever Adrian might say about him. His heart couldn't take it.

  * * *

  ADRIAN STIRRED, gasping for breath as several unfamiliar sensations bombarded him at once.

  Cold air on his hands and face. Tightness around his forearms. Stiff fabrics all over his body. Sounds that echoed slightly. A low, steady hum overlaid with a quiet, regular beep, somewhere nearby.

  He gasped again and opened his eyes, feeling momentarily blinded by the excessive whiteness all around him. It took several moments before shapes and dimensions resolved themselves, the white haze slowly breaking up into recognizable things: walls, windows, doors, equipment, sheets.

  Hospital. The word finally came to him, and once it did, he sucked in a breath and sat up, looking around frantically. Hospitals were bad. Hospitals meant he was trapped. Forced into treatment. Tied to a bed.

  Adrian frowned and looked down at his wrists, realizing he wasn't tied to the bed. He tested his legs, and could move those as well. He sighed with relief. No sign of his father. No indication of this being the psych ward. No sensation of being stuffed full of sedative medicines.

  He looked at his wrists again, idly fingering the bandages wrapped around them, memories of what he'd done slowly coming back to him.

  The panic. The razor. All that blood. The certainty he was going to die.

  But he was alive. Adrian let out a shuddering breath. Good gods, somehow, he was alive.

  “Mr. Frost?”

  Adrian flinched. His father must be here, after all. He looked around, but all he could see was a doctor standing in the doorway with a gentle smile on his face.

  The doctor stepped into the room. “Mr. Frost, I'm Dr. Garrison.”

  Adrian blinked. Oh. The man was addressing him, not his father. He looked around once more, then let out a sigh of relief when he was sure his father wasn't there. After a moment, he managed a nod.

  “Are you comfortable talking about your case?” Dr. Garrison asked. “I can certainly come back later if you'd prefer to rest.”

  Adrian slowly shook his head and sat up more, clutching the sheets in his lap. He was vaguely aware of the thickness of bandages on his legs, feeling them under his hands through both the hospital gown and the sheets. A shudder ran through him. He wasn't sure he wanted to see just how bad it was.

  The doctor stepped closer and pulled up a stool. He started with a description of Adrian's injuries, the medical jargon going right over Adrian's head until the man paused and broke it down in simpler terms. “We'd like to keep you overnight for observation, if that's alright. You did lose quite a lot of blood.”

  Adrian looked down at his lap and nodded.

  After a pause, the doctor said, “Also…normally, in cases like this, we highly recommend a seventy-two-hour psych watch–”

  Adrian jerked back, his head snapping up, eyes wide with alarm. No. Gods, no. He couldn't go back into psych watch. He just couldn't.

  The doctor held up a hand and gave him a gentle smile. “We can't do that without your permission, of course. It's just a precaution to recommend it, considering…” He waved a hand at Adrian's body, indicating his self-inflicted injuries.

  Adrian swallowed hard, and whispered, “I'm not suicidal.” He risked a glance back up at the doctor and saw a frown cross the man's face.

  “If you don't mind me saying,” Dr. Garrison began, “the evidence would suggest otherwise.” He looked pointedly at Adrian's legs.

  Adrian grimaced, thinking of all the scars he had. What other conclusion could the doctor possibly reach?

  “I didn't mean to,” he insisted. “I was just so panicked, I wasn't paying attention…cut too much…I didn't mean it. I wasn't trying to kill myself!”

  “Alright,” the doctor murmured, holding up a hand again. “I believe you. Just…you'd be surprised how many apparent suicides we get in here from people who didn't intend to kill themselves. You know, drug addicts who accidentally overdos
e, and whatnot. That sort of thing.”

  Adrian slowly nodded. “I didn't want to die,” he whispered, then added, “Not when I'm so close.”

  The doctor raised his eyebrows in question, but didn't ask. Adrian was grateful, since it really wasn't his business, but he blurted out an explanation anyway.

  “So close to graduating,” Adrian said. “Then I can get my pills again and I won't have to do this as much.”

  The doctor frowned and looked down at the tablet in his hands. “Your anti-anxiety medication?” he asked, apparently accessing Adrian's medical history.

  Adrian nodded.

  “May I ask why you stopped taking them?”

  Adrian shrugged. “Can't afford them.” He paused, grimacing. “My father kicked me out, and I have no money. Not until I graduate.”

  The doctor nodded. “I'll write you a refill anyway–”

  “I can't–” Adrian started to protest.

  “Talk to our billing department tomorrow when you're discharged,” the doctor suggested. “They can discuss payment options with you.” Dr. Garrison scribbled out a refill order and set it on the table beside the bed.

  Adrian glanced at it, but knew he wouldn't be able to get it filled, no matter what the doctor said. He didn't have the energy to argue the point, though.

  “Now,” the doctor continued, “do you have any questions for me?”

  Adrian shook his head.

  “Is there anyone we can call for you?”

  Adrian hesitated. The only person was Zac, but there was no sign of the man. And did he really want to face Zac after what happened? He shook his head again.

  “What about the young man who brought you in?” the doctor asked, checking his tablet again. “Zac Cinder?”

  Adrian tensed.

  “He's been here since you were admitted,” the doctor went on, then hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the door. “Walked out just before I arrived.”

  Adrian blinked. “Zac was here?” The whole time?

  Dr. Garrison nodded. “I can have someone get him if you'd like to–”

  “No,” Adrian answered. He definitely wasn't ready to see the man. Wasn't sure if he ever would be.

  “Alright.” The doctor rose. “I'll be in to check on you again in a couple hours.”

  Adrian nodded, and watched the doctor walk out of the room, leaving that hollow, echoing silence in his wake. After a moment, Adrian eased back down onto the pillow with a sigh.

  Good gods, he'd almost died. And so close to graduation. So close to freedom. Adrian squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe evenly. It was just a few more days. He was not going to die and miss the opportunity to finally be free, finally be in control of his own life, finally be his own man, not tied to his father and not dependent upon others for his survival. Adrian clenched his hands into fists, feeling the tightness in his wrists.

  No more, he decided. No more cutting. Never again. With the terror of nearly dying still fresh in his mind, he was bound and determined to make it through this one last week of school, even without his pills, even without his razor. He'd finish school, graduate, and live.

  Then, and only then, would he allow himself to think of Zac, and what all this meant for them.

  Chapter 24

  ZAC STOPPED at the nurses' station before he left the hospital and gave them Adrian's name.

  “Can you tell me what we might owe you when he's released tomorrow?” Zac asked.

  The nurse checked her computer, and rattled off a sum. It wasn't as bad as Zac had feared, but it was still far more than he could conceive of affording.

  With shaking hands, Zac pulled out his wallet, extracted what bank notes he had on him, and slowly handed them over. The nurse took them, eyeing him the whole time.

  “You know,” she said gently, “we do have donation programs here–”

  “No.” Zac cut her off. “Thank you, but no.”

  He'd never taken charity in his life, and he wasn't about to start now. It was tempting—sorely tempting to apply to someone else for help, and leave the financial burden on them—but Zac didn't work that way.

  “I'll find the money,” he said. Somehow.

  The nurse gave him a sympathetic nod, counted the money he'd given her, and printed him a receipt. Zac stared at the balance. How in all seven hells would he find that much money in one day?

  Zac turned away without another word and strode out of the hospital, then lurched to a stop on the sidewalk. He was a few miles from the apartment, and had no money left to call for a cab. No more cash in his wallet, and he doubted his bank card would do him any good.

  Zac pulled out his mobile and logged in to his banking app to check his balance. He bit back a curse at the number that appeared. There was just enough there to cover next month's rent, which was due in a few days, which meant hardly anything left for utilities or groceries.

  Paying Adrian's hospital bill was going to leave them homeless, unless Zac could find another way.

  But first, he had to get home, which meant he'd have to find a shuttle, or walk.

  In his pajamas. Covered in Adrian's blood. Yeah. Great plan.

  But he had no choice.

  Zac ducked his head against the bright, morning sunslight, and started down the street. Luckily, he found a shuttle stop not far from the hospital. He waved his student ID in lieu of payment, then took a seat, slouching down and closing his eyes.

  He got home and let himself into the apartment, grateful for the emergency tech's reminder that Zac take his keys. Zac shut the door, threw all the bolts, and turned around to lean back against the door with a sigh.

  Fuck. What was he going to do?

  Zac took a deep breath and opened his eyes. The apartment was eerily silent after the chaos of the morning. He half expected to find the place in shambles after everything that had happened, but everything looked surprisingly normal. Untouched. As though nothing were wrong.

  That feeling lasted until Zac managed to get his feet to drag him toward the washroom.

  He stopped in the doorway and sucked in a breath. Gods. All that blood. How was Adrian still alive with so much blood all over the floor?

  Zac sank to his knees, staring at the dried puddles and streaks that stained the floor, then saw the same brownish stains on his clothes from where he'd knelt in the blood, as well as where he'd wiped off his hands without thinking about it.

  He shot to his feet, tore off his clothes, and threw them aside, then found a rag, soaked it under the tap in the sink, and attacked the floor, scrubbing with all his might.

  Zac scrubbed the floor until his arms ached, then grabbed his phone in a fit of desperation and looked up how to get blood stains off a tile floor. He went at it again, cleaning obsessively until there wasn't so much as a hint that the gruesome scene had ever existed.

  Yet Zac still saw blood. Still saw Adrian slumped over, his life draining away.

  Zac rubbed his eyes, wiped down the entire washroom again, then stood back and scrutinized every surface before he finally sank to the floor with a sigh, his whole body trembling from exertion.

  It was several minutes before Zac managed to compose himself and put everything away before he jumped into the shower and scrubbed his body with just as much ferocity as he had the floor. The blood on his skin, the sweat that poured off of him in his efforts to erase the nightmarish scene—he couldn't get it all off his body fast enough.

  Not to mention the filth of drunkenness that still clung to him from the night before.

  When Zac's skin began to ache and glowed red all over from so much scrubbing, he got out of the shower, dried off, and dressed, shoving his soiled pajamas into the garbage as he went. Then he stopped in the middle of the apartment, at a loss for what to do next.

  He couldn't even think about going to class. No way. And, being a school day, he wasn't scheduled to work, either.

  Where the hells was he going to get money?

  As though the gods were answering
him, he no sooner thought the question than his eyes fell on his guitar case, sitting in its usual spot by the couch.

  Zac sucked in a breath. Could he do it?

  He slowly crossed the apartment and reached out a hand toward the case. His entire world had centered around that instrument for so long. His entire future was potentially wrapped up in it.

  Could he give up his passion and his dreams?

  Zac shook his head and snatched up the instrument. The answer was obvious. Adrian had become his world. Nothing else mattered. His chance at fame and glory would mean nothing without Adrian in his life.

  And now that he'd lost Adrian, his dream seemed pointless. Empty.

  With his armor on—black jeans, studded collar, rings, cuffs, eyeliner—Zac left the apartment, stowing the guitar carefully in the backseat of his car before he took off through town, scanning storefronts until he found what he was looking for.

  The pawn shop was clean and tidy, more so than Zac had expected. He found a parking spot as close as he could get, grabbed his guitar, and strode purposefully into the store without hesitation.

  It had to be done. There were no two ways about it.

  Zac presented the instrument to the man behind the counter, struck a deal, and stuffed a wad of cash into his pocket, grateful that the rarity of the manufacturer fetched a high price. Forcibly holding his head up, he walked away, never looking back at the instrument that had defined the majority of his life.

  He went straight to the hospital, paid Adrian's bill in full, and left again, waving off the nurse's suggestion that he go visit Adrian before he leave. He couldn't face his lover yet. He'd go back the next day to bring Adrian home, but until then, he'd need to bear himself up for the pain and awkwardness that encounter would be sure to entail.

  * * *

  ADRIAN HEARD the alarm go off in Zac's bedroom, and pushed himself up off the couch, wincing as the bandages pulled against his skin. At least the bandages would come off for good that afternoon. Right after he collected his diploma, in fact.