Double Act

by Foster Bridget Cassidy

  Ms. Bell grinned delightedly.

  Outside, the bell rang, announcing the opening of the phone lines.

  Emerson glanced over his shoulder, toward the door. “I better get to work. Thank you, Ms. Bell.”

  “Why don’t you come back to my office at nine. We can watch the interview on my computer.”

  “Sure, if that’s okay with you.”

  He left her office and hurried to his tiny cubicle. Quickly, he fumbled his headset over his ears. As soon as they were settled, his phone rang.

  “Olympus Cruise Line. This is Emerson. How may I help you today?”

  * * * *

  It was four past nine when Emerson finally ended his call. He hadn’t wanted to rush the elderly gentleman, but Emerson needed to get off the phone. He pulled his headset from his ears and rushed down the hallway toward Ms. Bell’s office. Mike waved him in when he approached.

  “Did I miss it?” Emerson asked, coming around the side of Ms. Bell’s desk.

  “No, they’re still playing commercials. Pull up a chair.”

  He grabbed one of the padded chairs from against the wall and moved it beside hers.

  On her computer screen—which had much better quality than Emerson’s cell phone—was the America Live website. The live stream currently played an ad for toothpaste.

  Emerson sighed in relief. Yes, he’d debated about watching it, but actually seeing Sean announce to the world he was dating Emerson couldn’t be ignored. He had to view it.

  The show started. The camera zoomed in on the male anchor. “Welcome back to America Today. As promised, we have an exclusive interview with Sean Stirling. Laura Driver sat down with the Grammy-winning pop star and got him to open up about his upcoming tour and the new prospects in his love life.”

  The screen cut to a small room with Sean—looking delectable in that hat—across from a pretty and petite woman.

  Emerson watched in awe at how relaxed and comfortable Sean looked. Laura’s questions were sharp and probing in a not-so-nice way. Sean didn’t look offended at all. He smiled pleasantly and answered candidly.

  Ms. Bell gasped loudly when they mentioned Olympus Cruise Line. Sean hadn’t said he’d mentioned Emerson’s place of work. That could be a major problem. With his name and occupation, the press—and others—had easy access to him.

  “That’ll boost business!” Ms. Bell said excitedly. “I’ll need to call corporate and see what actions we can take to use this opportunity.”

  When it ended, Emerson’s heart raced. Shit. It was really happening. It was out in the open, that he was dating a world-famous celebrity. He was glad he was sitting; his legs felt weak. His mother would kill him for not calling her first.

  Emerson thanked Ms. Bell and wobbled back to his cubicle. His friends eyed him as he returned to his space, but they were all in calls, so they couldn’t ask questions. That would change, once their lunch break rolled around. He’d have to put them off and call his mom before he did anything else.

  Chapter 13

  As predicted, Emerson’s mother had been furious. Even his dad was mad—which was saying something because he was calm as a still pond. It’s taken most of Emerson’s lunch break to convince them he hadn’t snubbed them intentionally, it had all happened so fast. The rest was spent dishing all he knew to his coworkers. They pried a lot more than Ms. Bell and asked much naughtier questions than if they’d kissed. Emerson revealed some of what transpired, but he didn’t divulge it all.

  At home, once Ninotchka was fed, Emerson began to get dinner started. He’d stopped at the grocer on the corner and picked up vegetables, ground beef, and three types of cheese. He had a lasagna recipe that always turned out delicious. He hoped Sean would enjoy it, too.

  Unable to talk, they’d texted a few times throughout the day. Sean was working on his songs this morning, and promised he could make dinner. Just a little after six, the door buzzed and Emerson pressed the button to allow Sean in.

  When Sean knocked on the door, Ninotchka rushed forward, barking and jumping. When Emerson opened it, Sean stood there, holding a bottle of wine. He stepped forward, past the obnoxious, tiny dog, and into Emerson’s arms.

  Their kiss was slow, but oh so sweet. Sean’s lips moved against Emerson’s in a rhythmic way that had Emerson’s thoughts far from eating.

  “I missed you,” Sean said when they separated. He walked farther into the room, heading toward the kitchen.

  “I missed you, too. Turns out my boss is a huge fan of yours. She has a picture with you from your last concert here.”

  Sean set the wine on the counter. “Huh? That’s funny. I guess we’ll have to give her free tickets to the next show. Keep in her good graces.”

  “You can do that?”

  With a laugh, Sean nodded. “Sure. I don’t know the exact date—that’s Macie’s job—but it’s toward the end of the tour.”

  Emerson took Sean by the hand and led him to the table. “Speaking of this tour. You mentioned it on America Today. How long will it last?”

  Sean sat down. “Three weeks.”

  “Three weeks where I won’t get to see you.”

  “Unless you want to come along.”

  Emerson glared. “First of all, don’t joke about that. Second of all, don’t be serious about that.”

  Sean laughed. “Why? You could take a three-week vacation, right?”

  “Sean,” Emerson said, warningly. “Don’t even start tempting me. No, I couldn’t take a three-week vacation. And I don’t want you convincing me I could.”

  “Okay, okay. Then, yes, three weeks we won’t be together. Does it bother you?”

  “No, not really. I mean, I’ll miss you, of course, but it’s part of your job.”

  “You’re not scared I’d shack up with someone while out of your sight?”

  “Should I be?”

  Sean shrugged. “I’m curious what you think.”

  “No, I don’t think you’d run off and screw around with someone. If you were that type of guy, you wouldn’t be wining and dining with me, you’d be out looking for an easy lay.”

  Sean smiled then, a real, beautiful smile.

  Emerson felt a pleased blush touch his cheeks. “You said it yourself, you’re just a person. And I think most people are decent, and wouldn’t do something like that.”

  “I think you’re wrong about people. They are garbage. At least, most of the ones I know. Which is why you don’t have anything to worry about. I don’t like a lot of people.”

  Emerson walked toward him, stopping just in front of his chair. “But you like me?”

  Sean reached out and grabbed Emerson’s waist. He pulled Emerson closer, and rested his head sideways, against Emerson’s stomach. “I do.”

  Bending into the touch, Emerson laced his fingers through Sean’s silky hair. It was a gentle pet, not too different from how he stroked Ninotchka, but it made Sean moan in that enticing way. Emerson pulled away. “None of that now. We have to eat dinner. It’s about done.”

  “Smells delicious. Baked pasta?”

  “Lasagna. Family recipe.”

  “Hmmm,” Sean said, drawing Emerson to him again.

  They resumed the same position, Emerson holding Sean and softly patting his head. The man was a cuddler. They’d have a wonderful time if Emerson could convince him to stay around and watch an old movie.

  A buzzer dinged on the oven. “There it is,” Emerson said.

  Sean got to his feet. “Let me get it all set. You’ve had a hard day at work. Sit down. I’ve got this.”

  “At least let me get the wine.”

  “No. Seriously, sit.”

  Sean grabbed the pot holders and opened the oven door. A gust of steam leapt out. He bent at the waist and grabbed the dish with both hands. When he stood, though, something went wrong.

  Sean took a step back, and unused to Ninotchka’s hovering ways, accidently stood on the tip of her tail. As big a sucker for dramatics as Sean, Ninotchka squealed as if she
’d been hit with a baseball bat. The sudden noise spooked Sean, who jumped with his hands still in the oven. Then Sean was screaming, and he moved quickly to get the dish on top of the oven. It hit the stovetop, but didn’t make it fully into place. It fell off the edge and landed on the floor with a clang. Sean danced out of the way of the falling dish, already cradling his left hand.

  Emerson was on his feet in a heartbeat, rushing toward Sean, who still yelled.

  “Ow! Shit! Ow!”

  “Sean? You okay?” Emerson asked, not even caring that the remnants of lasagna were strewn all over the tile. Sean was in a great deal of pain. That was all that mattered. “Did you get burned?”

  Sean—still cursing—went to the sink and turned on the tap water. He held his hand under the flow.

  Then Emerson saw. Not just one burn, but two. A red patch along the middle of his palm, and a darker oval on the back of his hand.

  “Fuck,” Emerson said. “Did the pot holder slip?”

  Sean nodded, his eyes glued to his red and inflamed skin. “Then when I jumped, I hit the back of my hand on the coil.”

  “Shit,” Emerson said in commiseration. The coil was the hottest part of the oven. He looked back at Sean’s hand. The wound itself wasn’t large, maybe two inches along his palm. The one on the back was even smaller. Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things. Except, Sean’s life revolved around playing guitar. Would a burn—even two small ones—impact his ability to play?

  “It really fucking hurts,” Sean said.

  “God, Sean! I’m so sorry! This is all my fault!”

  Emerson’s stomach sank at those words—that admission. He injured a pop star who had to go on tour in a month.

  Sean, instead of agreeing and punching Emerson in the face, took a deep, shaky breath. “Don’t freak out on me, Em. Just relax. You didn’t do anything. My hand slipped, that was all.”

  “I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t have let you get it out of the oven. I should have shooed Ninotchka out of the way. I should have warned you she overreacts when she thinks she might get hurt.”

  They’ll cancel the tour, Emerson thought suddenly. Sean won’t be able to play, they’ll call off all the shows, he’ll lose money and fans. All because of me.

  “Em, stay with me,” Sean said.

  Emerson’s eyes snapped to Sean’s. Despite the reflected pain he saw, there was also a softness. “Only one of us can lose their mind at once. I think I’ve got the right to it this time. So you need to keep your cool so I can wrap my head around the situation.”

  Now it was Emerson’s turn to take a deep breath. “Sorry. You’re right. You keep the water going. I’ll clean up the floor. Ninotchka already grabbed one of the noodles.”

  Sean laughed, a sweet, lovely sound, and Emerson realized it couldn’t be too bad if Sean could see humor in it.

  He was wrong. So, so wrong.

  After ten minutes under running water, the skin was no less red. Naturally, they wound up at the hospital.

  “You take me to all the best places,” Emerson said as they walked into the ER. They’d left Sean’s car—which Emerson drove—with a valet at the entrance. The waiting room was full, and a long line extended from the registration counter.

  “I have a hospital kink,” Sean said, so straight-faced that Emerson nearly choked on a snort.

  They stood in line. Emerson pressed his hands tightly to Sean’s shoulders, and he could feel Sean’s body quiver. This was scarier for him than almost being hit by a car. This was his hand in danger. Not just his livelihood, but his life’s passion. A snippet of Sean’s shock-induced dialogue from their first meeting came back to Emerson: I’d rather die than go a day without touching mine. Obviously, Sean wasn’t going to lose his hand. It was likely only a second-degree burn, judging by the damage to the top layers of skin. He’d return to playing the guitar soon. But it could be weeks, or even months, before that happened.

  Since they hadn’t arrived in an ambulance, they didn’t get priority treatment. And the nurse on duty at the registration counter didn’t seem too awed by the sudden appearance of Sean Stirling. So they sat in the corner, Sean keeping his head low, and waited. It took nearly thirty minutes before they were called back. A nurse settled Sean into a room and checked his vitals. His blood pressure was sky high, but it made sense under the circumstances. The nurse inspected his wound, and seeing it wasn’t life threatening, let them know the doctor would be in soon and left.

  Emerson pulled one of the chairs beside the bed. He reached out his arm and Sean placed his uninjured hand in Emerson’s.

  “I am so sorry,” Emerson repeated. He would be apologizing for the rest of the time Sean decided to put up with him. Surely now Sean realized Emerson was stupid and ordinary and not worth the effort.

  Sean wiggled their hands from side to side. “Cheer up, Em. Only one of us can be depressed at a time.”

  Emerson’s lips twitched no matter how he tried to keep them straight. “Please stop joking. This is serious. I know it’s serious. If you want me to leave, I will.”

  Sean tensed. “Is that what you want?”

  “No. I want to be here.” When Sean relaxed, Emerson lowered his chin. “I’m feeling guilty.”

  “Don’t. You didn’t do anything.”

  “But I—”

  “Don’t.” It wasn’t a snap, but it was sharper than anything Sean had said to Emerson before. “I am an adult who makes my own decisions. You didn’t make me pick up something hot.”

  Emerson relented. If that was the way Sean saw it…No, his insides still squirmed.

  The door opened and the doctor walked in. She offered a professional smile then looked over Sean’s chart. When she looked up, she did a double take. “Mr. Stirling? I’m Dr. Bhatai. I heard you were here just last week. Why the need to be back so soon?”

  Sean grinned weakly and held up his injured hand. “Can you fix me, Doc?”

  Emerson was surprised that Sean didn’t lay on the charm. Emerson had expected a quip about coming around just to see her. He must really be shaken.

  “Let’s take a look.” She put on a pair of gloves and came to the opposite side of the bed from Emerson.

  Sean held out his left hand and she placed her palm under his, steadying it. She peered at the red flesh and gently turned his hand in several directions. Then she flipped it and inspected the smaller burn on the back.

  “Oven?” she inquired. When Sean nodded, she added, “You got yourself pretty bad. But not the worst I’ve ever seen. Just barely over the line into second-degree. The one on the back is slightly worse. It touched something hotter?”

  “The coil on top.”

  “If you were any other person, I would ask why you rushed to the ER.”

  Sean gulped, an audible sound in the quiet room. “How long will it take to heal?”

  She pointed to the red lines along his palm. “That depends. This is a highly mobile part of the body. If the skin moves it increases the chance of prolonged recovery. The skin will likely blister within the next few hours. If the blisters pop, you’ll need to keep the wound bandaged to prevent bacteria from entering and getting infected.”

  Raising her gaze, she met Sean’s eyes, as if to emphasis her words. “If you don’t move your hand, Mr. Stirling, you will heal sooner. If you disregard these directions, it may not be as swift.”

  “I go on tour in about four weeks. Will I be healed by then?”

  “I can’t guarantee anything. With these types of burns, the skin usually repairs itself within a few weeks. If you take care, you should be fine.”

  Sean sighed, and Emerson felt much of the tension leave his body. “Thank you, Dr. Bhatai.” Then his grin was back in place. “You’re an angel. A miracle worker.”

  She smiled back. “Now, I’m going to clean the wounds and apply an antibiotic. I’ll give you a prescription for a cream you can use at home. Keep the area clean and dry. Bandage it if the blister breaks. Do you understand?”

  �
��Yes.”

  “I do believe you’re going to the only patient who will follow all of my advice.”

  Sean nodded emphatically. “I promise, I will.”

  “Good. Now sit back and let me get this finished.”

  Emerson held Sean’s good hand while the doctor worked on his injury. The pain had to be severe. Sean hissed through his teeth, and the pressure on Emerson’s hand increased. Emerson squeezed back.

  “There,” Dr. Bhatai announced. “That should do it. I’ll send in a nurse with your discharge papers and a prescription for a topical antibiotic. You can take an over-the-counter painkiller if you feel the need. Schedule a checkup with your general physician in a week.”

  “I will. Thank you,” Sean said again.

  She left and Sean’s shoulders sagged.

  “You okay?” Emerson asked. He still held Sean’s hand, but with his other, he rubbed little circles on Sean’s forearm.

  “Yeah, I’m okay. I can deal with a few weeks.”

  “Right,” he agreed, but wondered if he should voice his objections aloud. He didn’t want to burst Sean’s bubble, especially when he was still so emotionally upset. “Do you want to order a pizza when we get back to my place?”

  Sean laughed. “Sounds good.”

  Chapter 14

  Sean stared out the window as Emerson drove back to his apartment. Now that the danger had passed, Sean’s stomach growled. He’d had an early lunch and was famished. And worse was a sense of dread lingering at the edge of his awareness. His mind had heard the doctor’s words and accepted the fact he’d be fine in a few weeks. But when Macie saw him…

  “Hey, Em. Maybe I should just head home.”

  Emerson looked over, his brown eyes wounded. “What? Why?”

  “I’ve got to deal with Macie. The sooner, the better.”

  Emerson returned his eyes to the road. “Oh. But Dr. Bhatai said you’d be fine. It’ll all be okay.”

  Despite Emerson’s words, Sean still worried. Emerson didn’t believe he’d be fine.