by Jaime Samms
He snorted, and it turned into a sniffle. “What difference does it make? Half the stuff in there is impossible, even if I was a brilliant business man with all the connections he's got. The other half... If I did what this contract states I have to do in the next six weeks, this studio would be bankrupt inside of four months.”
I had to agree with him.
“And if I fail, he won't back me. He set me up.”
I couldn't even imagine what Wentworth had been thinking when he wrote the thing. “Robbie, listen to me. There has to be a reason he did this. All of this high-handed bullshit, it has to mean something. He's been trying to rearrange David's life since he met him.”
“Right.” Robbie stood and snatched the papers from my hands. “Perfect David, who never needed a helping hand in all his goddamn perfect fucking life.” He paced back and forth through the cramped space in the middle of the room. “Ye've been listening to David prattle on about how his old man breezed in and tried to cock up his life. Of course ye have,” he muttered, almost to himself, it seemed. “Ye've got his bloody initials carved on yer arse.” He whirled and pointed the contract at me, his entire arm shaking with his intensity. “Did it ever occur to ye that Da—Mr. Wentworth might have a side to that story, too?”
In fact, it never had.
“How does he know about that?” David's voice floated over the tension in the air, quiet, easily slicing through the thick miasma of energy and zinging it around the room.
“Know what?” I asked, feeling the way my stomach sank to my toes.
David's angry gaze bored into me. “The tattoo, Ian. Ye have to get up close and pretty damn personal to know what it says.”
“It isn't—”
“You know what? I don't want to know.” He held up both hands, as though it was barrier enough to keep me from speaking. “Or, rather, I get it. Is that why you didn't answer the question the other day? When I asked ye if ye'd ever...because ye didn't want to admit the truth, and ye didn't want to lie?”
“David, stop it.” Robbie stepped between us, but David snarled, balled up his fists and spun out of the room.
“David!”
He didn't so much as look back.
“David, wait!” I hurried after him, into the hallway, but he practically ran out into the studio. Part of me was desperate to get the truth out, to make him understand. Part of me was furious at him for being such a bone-headed idiot, for not trusting me, for not even being willing to listen.
The door at the end of the hallway slammed, leaving me alone in the darkened corridor.
“Fuck you, then.” I tried, as I shuffled my way back to the office in the dark, to tell myself it would be easier to get him to listen once he'd calmed down. When we were home and rational, I could explain. I didn't listen to the little voice that warned me to make sure he actually came home.
Back in the office, I took out my mobile and dialed. It only rang once before Beth picked up.
“What, Ian? I'm busy.”
“Tear yourself away, Mouse. I need you.”
“And I should come running why?”
“Please, Beth. I'm betting that Wentworth doesn't actually have you doing anything. He just wanted you out of the building.”
A long sigh sifted through the phone's earpiece. “I'm beginning to think that as well.”
“Then you can come.”
“I'm already here. Sarah called. We were going to go to lunch.”
“Half an hour?”
“You are a demanding son of a bitch, aren't ye?”
“Yes. And I owe you one, Mouse.”
“Oh. Yes. Yes you do.” There was a click as she ended the conversation, and I looked to Robbie.
“Get us some coffee, will you?” I tried not to appear as bonelessly humiliated and tired as I felt, sinking into my chair. “Beth is coming to help. We'll go over that contract and see where he screwed up.”
“He doesn't screw up.”
“Just get the coffee.” I wanted to help him. I did. But for a few minutes, I needed the room to myself to be furious and panicked and all the other things a good, competent boss could not be in front of a frightened, confused employee. He set the contract down in front of me and, mercifully, left the room.
Out in the studio, David's voice carried, louder than normal, rough and short, and there was a good amount of banging. I would have, probably should have gone out to see what was going on. I just couldn't make myself get up.
Robbie returned with coffee and placed a fresh cup on my desk, all the while shaking his head.
“What?” I asked.
“He's on a rampage. He's been foul all week, and now this. You have to explain it to him.”
“Like he'll listen.”
“If he keeps throwing stuff around like a maniac, someone is going to get hurt.”
I shook my head. “You're exaggerating. He's upset, but he's not careless. He won't hurt anyone.”
“I'm not talking about anyone, Ian. He sent them all off to do something else. He's out there doing stuff on his own that he shouldn't be doing alone. He should have someone helping him, and you're his boss. Get over being mad at yer lover and get out there and either send him home, before he gets hurt, or fuck some sense into him.”
“Give him five minutes, Robbie.” I knew David's temper. Trying to talk him out of it would only dig him in deeper. I'd already learned that lesson.
“Please just come out and get him off the ladder, at least.”
My gut twisted. David mad at me, justified or not, was one thing. David stupidly putting himself at risk because he wasn't thinking was different. I wasn't quite out of my seat when the crash came.
The sound of it bounced around and rattled through the building, through me. Robbie was already running for the door. I got up, my head swimming, somehow knowing I didn't want to know what had happened.
Chaos at the end of the hallway sorted itself out to one fact: David was not part of it. Everyone's attention was focused on the far side of the sound stage, but all I could see was the metal and rubber feet of a step ladder sticking up, precariously leaning against the edge of the stage. Beth was standing to one side with her arms around a sobbing Sarah. Robbie had his phone to his ear and was shooing people back. I willed myself to stop there, to not confirm, but my feet kept moving.
There was blood everywhere. People say that in movies all the time. So much blood. Fuck if it wasn't accurate. Jim the camera man was leaning over a leg, applying what looked to be all his weight to a deep gash, and I knew.
“Davey.”
I couldn't see his face. I didn't want to confirm it. I turned around and headed back to my office.
Sirens screamed. I noticed the flash of blue lights bouncing through my office window, out the open door and down the hallway. I stopped and watched them play across the concrete floor, listened to the bustling and the calm voices of the paramedics, though I couldn't, wouldn't, listen to what they were saying.
It took a moment to realize that someone was standing next to me.
“Ian.”
I blinked. “Robbie.”
“Ian, where are your car keys?”
What kind of question was that?
Robbie's face was pale. There was a smear of red on his cheek.
I bolted for the toilets. He was there when I was finished being sick, and finally, so was I. My brain had caught up with events. I wasn't sure I could get up.
Robbie crouched beside me. His face was damp, but clean. The water had darkened the hair around his forehead and still glittered in his sideburns.
“Give me yer car keys, Ian. I'll drive ya t’ the hospital.”
His accent was so much like David's. I wondered why I'd never really noticed before. It wasn't quite the same as those of the others who worked here and had grown up in Belfast.
“He's gone to the hospital, then?”
Robbie nodded solemnly. “And we need to get there too. Up now. Gimme yer keys.”
How did someone bleed that much and still need a hospital? I fished my keys out of my pocket and handed them over.
“Come on.” With one hand under my elbow and the other on my back, Robbie hauled me to my feet and led me out of the toilets.
Outside, the chaos had subsided some.
Beth seemed to have been waiting for us. “Take him out the front door, Robbie, yeah”
Sweet girl. Don't let him see all the blood.
“Sure, Beth. I'll be back t'help—”
“You'll stay with Ian. Sarah and I can handle this. I've called Wentworth. He'll meet you at the hospital.”
I let them work out the details as my mind drifted back to the far-off morning, the shaving foam, and David asking if I'd ever been fucked. Stupid that I hadn't answered him. Stupid that I was too ashamed to tell him that was something I'd only ever shared with a few, very important people. It was one thing, one of many, that marked the difference between us.
“So,” I murmured, unsure what I wanted to ask, or if I wanted to know the answer.
We were in the car, finally, Robbie driving, me staring out the window. I noticed Robbie's hands, white-knuckled on the wheel; his face was still pale, his eyes intent on the traffic.
“The ladder slipped. He fell off. Broke his leg bad.” A shudder shook Robbie to his core, and his eyes got bright, watery.
I reached over and touched the back of his hand on the wheel. “But he's alive.” I couldn't get the amount of blood spreading over the floor out of my head.
Robbie nodded. “Jim knew what to do. The paramedics were fast, and,” he shrugged, “he'll be okay.”
I nodded. “Okay.” Feeling had begun to creep back in around the edges, and I realized I was gripping the arm rest too hard. I let go, folded my hands in my lap, and after a minute, had to think about prying them apart. Tension had me worked into a knot.
Robbie suggested dropping me at the front and going to park, but I shook my head. I didn't want to go in alone.
He actually smiled. “Yer a funny one, Ian. Here I thought ya had it all worked out.”
“Not exactly the hero material you had pictured.”
His smile, filtered through the tears he was not shedding, was genuine. “Oh, I don't know about that.”
“I didn't do anything for him, Robbie. I stood there. I couldn't even look...”
He shook his head. “Don't. Ye love him. That's what matters.”
We walked into the hospital together, and I was grateful to have him there. He didn't hesitate, but got the information we needed and led the way to the emergency room waiting area.
A small nurse with a bright, sympathetic smile greeted us as we walked in. “Can I help?”
“We're looking for David McDougal. He just came in—”
She pointed to a set of doors with tiny porthole windows. “He's in surgery. Linda?” She turned to an older woman in a striped jumper. “Will you show them the way?” Back to us, she smiled again. “There will be someone there who can tell you more.”
“Thanks.”
We didn't have long to wait after Linda left us in a small room with uncomfortable plastic chairs, one long, vinyl-covered yellow sofa, and a humming coffee vendor. Dale Wentworth bustled in, sat, saying nothing, but spreading tension and appearing almost fragile.
“We don't know anything yet,” I ventured when he didn't say anything.
“He fell off a ladder,” Robbie offered.
Wentworth just glanced from one to the other of us and nodded. “Fine.”
Fine?
“Ian McVeigh?” A soft voice had us all turning.
I presumed the person standing in the doorway must have been a doctor. He was middle-aged and had scrubs on and a clipboard in his hand. He was serious, but almost blandly calm.
“Yes.” I stepped forward as Wentworth got up to stand beside me.
“I'm Dr. Parker. Your name was on his file as David's emergency contact.”
Beside me, Wentworth stiffened. His hands clenched into fists, and Robbie actually laid a hand on his arm, as though to hold him back.
The doctor glanced from one to the other of us. “Who is David's next of kin?”
I clamped my mouth shut.
“I'm his father.” Wentworth held out a hand but didn't say anything more.
I was a little surprised he didn't throw his name and the power and money associated with it, at the doctor.
The man nodded, shook Wentworth's hand, and glanced at me. “Very good. We need to discuss your son's condition. Shall we?” He moved toward the door, but Wentworth didn't move.
“It's fine. What do we need to know?”
I shot him a grateful glance, but all his attention was focused on the doctor. Robbie's hand still rested on his forearm. Either he didn't notice, or he was a lot more agitated than he was letting any of us see.
“Okay.” Parker glanced at me, smiled slightly, and dropped into what must have been a very practiced mode. “He lost a great deal of blood, and the snapped bone did a fair amount of brutal damage to the soft tissues. There are also lacerations through much of the muscle, and the angle of his impact nearly severed his lower leg at the knee. We've given him transfusions and repaired the damage as much as we can until he regains a bit of strength, but we have to discuss what comes next. There is a good chance if we don't go back in soon, he will lose that leg. The sooner we do what we need to, the better chance he has at full recovery, but the greater chance there is of complications. I can give you all the medical details, and I will, but essentially, what it boils down to is this: we risk his life to save his leg, or we wait, prevent any infection from spreading, and when he's strong enough, we remove it.”
I thought I might throw up again.
Beside us, Robbie sat heavily on a small end table and sniffled.
“Waiting and removing his leg is safer?” Wentworth asked. His hand drifted to Robbie's shoulder and rested there.
“Yes.” Parker let out a breath. “I know it's a lot to take in, but if we are going to try and repair the damage, we really can't wait. The longer we do, the greater the possibility we have to remove it later anyway, and I don't want to put his body through the stress of an additional surgery so soon if we don't have to.”
“How much risk?” I asked.
Wentworth shot me a hard glare, but I straightened and focused on the doctor. “How much?”
“He's healthy.” His lips pursed. “There is always risk with this kind of extensive surgery. The amount of blood he's lost, the trauma he's already gone through. I can sit down with you and discuss the details, but we need to do that now. The longer we wait, the riskier it gets.” He lifted his clipboard and held it out, his sympathetic gaze falling on Wentworth. “I don't like to rush these decisions more than I have to, but saving his leg is very time sensitive.”
Good. Wentworth was a hard ass. He knew all about decisions under pressure and time sensitive issues. I looked over at him to find him gazing down at the back of Robbie's bowed head, clearly not seeing much of anything.
“Mr. Wentworth.” I nudged his arm. “You have to sign the papers.”
He blinked. Looked up at the doctor and reached for the clipboard at the same moment I did.
“This decision has to be made by his legal next of kin.” Parker tilted his head at me, his expression one of frustrated sympathy. “I'm sorry.”
My gut twisted. I knew what decision Wentworth would make. I also knew what David would want. We'd been together long enough.
Wentworth shuffled his feet. “Thank you, Doctor.” To my surprise, he relinquished his grasp on the clipboard and sank into a chair.
Dr. Parker focused on me. “As soon as you can,” he advised, and left the room.
“Dale?” Robbie's sniffling had stopped, and he kneeled in front of David's father, his hands wrapped around the older man's wrists.
It was disconcerting to see Wentworth like that, with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “I don't know what to
do, Robbie.”
I just about dropped the clipboard. The shock of Wentworth admitting he didn't know what to do was far greater than that of Robbie slipping forward between his legs and wrapping his arms around the man. Somehow, it seemed fitting to see them like that.
“Ye let Ian help ye, Dale. He knows David. Let him help.”
Wentworth nodded, ran a hand over the back of Robbie's head, and tapped his ass. “Get up.”
Robbie rose only to sink into the chair next to him, lean a blood-smeared elbow on Wentworth's expensive Armani trousers, and take his hand. They both looked up at me.
“I don't have to read the list of all the things that could wrong,” I said. David would take the risk. He always took the risks. I knew what he would say if I played it safe. “He would want them to try.”
“He could die.” Wentworth's voice scraped raw over the silence in the room, over my nerves and my heart.
“I know. But he wouldn't want...” I took a deep breath and let it out. The hardest part was knowing that after everything David had done to get where he was, he would never forgive me for not trying to keep him whole.
Wentworth nodded and held out his free hand for the papers. It was his signature, but there was no escaping this decision was on me. I might have condemned the best person I'd ever known to die when he didn't have to.
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* * *
Chapter Five
Hours and hours and hours. I forget how many, exactly, but they began to feel like days. I just kept telling myself that as long as they didn't come tell us anything at all, that meant he was still alive, and they were still working.
Robbie fell asleep with his head in Wentworth's lap, and the man just stared off into space or gazed down at Robbie, his hand stroking through the blond thatch of hair.
“So,” I said at last. The silence and the waiting had got to be too much. “You and Robbie.”
He chuckled, a dry, hollow sound. “What did you think? I randomly selected a boy off the street to tempt my son with?”
“I didn't think you were using David to hide your affairs.” In truth that very thought had crossed my mind, but David had told me, in no uncertain terms, that his father had not slept with any of the boys he'd left for David to look after, that he wasn't a pervert and wouldn't touch anyone so young any more than David ever had. In fact, in retrospect, there had been a lot of heavy defence on behalf of the man he professed to hate. David had confessed to confusion over Robbie, though, since he was a almost a good decade older than the kids Wentworth usually chose to shelter under David's roof, and because with Robbie, it hadn't been a dump and run. He'd checked up on him, and made a point of hunting down Robbie's pimp and making sure he landed behind bars and stayed there.