Only Love

by Garrett Leigh

  “Daniel.”

  Daniel Moore. Irish lawyer, murdered by dissidents. Right now, it didn’t much matter, but when the fog cleared Jed knew he had some reaching out to do. “What about you? I’m guessing your name isn’t Kim.”

  Kim let out a watery laugh. “Not quite. My name was Kibibi. It means….”

  “Little lady,” Jed finished for her. “Swahili, right?”

  “You don’t seem very surprised.”

  “I’ve heard Max call you Bibi. I’ve heard the name before.”

  “Small world, eh? Max was ‘Mumba’ to me, but I’ve never slipped. To me, he’s dead. Everything we ever knew is dead.”

  Jed didn’t answer. Kim’s story was huge, filled with uncertainty and unanswered questions, but his mind was already filing it away to think over later. For now, Kim had some more explaining to do. He pointed to the military photographs scattered on the coffee table. “Where the hell did you get those?”

  Kim pulled the coffee table closer. “Nick spent all the money you sent him and more on moving us across the country, and then your father got sick. To make extra cash, I started taking commissioned work, creating paintings from old photographs. These were sent to me by an aid charity when I was pregnant with Belle. They wanted to highlight the role foreign troops played in distributing humanitarian aid. I forget which one it was now, but I’d seen the photos before. They were in the newspapers.”

  Jed felt a little high. “What did you do with them?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t complete the piece. Babies are a full time job, and I didn’t have the time. They got put in a box with everything else I didn’t have a time for.”

  “A box in Max’s boat shed.” Jed felt so tired he wanted to cry. He leaned forward and tapped his finger on the man clinging, machine gun in hand, to the right-hand side of the first Apache helicopter. “That’s me, Kim. The dude on that chopper is me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  MAX DIDN’T mean for his morning walk to take him past the VA campus. But he somehow found himself sitting on a bench across the street, watching the injured soldiers come and go. The men varied in age. Most were in their twenties and thirties, but there were older men too—men who’d served in conflicts Max had probably never heard of.

  The automatic doors to the hospital opened. A young man with a walker appeared, maneuvering himself slowly out onto the street. Max stared at him, watching as his companion reached out to assist him and the soldier waved him away. He was young, barely out of his teens, if he was at all, and his face was set in a determined line.

  Max tore his gaze away with a wry smile. He’d seen that stubborn expression on Jed, and he wondered if all soldiers were as complex and damaged as him.

  Jed.

  Max’s smile faded as an image of Jed’s cold, closed-off face flashed into his mind. Max hardly recognized the man he’d grown to love. He’d seen Jed angry before, but never like that. That night it had been like looking into the eyes of a stranger, a stranger who hated him like he’d never been hated before.

  Max thought of the long-forgotten passport Jed had thrown in his face, and for the millionth time cursed his own carelessness. But the uncertainty bugged him more than anything else. He’d told Jed about the drug box under the sink before Christmas, and the bottle of tramadol had appeared inside it a few days later. Max knew Jed rarely succumbed to the powerful narcotics—too pigheaded to admit he was in pain—so he could only figure Jed had known about the passport for a while. So why hadn’t Jed said anything? And if he was so upset by it, why on earth had he slept with Max and allowed them to grow as close as they had?

  It didn’t make any sense. None of it did. Jed would never have given himself over the way he had if he’d harbored any sense of the betrayal Max had seen in his eyes the night of the wedding. No. Despite it all, the bond they shared was deep and real. Max wasn’t sure of much, but he was sure of that.

  He put his head in his hands. It was such a mess. He’d fought with Jed, and with Kim, and had shown up on Carla’s doorstep without a clue what to do next. What the hell was he supposed to do? Go home and ask Jed to let it go? Perhaps he should tell him the truth, but how could he? It wasn’t just his secret to tell.

  Years of resentment bubbled in Max’s gut. He’d buried it for so long, pretended it wasn’t there, but it was. Kim and Nick had moved past it. Some days, Max was sure they’d forgotten it ever happened, but maybe it was easier for them. They hadn’t heard his father’s dying gasps, or Makemba’s screams. They hadn’t seen the cold dead eyes of the men who killed them.

  Max had told them he couldn’t remember the fateful night, but he did. He remembered it all.

  Flo pulled on her leash. The city made her restless and she wanted to move. Max got to his feet and let her have her way. He headed for Carla’s apartment block, but as he walked beneath the suspended sky-bridge connecting the VA center with the main hospital, Jed remained on his mind, or more precisely, the old art project of Kim’s that had kindled Jed’s explosive anger in the first place.

  Helicopters. Guns. War.

  Max felt awful about the photographs. He’d always been careful not to leave newspapers lying around, or let the news play on the TV when they were reporting from places Jed might have been… places where he might still have friends. Carla’s grandfather was a veteran, and even the smell of the charcoal grill on the patio set him off.

  It had never occurred to Max to check the dusty shelves of the boat shed. Why Kim couldn’t store her own crap, he’d never know. The boxes had been there so long, Max had forgotten all about them.

  Flo abruptly veered to the right. Max tripped over his own feet, cursed, and yanked her back. “Stop it. Carla’s place is this way.”

  Flo whined, but Max wasn’t in the mood to indulge her. It was late morning. He’d cleared out of Carla’s tiny apartment to give her some space and walk off some of his agitated energy, but he’d promised to cook her brunch before she left for work.

  She was in the kitchen when he got back, already chopping vegetables for salsa omelets, an American custom that always put a smile on Max’s face. It sure beat a bowl of soggy Weetabix. He nudged her aside and reached for the jalapenos. “I’ll do it.”

  Carla relinquished the knife and took a seat at the counter. “So….”

  Max kept his back to her. He should’ve known her request for brunch was loaded. “So?”

  Carla sighed. Max heard her aging old Labrador get up and go to her for a back scratch. “Don’t give me that. As much as Loki and I love your company, have you thought about what you’re going to do? You can’t hide from Jed forever.”

  “I’m not hiding.”

  “Looks that way to me.”

  Max said nothing, concentrating on dicing chili peppers into teeny, tiny squares. He’d spent the best part of a decade hiding from one thing or another, but he didn’t feel like he was hiding from Jed. It wasn’t like Jed had come looking for him.

  “What did you fight about, anyway? Jed’s got a lot going on, but he doesn’t seem the type to start an argument over household chores, and I know you’re not. Something happen between you two?”

  Again, Max held his tongue. He’d never talked to Carla about his sex life, and he wasn’t going to start now. Besides, despite the bad feeling between them, he couldn’t betray Jed like that.

  “I’m right, aren’t I? Did you sleep with him?”

  “Shut up.” Max tipped onions and peppers into a skillet. “Can we talk about something else?”

  Carla drummed her nails on the granite counter. Max could tell without even looking that she was going to completely ignore him. “He’s not that different from the guy I remember, you know. I was a little kid back then, but he was always really nice. He didn’t let Dan tease me too much.”

  She paused. Max heard her take a sip of coffee and set the mug down before she went on, “I remember my mom crying when we found out he’d gone for good, and Dan didn’t speak to anyone for days. I
didn’t get it at the time, but I do now. I can’t imagine not having him in my life.”

  Max knew that feeling. He lived and breathed that feeling, dammit. He hadn’t meant to fall head over heels in love with Jed, but he had. And now the weight of their individual secrets threatened to tear them apart before he even knew if Jed loved him back.

  Carla’s apartment phone rang. She got up to answer it, granting him a well-earned reprieve. She’d never questioned his past, but he knew she wouldn’t let his present slide so easily. He heard her regress into Spanish and tuned her out, not looking up until he heard his name.

  “… yeah, he’s here. Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

  Max shot her a quizzical look. Carla frowned and raised her hand. “Did they say what’s causing it?”

  Max watched as she listened. She seemed worried—worried and annoyed. He wondered who she was talking to. Dan, probably. He had a knack for yanking her chain.

  “What? Oh, for God’s sake, Dan. You know I couldn’t, even if I wanted to….”

  Yep. Definitely Dan. Max shut off the stove. He had a feeling Carla would be too irate to eat once she got off the phone, and he didn’t feel much like eating himself. Flo appeared at his feet. She pawed restlessly at his legs, attuned to his mood, as ever.

  Carla said his name again. He swiveled his attention back to her. “Look, just stop yelling at me, okay? I’m coming. And I’m bringing Max with me.”

  She hung up the phone. Max raised a curious eyebrow. “What’s up?”

  Carla reached for her keys and stamped into her sneakers. “We need to go. Jed’s in the hospital.”

  MAX STOOD in the waiting room of the gastroenterology ward, trying to keep up with the running argument between Carla and Dan. Trying and failing, since he could make no sense of their angry Spanish gibberish.

  He glanced around, looking for any clue that could tell him why Jed was there, but found nothing. Gastroenterology. What the hell did it even mean?

  Carla’s angry voice broke into his thoughts. “I couldn’t tell you, Dan. How many times do I have to explain this to you? Jed’s my patient. I have to respect his privacy. Besides, don’t you think if he wanted you to know, he would’ve told you himself?”

  “No!” Dan exploded. “Don’t you get it? This is Jed. He doesn’t know how to trust people. He never has. Why do you think he ran off to join the fucking Army in the first place?”

  Max stepped between them. He’d had enough. He’d been at the hospital for fifteen minutes, and he had no idea why. “Enough. Dan, what happened?”

  Dan tore his heated, angry glare from Carla. He shrugged, and the helplessness in the gesture worried Max. “I don’t know. I saw him yesterday and he seemed fine, but my mom said he wasn’t right. She sent me to check on him this morning, and I found him so sick he couldn’t stand up. The ER doc said there’s something wrong with his blood, but they won’t tell me what, and neither will she.”

  Carla took a breath to respond. Max cut her off. “What do you mean he couldn’t stand up? Was he conscious?”

  “Conscious enough for me to drag him here kicking and screaming, but he was pretty out of it by the time they admitted him up here. Man, I’ve never seen someone puke like that. They had to give him something to knock him out. He’s sleeping now.”

  Max took a moment to let Dan’s words sink in. They didn’t make much sense. The discord between Dan and Carla made it sound like Jed had been sick for a while, but he’d only been gone a week, and Max would’ve noticed if Jed was ill, wouldn’t he? They shared a bed, for God’s sake.

  He thought back to the occasional days Jed was out of sorts, the days when he’d lie very still on the couch and not speak a word. Those days seemed to coincide with physical therapy. Max didn’t see Jed’s scars the way he knew Jed feared he did, but it wasn’t hard to imagine the pain behind them. Perhaps he’d let his imagination get the better of him.

  But… no. That didn’t make any sense. Jed’s leg was healing. He’d run the loop of the lake twice last week and hardly broken a sweat. How could it be that he’d been sick all this time?

  Flo leaned against Max’s leg. She seemed more at ease in the hospital than she had all week. Guilt gnawed at Max’s chest as he remembered her trying to pull him toward the ER entrance a few hours ago. Was it possible that she’d known Jed was inside all along? Inside, sick and in pain?

  Of course it was.

  He knelt down beside her, letting her nuzzle his ear. “Where’s Jed, girl? Where is he? Walk on.”

  He wasn’t deranged enough to believe she understood the words, but she understood the command well enough. She trotted forward, letting her nose and instincts take her where she wanted to go. Max did the same and followed her out of the waiting area and down the corridor to a small reception desk.

  The nurse behind the desk smiled. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Jed Cooper? He was admitted today.”

  “Just a minute.” The nurse checked her computer screen. “Are you a relative?”

  “We live together. I’m his brother-in-law.” In a roundabout way, it was vaguely true, or at least explainable if he was pressed.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Max O’Dair.”

  “Ah, yes. I have you here as next of kin.”

  That gave Max pause. He recalled the “veteran’s crap” conversation he’d had with Jed just after he’d moved in, but he’d never imagined Jed would actually write his name on the HIPAA form. “Um, how is he?”

  “Better than he was… oh, hang on, here’s Dr. Phelps. He can tell you more.” The nurse flagged down a passing doctor. “Dr. Phelps? This is Sergeant Cooper’s next of kin. He’d like an update.”

  The doctor trailed to a stop and placed a stack of files on the raised part of the desk. He eyed Flo. Max could tell he was trying to read the alert sign on her jacket without overtly turning his head.

  “Epilepsy,” Max supplied.

  Dr. Phelps started, surprised that Max had caught him out. Perhaps he thought Max was blind as well as a freak. “Fascinating,” he said thinly, and Max decided immediately that he didn’t like him. Doctors were often like that—either awesome or total pricks. This one was clearly a prick.

  “How’s Jed?”

  “Well, we’ve managed to calm the vomiting, and give him something for the pain, but he’s severely anemic right now. It’s going to take a while to put that right.”

  “Anemic? That’s… iron, right?”

  “Yes. It’s fairly common in people with gastroparesis. Jed’s digestive system doesn’t work as efficiently as, say, yours or mine, and nutrients aren’t absorbed through the gut as well as they should be. It’s manageable most of the time, but put together with a relapse and the resulting weakness and dehydration, it can be very dangerous.”

  Max’s head spun. Gastroparesis. It sounded like the name of the unit, but he had no more idea what it meant than he did the sign above his head. “And that’s what’s making him sick? A gastroparesis… relapse?”

  “Yes. He’s very depleted right now. I’m surprised he walked in here at all.”

  Max wasn’t. Many things had surprised him today, but not that. Jed was more quietly stubborn than anyone he’d ever known. “What happens next?”

  Dr. Phelps reached for his paperwork. “My attending, Dr. Howarth, will be in later to assess him and decide on a treatment plan. For now, we’ll let him rest.”

  The doctor nodded his good-byes and walked away. The nurse reached over the desk and patted Max’s arm. “Lots of rest and TLC will set him right. We put him in room four, but you can’t take your dog back on the floor. She can stay here with me a few minutes if you can manage without her?”

  Max pulled the leash out of his pocket, clipped it on Flo, and handed her over. He knew from personal experience that this particular hospital was pretty tolerant of Flo, unless her presence put other patients at risk. “Stay, girl.”

  He followed the nurse’s d
irections along the corridor to a side room with a plastic number four stuck to it. Jed lay asleep in the hospital bed. IVs protruded from both arms, and oxygen tubes snaked across his face and into his nose. He looked awful, pale and exhausted. Max longed to go to him, to smooth the lines of pain from his face, but he didn’t. Instead, he found himself frozen in the doorway, unsure if Jed would want him to come any closer.

  With the last angry words they’d shared echoing in his head, it was hard to know if Jed would want him here at all.

  “Max?”

  He spun around to find Kim behind him, her eyes wide and her face drawn with worry. “Max, I need to talk to you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  JED FELT himself come awake, slowed down by murky narcotics. His blood felt sluggish, his limbs heavy, but the twisting spasm in his stomach was sharp enough to keep his eyes closed.

  He let his other senses take over, absorbing the potent, chemical smell of the hospital, and the irritating beep of a heart-rate monitor. Closer to home, his arms itched, and he felt sticky plastic on his face, blasting cool air into his lungs. Oxygen and IVs.

  Great.

  It didn’t look good, and he didn’t feel good either. In fact, he felt like death. Dizzying sickness rolled through him, but beyond that, something else caught his attention—a low melodic hum, and the distinct, soothing sensation of someone holding his hand.

  Max.

  Jed opened his eyes. Max was perched on the side of his bed, a large book in his lap, humming a song Jed didn’t know and swaying to his own tune the way only he could.

  “Dire Straits again?”

  Jed’s voice was hoarse, like he hadn’t used it in a week, but Max didn’t miss a beat. He squeezed Jed’s hand and turned a page. “Fairport Convention. Hospitals bring out my folksy side.”

  Jed started to roll his eyes, but then thought better of it. He squinted at the book keeping Max from looking at him. As a rule, Max didn’t care for books. The concentration required to read them was sometimes beyond him. Not today, though. “What are you reading?”