by Andrew Grey
“Don’t mind Carolyn. She has bat-like hearing sometimes.” Reggie stepped to the other side of the bed, looking at Scott. If Brent were to hazard a guess, Reggie was willing his son to wake up. The worry and sheer willpower were written on the lines of his furrowed brow.
“Reggie,” she said gently, then turned to Brent. “Scott talked about you all the time. I think he may have a crush on you.” She looked him over. “I can see why, but aren’t you a little old for him?”
Brent nodded. “That’s why nothing ever happened.” He turned back to Scott, not believing he was having this conversation. “I’m his manager and….” There were so many reasons why he’d never said anything to Scott, though all of them seemed too stupid now. Scott lay on the bed, largely unmoving, and none of Brent’s reasons mattered. All that did matter was that Scott would recover and get better again.
“I see,” she said, as though there were some great meaning behind Brent’s words. “He told me about the time the oil gun sprang a leak and he got sprayed. You got the oil shut off and him out of there and cleaned off so fast, before it could get in his eyes.”
“He told you that?” Brent closed his eyes, stifling a groan, as his cheeks had to be turning beet red. He’d cleaned Scott off and had damn near kissed him just because he was relieved Scott was all right. Just as he’d gotten close, Scott had opened his eyes and their gazes had met, but Brent had backed away. His cowardice had taken over the way it usually did.
Carolyn nodded. “He said you were gentle and made sure he was okay before everything else. Then you apparently took apart the equipment, fixed it, and made sure that didn’t happen again.” She smiled. “Scott tells us stories about work all the time, and many of them featured you.”
What was he supposed to say to that? Brent wanted to hide and lick his wounds somewhere. It seemed that the teasing and flirting Scott had done was more than just playing. Brent had never been sure, but now he knew. Scott had cared and might have been truly interested, but now it might be too late.
“That’s so nice to know.” Brent couldn’t help looking at Scott and wondering what might have been if he had just had the guts.
Chapter 2
SCOTT FELT like hammered shit. Well, maybe that was an understatement. He drifted from pain to a euphoria of sorts but was scared to move. Each breath felt tight, and he was afraid to inhale more deeply. His ears rang with a high-pitched, annoying sound that thankfully seemed to be dissipating. Other than that, the world was quiet, which was a relief. He was so tired, he didn’t want to open his eyes, but yet something deep inside told him he should.
A hand slipped into his. The grip was gentle but firm. He didn’t think it was his mother’s. It could have been his dad’s, but he wasn’t sure. The touch didn’t last long, but it was enough for him to center his mind on it. Scott concentrated and tried to move his fingers, but it felt like they were disconnected. No, that wasn’t it. Like there was a thick fog around his brain. He put all his thought power behind it, and the fog lifted, at least in that direction. He could feel the touch again, a slight squeeze, and he answered it—he knew he had. So he tried his other hand, making the connection there, moving his fingers. He took a deeper breath, concentrating on controlling his lungs. Then he worked on the fog elsewhere. He moved his feet. He knew it. The fog was retreating, and Scott needed to see where he was, so he cracked his eyes open.
The light was too much so he closed his eyes, groaning. The grip on his hand became more insistent. He cracked his eyes open again, and this time the light was dimmer. Deliberately, he opened them, focusing on the ceiling, and then slowly turned his head. The first face he saw was Brent’s, and standing next to him was his mother. He looked down at his hand and saw Brent held it.
Was he dead? Scott closed his eyes, trying to figure out what was real. He had to be dead, because that was the only way Brent would be holding his hand. Scott smiled as twinges of pain washed over him. He couldn’t be dead if he hurt, so that meant this was real.
He opened his eyes. Brent was still there, only now it was his mother holding his hand. Still, Brent smiled at him.
Scott attempted to speak, but his throat hurt and was so dry that nothing came out. His mother’s lips moved, like she was trying to say something, but Scott heard nothing. He tried to speak again, but his mother gently stroked his shoulder, and Scott let his eyes close. He needed to check to see if there was still fog that he needed to get rid of. When he concentrated on the sounds around him, he heard nothing.
A chip of ice crossed his lips, and he sucked it into his mouth, letting the cold water coat his tongue and then slide down his throat.
“I can’t hear,” he finally said.
His mother turned to his father, and she might have gasped before putting her hand over her mouth. Scott turned to his dad, who put up one finger and then slowly stroked his arm. He didn’t know what his dad said, but Scott followed his father with his eyes until his father stood at the end of the bed. He said one word, doctor, and Scott sighed. Then his dad left the room, and Scott turned back to his mom and Brent.
Scott closed his eyes as fatigue and pain washed over him. He waited for it to pass and cracked his eyes open once again. Someone came in and began asking questions. He saw her lips moving but heard nothing at all. His mother seemed to be answering.
Then a nurse, about his mother’s age, leaned over in front of him. She held up a syringe.
“It hurts.” His head, his chest, all over. At least he could talk. He hoped he was talking anyway. He could feel the vibrations of his own words, but that was all.
She held up one finger and then, after a few seconds, all ten.
“Hurts. A lot,” Scott answered, closing his eyes yet again. As soon as he did, he was cut off from everything. He heard nothing and could see nothing. Then the pain began to recede. He opened his eyes and turned to his mother, who was chewing on her lower lip. She only did that when she was extremely nervous. Then he turned to Brent, who always told him the truth.
Brent leaned forward, touched his hand, and lightly stroked it.
“Is this for real?” Scott asked.
Brent smiled gently and nodded, gripping his hand a little tighter. “It’s… okay,” he said very slowly, and Scott was able to read his lips.
He nodded and groaned again as a wave of unadulterated fear swept over him. He couldn’t hear… he was deaf. Tears filled his eyes and ran down his cheeks. Scott swallowed hard and let them fall. There was nothing he could do. His eyelids grew heavy and, unable to stay awake any longer, he dozed off just as his mother brushed his tearstained cheeks.
A STROKE down his arm sometime later woke him again. This time a doctor stood in front of him. He held up his notebook, with words printed on the page: I’m Dr. Simpson. I want to run some tests. Just tell me if you can hear anything.
“Okay,” Scott said, looking around at the others and then closing his eyes. But he heard nothing other than the slight ringing. “I don’t hear anything. There is a ringing, though, but it’s growing softer.” He continued listening, straining for any sound to reach him, but there was none at all.
Dr. Simpson touched his hand, and Scott opened his eyes. Then Dr. Simpson wrote and held up his notebook again. I am going to run some tests. There is swelling in your brain. We relieved the pressure. We will see if the pressure has gone down. The hearing loss may be temporary. Just relax. I will help you any way I can.
“Thank you.” Scott didn’t know what else to say.
Dr. Simpson wrote again. Please take it easy. We need you to sleep, rest, and give your head a chance to heal. We relieved the pressure and are monitoring it.
Scott read the note. “I understand.”
You rest now.
“I’ll do my best. But I’m scared.”
Brent reached for Dr. Simpson, and he passed him the notepad. Brent wrote furiously and then turned around the page. Of course you’re scared. But you’re alive, and we’re all grateful for that. You h
ave a lot of support and people who care for you. Brent took his hand and squeezed, then turned the page away, flipped it over, and wrote some more. You need to concentrate on getting better and not worrying about anything. You have a lot of healing to do, and we’ll be there for you. All of us.
“Okay,” Scott agreed, getting tired.
Don’t make me get James and Lee. After that Brent had drawn a smiley face. There is still a lot no one knows, so be as patient as you can.
Scott yawned. “I’ll do my best, boss.” He tried not to think of what would happen to him if he couldn’t hear again. This was overwhelming, and as fatigue set in, he closed his eyes, trying not to cry like a child.
SCOTT WOKE some time later when he was wheeled out of the room and down for some sort of tests where they put him through large machines and wrote notes to tell him not to move. He just kept his eyes closed and pretended nothing was happening. That was easy.
By the time they brought him back to the room, Scott was tired again and went back to sleep. This time he dreamed, and he could hear. Brent was there, smiling at him, and they were at a beach together, happy. That was one of his fantasies. He and Brent would go away to a warm beach, and when there was no one around, they’d race into the water and Brent would spin him off his feet into his strong arms, where no one would hurt him again.
Scott snapped his eyes open, and he looked around, breathing deeply. His mom and dad were still there, but Brent was gone, and Scott missed him. His mother took his hand, and his dad held up a sign for him.
They are moving you to a regular room in a few minutes. He smiled, and Scott nodded.
“That means I’m doing better?” He listened to see if he could hear anything at all, but only the soft ringing was there.
His dad wrote some more. Yes. The swelling is going down and they said your ribs are beginning to heal. You’re going to be sore for a while. He flipped the page and wrote again. The doctor said he’s hoping your hearing will come back once the swelling goes down more. He shook the page, probably for emphasis, but if Scott could do everything else and still not hear, then that was likely bullshit.
He bit his lower lip and said nothing. His mom and dad seemed so hopeful, and he didn’t want to crush them, even as he closed his eyes and wondered what the hell he was going to do.
“Where is Brent?” Scott asked, forcing his eyes open.
His dad scratched on the page. He had to go to work, but he said he’d be back up to see you soon.
“He’s nice,” Scott said.
His mother stroking his hand, pulling his attention to her. “Do you like him?” she asked, speaking slowly. It wasn’t hard to read her lips since he was half expecting the question.
“Geez, Mom,” he whined, not wanting to talk about stuff like that now. She continued looking at him with that mom gaze. “He’s my boss and it wouldn’t be right. At least I’m assuming that’s what Brent would say.” He pursed his lips. Scott had always hoped Brent would come around, but that wasn’t going to happen now. Not fucking likely. His entire body tensed, and he winced at a shot of pain. Thankfully it retreated and his muscles relaxed as the pain subsided. “It doesn’t matter now.” He turned away and closed his eyes, effectively cutting himself off from them.
THE BED shook under him, and a man moved into his field of vision. Scott followed him with his eyes as he unhooked some of the tubes and things from the wall and placed them on the bed next to him. Then he was moving, and Scott lay there with his eyes closed and went along for the ride. It was too much effort for him to ask any questions, and they didn’t matter anyway.
It didn’t take long before he was in his new room. It was larger, with a sofa of sorts near the window, as well as a large chair next to his bed.
“Thank you,” Scott told the nurse as she hooked everything back up. She was probably talking to his mom and dad, but it all went by him. He figured he was going to need to get used to that. She leaned into his line of sight and put up her fingers. “Six,” Scott said, and then the pain slipped away and his eyes grew heavy once more.
SCOTT DIDN’T remember his dreams when he woke, but Brent was sitting on the sofa when he opened his eyes. No light came through the window, and other than the soft light near the sink area, the room was dark.
Brent took his hand as the haziness of sleep slipped away.
“Why are you here?” Scott asked. “I know you’re my boss and all, so it’s rude of me to ask you to leave. I’ve worked with you for two years and you knew I was interested, but you put me off.” He turned to Brent, because it was his only way of getting any sort of reaction. “I flirted with you, and you turned the other way. Sometimes you flirted back, but that was all. I don’t understand why I have your attention now.” Was it some sort of pity thing?
Brent leaned forward on the sofa, slightly over the bed. He said something, and of course Scott had no idea at all what he wanted. Not that it mattered.
“Maybe you were right.”
Brent shook his head, and for a second, Scott tried to figure out what the gesture meant, but he was still too tired and probably a little drug-hazed. This whole getting hurt thing really sucked.
Brent held up a notepad in front of him. I was wrong.
“That doesn’t matter now. Right or wrong, things are what they are. I can’t hear, and there isn’t anything I can do about it.” Scott turned away, tired and ready to be alone so he could wallow in some self-pity for a while. “S… so you should go back to your life and your friends, and leave me to try to figure out what the hell I’m going to do with mine, because it’s pretty damn clear that everything has changed for me.” He looked back at Brent. “I know what my dad said the doctors said, but I think that’s bullshit. He’s trying to keep my hopes alive and spare me the pain of the truth.” Scott worried his fingers over his palms. Part of him hoped he was wrong.
“I don’t know what will happen,” Brent mouthed slowly, and at least Scott knew that was the truth.
“Will you tell me the truth?” Scott asked, and Brent nodded. “Everything is going to change for me. I know that. I can’t expect you or anyone….” He took a deep breath, knowing he needed to get this out. “Whatever duty you feel you have… why you’re spending hours here at the hospital instead of going out and living your life? It isn’t real. Okay? There’s nothing for you here anymore. We never gave what the… whatever it was that we felt all these months… a chance, so don’t think you need to try now because you feel sorry for me.”
Brent swallowed, and Scott watched as some of the light dimmed in Brent’s eyes. But he didn’t stand or make any effort to leave. Instead, he sat back on the sofa, crossing his arms over his chest.
Scott rolled his head until he was staring at the ceiling. He didn’t want to watch television and had slept so much that, for now at least, he was wide-awake. Scott wasn’t sure what Brent was doing, but that didn’t matter. If he wanted to sit with him, fine. Scott had said his piece and had no illusions about where things stood between them. Brent was his boss, or had been his boss, since Scott had no idea how he was going to be able to do his job without being able to hear. The plain truth was, everything in his life had been upended in one fell swoop and he was going to have to learn to deal with all of it. The more he thought about it, the closer the tears got to the surface.
Then the pain medication kicked in again, and sent him to dreamland soon enough. At least there he could hear.
SCOTT LAY in bed, getting squirmy as Dr. Simpson and a nurse stood nearby. They looked him over and then the nurse began unhooking some of the tubes and things he was attached to. The best part was that the IV was being removed. He’d been up walking a little the day before, but now, apparently, he’d be allowed to get up to use the bathroom as long as he had help. They seemed pleased with how things were going. Scott took that as a big step forward in his healing and a step back in the hope that his hearing would return.
Dr. Simpson had still said he was hopeful it would return i
n time, but Scott found it harder and harder to believe. The ringing was still there, but gradually it had gotten softer, and Scott felt whatever hope he might have had was dissipating. He closed his eyes, gritting through the discomfort and pain. Then they were done, and Dr. Simpson gave him a smile and a thumbs-up.
You’re doing very well, he wrote, and Scott nodded.
“Can I get up to use the bathroom now?” He had been so sick of having tubes and stuff attached to him, especially the catheter.
The nurse helped him out of bed and escorted him to the bathroom. She waited until he was situated, showed him the call button, and then closed the door.
Scott did his business like a normal person. God, he was grateful for this. His ribs were still sore, so he gingerly stood and flushed. Then he washed his hands before opening the bathroom door.
His mom and dad both turned to him and then stepped back to let him get to the bed. He sat carefully on the edge and got back in, breathing heavily from the exertion. He would have sworn he’d run a race.
Once he got settled and the nurse checked his dressing, his mother patted his arm and waved. Then she took his dad’s hand, and they left the hospital room.
When Scott had exited the bathroom, he hadn’t seen Trevor and James, but he couldn’t miss them now.
Trevor approached the bed and bent down to hug him carefully. He didn’t try to say anything, and there was nothing Scott needed from him other than some of his strength.