by Lynn VanDorn
Chapter 32
Tyler is Surprised
Saturday, October 1st, 9:45 p.m.
The Field Museum: the dance floor
Chicago, IL
Josh was a terrible dancer and Tyler didn't care. It was fun trying to make his oh-so-proper doctor gyrate his hips. If Josh ever managed to lose his self-consciousness, he might not be so bad. Tyler was cognizant of the looks they were getting and knew Josh had to sense them as well, which wasn't helping him relax. Not all, not even most, were hostile, but they all had a weight that could be felt.
Tyler hoped his father's eyes were among them, that he saw his son dancing with another man and realized there was nothing he could do about it, that nothing he had ever tried to “fix” Tyler had ever worked.
This moment had been inevitable since his birth—that Tyler would dance at his brother's wedding with another man. That it was Josh was an extra bonus. No matter how horrible he was at dancing, being with him was better than any other phantom hypothetical man Tyler had pictured himself with when he was younger and miserable and trapped in his father's house. Josh had always been his favorite hopeless fantasy. Being with him now seemed too good to be true. Tyler was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. As if on cue, Josh stepped on his foot.
Tyler glanced up at Josh, who was biting his lip in concentration. The music had changed from upbeat to slow and romantic, and Josh was attempting to slow dance with him while not stepping on his feet. He wasn't doing so well at that, but he was trying, and that was more than good enough for Tyler. He rested his head on Josh’s chest so he could hear the beating of his heart like it was percussion for the music they swayed to.
Then someone screamed.
All heads swiveled to the woman, someone Tyler vaguely recognized. The wife of one of the lawyers who worked at the firm, he thought.
“Oh my God, a doctor, somebody, oh my God!”
Josh rushed over, Tyler trailing behind him. Within moments he saw a man crumpled on the floor. His father. Brad was already there, checking for a pulse. Rachel stood nearby, her eyes wide. Josh joined Brad on the floor. The two of them started CPR, Brad doing the breathing and Josh the chest compressions.
“Has anyone called 911?” Josh called out.
“They’re sending an ambulance,” said someone. “They said they’d be here soon.”
Someone, it looked like one of the Field staff, hurried over with a portable defibrillator. Tyler walked away. He couldn't watch. He wasn't sure if he wanted his father to survive or not, and it felt ghoulish to watch him teeter on the edge. He went and found his mother and held her hand.
“Have you called Ryan?” she asked.
“No, not yet. I think I should wait until the EMTs get here and see—” he almost said, “if he lives” and changed it to “—what hospital they take him to.”
“I don't know what to feel,” his mother said. “Isn't that terrible? He was my husband for twenty-eight years. You'd think I'd know… that there would be…”
“You’re just in shock,” Tyler said. “That’s all. We all are.” He said it for the benefit of anyone who might be listening to them. They didn't need to know that he viewed the possible death of his father with utter detachment. It was nothing to do with him, other than how it would affect his brothers. He hoped for Brad and Rachel’s sakes alone that the old bastard wouldn't die on the dance floor of their wedding while Brad performed CPR on him. No one needed that kind of memory.
The paramedics rushed in and gave his father oxygen. Good. If he has to die, let it be in the ambulance, or better yet, in the hospital. Tyler found himself in the odd position of hoping his father wouldn't die solely so it wouldn't ruin Brad and Rachel’s honeymoon. He stifled a very inappropriate laugh.
Josh started his way, looking grim.
“Well?” Tyler asked.
Josh ran a hand through his hair, disarranging the order Tyler had given it earlier. “They’re taking him to Northwestern. Brad is going with him in the ambulance and Rachel said she'll follow, but wants to get out of her gown first, which makes sense. Cynthia, can you and my parents manage to take charge of the reception? I'm sure it'll start to break up since most of the wedding party will have left, but just in case, we need someone here.”
Tyler’s mother nodded and he was grateful for the excuse Josh had given to keep her away from the hospital. She didn't want to be there and his father wouldn't have wanted her to go.
“I'm calling Ryan,” Tyler said.
“He picked a hell of a time to take off,” Josh said.
“You can say that again,” Tyler muttered while waiting for Ryan to pick up the phone.
“Tyler,” Ryan said, “I'm glad you called. I need to speak with you about something. Can you and Josh come over to my place? I'd think that the reception has got to be winding down by now.”
“Ryan, Dad’s on his way to the hospital.”
“What? What happened? Is he okay?”
“I think he had like a stroke or heart attack. He just collapsed. Josh and Brad did CPR until the paramedics came. They're taking him to Northwestern.”
“How long ago?”
“They’re taking him out right now. They've got him on oxygen.”
“Okay. I'm on my way to the hospital. I'll meet you there.”
–—
Saturday, October 1st, 10:25 p.m.
Northwestern Memorial Hospital
Chicago, IL
Tyler didn't particularly want to go to the hospital but it seemed expected. Josh had assumed they would go with Rachel and Tyler hadn't argued. There would've been no point. He let himself be swept along on the tide of concern that flowed around him.
On the drive there, he resigned himself to an interminable night spent in a hospital waiting room, drinking terrible coffee and surrounded by sick people. The prospect did not appeal. What he didn't expect was Patrick standing by the reception desk, wearing the same suit he'd been in earlier, only minus the tie. Likely it had been left back at Ryan's place. Probably on Ryan’s bedroom floor, Tyler thought.
“Well,” said Tyler, “you're just like a bad penny today, aren't you?”
Rachel narrowed her eyes. “What the hell is going on, Patrick? Why are you here? Why did I see you at my wedding? I'm positive you weren't invited.”
Patrick swallowed hard, making his Adam’s apple bob. “I, uh… Tyler, your father’s in the ICU. Ryan’s up there, too.”
“What about Brad?” Rachel snapped.
Patrick looked uncomfortable but he soldiered on. “I haven't seen him, but I assume he's in there with Ryan. We got here a few minutes ago. Ryan told me to wait here for you to tell you where they were.”
“And you're here why?” Rachel’s fisted hands went to her hips and Tyler thought she looked to be currently at DEFCON 3.
At first Patrick looked panicky, then his expression went mulish. “Ask Ryan,” he said. “Come on, I'll take you to the surgical waiting area since I just came from there.”
They found Brad and Ryan having an argument. Based on the look Brad gave Patrick when they walked in, it was about him. Rachel went over to Brad and gave him a hug while Ryan left his side and walked over to Patrick, Tyler, and Josh. “Where's Mom?”
“Still at the wedding, directing traffic with Josh’s parents,” Tyler said. “She doesn't want to be here and Dad wouldn't want her here.” Unsaid was that he wouldn't want Tyler there, either.
“I suppose,” Ryan said.
“A better question is why you brought the boy toy. Rachel is pretty pissed, if you haven't noticed.”
“It was Brad’s wedding, not yours, Tyler, and I've already talked to him about it, and that's the end of it. I will not discuss it further.”
“Oh, sure, last night it was all well and good to lecture me about my big gay drama, but yours is somehow sacrosanct?”
“Shut up, Tyler. I’m not going to tell you again.”
“Or what?” Tyler taunted. “You'll tell Dad? Oh, wait,
you can't, because he had a heart attack and you weren't there because you were too busy fucking Patrick.”
“Look, you little piece of shit,” Patrick spat. “A man’s life is on the line, and right now that's more important than whatever issues you have with me and Ryan. I'm here because he’s worried sick about his father, and I notice you haven't asked even one question about his condition. Maybe you need to figure out your priorities. Even if you don't give a shit about your father, your brother does.”
Tyler cocked his head to the side and considered his brother's lover. While he hadn't defended himself, he had come right to Ryan’s defense. Interesting. “This is probably a bad time to tell you that I'm kind of rooting for the bastard not to pull through, isn't it? Dad and I aren't exactly close, new boy.”
Beside him Josh made an unhappy noise in his throat but didn't say anything. Not yet. Still, Tyler felt that maybe he should qualify that. “Okay, fine, I don't actively wish him to die. But I'm not going to fall to pieces if he does. Dad and I parted ways long ago. He's pretty much my sperm donor and that's about it.”
Patrick and Ryan exchanged a look that spoke volumes, it just wasn't in a language Tyler understood.
“For the record, though, you,” Tyler glared at Patrick, “crashing Brad and Rachel’s wedding and you,” he glared at Ryan, “leaving early ‘to take him home’ was pretty shitty and I'm still pissed at both of you because of it. Josh had to give the best man speech in your place, you ass.”
Ryan cleared his throat. “Maybe I haven't behaved as I should have. I… wasn’t thinking, and I apologize, Josh. I've already apologized to Brad. I meant to come back to the wedding but something came up—”
“Really? You're going with ‘something came up?’ That's worse than ‘it's not what it looks like.’” Tyler shook his head.
“Something came up, Tyler. I'm serious. It's what I need to talk with you about, so can we call a truce for now?”
Tyler gave an exaggerated sigh, then nodded. He'd gotten about as much remorse out of Ryan as he was likely to get.
“Good. So, here's what I know about Dad. They’ve taken him into surgery. They're going to do a bypass operation on two of the arteries in his heart. We're going to be here for a while, and we need to find somewhere we can talk.”
“All of us? I have no problem with Josh taking part, so I guess I'll allow the boy toy to listen in.” Tyler felt Josh give his arm a sharp squeeze, which meant he should probably try to rein himself in, at least a little. Oh, the things I do for love.
Patrick burned bright red. “Fuck you.”
“That’s enough,” Ryan snapped. “There’s a cafe not too far from the waiting room. Let's get some coffee and try to remember we're adults.”
“Fine,” Tyler said. Patrick was silent but stared daggers at him.
“I'll go tell Rachel and Brad where we’re going and see if they want us to bring anything back,” Josh said.
They stood for a few moments in awkward silence, then Patrick blurted out, “That man is way too nice for you. I have no idea what he sees in you.”
“It's my ability to tie a knot in a cherry stem with my tongue,” Tyler said, but that was just an automatic response. Really, he wasn't certain what Josh saw in him besides an admittedly fabulous ass, but there had to be something more. He just didn't know what that something more was. All Tyler could think of were the things he saw in Josh. “If you really want to know, ask him.”
“Ask him what?” Josh walked up and gave them all a questioning look.
“Patrick wants to know what you see in me. Besides my fine packaging, of course.”
Josh pinned an embarrassed and defiant Patrick with an annoyed glare. “What do you see in Ryan besides his fine packaging?” he asked. “That’s a much better question.”
Ouch.
Ryan stood there with thinned lips and said nothing while Patrick’s skin went scarlet. Tyler gave Josh a mock chiding look.
“That was nasty. Clearly I'm a bad influence.” He put a hand on Josh’s neck and brought him close enough for a kiss.
“Hey,” Tyler heard Ryan say. “You. What are you doing? Are you taking pictures?”
Tyler pulled away from Josh to see a man hastily shoving something into his pocket and backing away from Ryan, who stalked toward him like an avenging angel.
“Shit,” Josh muttered and herded Tyler over to the corner where Brad and Rachel sat.
“Brad, I need you,” Josh said.
Brad stood. “What's up?”
“I think one of the paparazzi followed us here from the wedding,” Tyler said. “Ryan’s gone over to deal with him.”
“Tyler, sit down,” said Josh. “Brad, you and I can block him from view.”
“I will, too,” Patrick said.
All three men stood like a living wall between him and the rest of the room, facing him with their backs outward, which wasn’t awkward at all, having all three staring down at him.
“So,” Brad said. “Care to explain why one of my brother's legal secretaries crashed my wedding?”
“No,” Patrick said.
Tyler laughed. He couldn't help it. “Taking the fifth?” he asked.
“Yes,” Patrick said.
“Good choice.”
“You know this kid, Tyler?” Brad asked. “I don't suppose you'd care to fill me in. All I got from Ryan was a lame apology and zero explanation.”
Tyler shook his head. “Nope. I am also pleading the fifth.”
To his surprise, it was Josh who said something. “It's Ryan’s business,” he said.
“Yeah, but it was my wedding,” Rachel complained.
“Nothing bad happened because he came, Rach,” said Josh. “Let it go. This isn't the time, okay? I'll fill you in later, I promise.”
Rachel looked like she wanted to debate the matter, so Tyler decided to make amends for his earlier nastiness by forcibly changing the subject. It wasn't Patrick he was really angry with, anyway, it was Ryan, and Ryan was off fighting a battle for him. Providing a little misdirection to take the heat off Patrick was the least Tyler could do. Especially as Patrick was currently acting as a portion of his shield.
“This was a bad idea,” Tyler said. “I shouldn't have come. Dad won't want to see me, anyway. I didn't think. I'm sorry, Brad.”
“It's okay,” Brad said. “Ryan will take care of it. It's what he does.”
“I know.” Tyler looked up at Josh. “This is what life with me is like. It's probably only going to get worse. I'm sorry.”
Josh frowned and didn't reply.
Ryan came over and joined their huddle. “Security was called and that asshole was removed, but I think we should go, at least for now. I'll take Josh and Tyler home, then come back later alone. Unless Dad asks for Tyler, of course.”
Which he wouldn't.
–—
Saturday, October 1st, 11:30 p.m.
Ryan’s overpriced condo
Chicago, IL
Ryan ended up taking them back to his place so they could borrow one of his cars. “That way you don't have to worry about a rental,” Ryan said. “Also, we still need to talk, and my living room will work as well as yours, Josh.”
Tyler sat on the couch in the same place he'd sat last time. This time, however, Josh sat in the chair next to him. Patrick sat in the opposite chair, leaving the other end of the couch empty for Ryan, who poured drinks.
Tyler found a glass with two fingers of what was probably scotch thrust into his hand. He took a sip and made a face. It was smoky and bitter and probably expensive as hell, and he hated it. He put his glass down.
Having distributed drinks, Ryan sat. “Okay, first things first. We can eliminate Michael Koenig as a possibility for uploading the video. He died in a car crash five years ago.”
“Christ,” Tyler said. It was strange. He knew, intellectually, that Mr. “Call Me Michael” Koenig had at best taken advantage of him and at worst raped him, but his memories of the man were more compli
cated than that. He'd had such a crush on him, daydreaming of climbing onto his lap and kissing him silent while he sat in the man’s office and listened to him drone on and on about whatever-the-fuck. A lot of it had been useful life advice, but Tyler had listened with half an ear while wondering what the man's dick looked like. He'd studied Mr. Koenig’s crotch, analyzing the folds of fabric, hoping for some clue.
The reality of sucking his guidance counselor’s cock (cut, six or seven inches, decent girth) wasn't as great as the fantasy. Few things ever were, see also his disastrous threesome. But for all that, he’d, right or wrong, never felt violated by the man. His innocence had been gone long before Mr. Koenig had pulled out his dick for Tyler’s rapt inspection.
Compared to what had happened in Bridges, what Mr. Koenig had done to him was less than nothing. It wasn’t fair he'd been punished and the men at Bridges had not. It wasn’t fair that Tyler had a huge scar on his leg as a souvenir from his stay there. But then life wasn't fair. It gave and it took without regard to who deserved what.
“What… do you know the details of the crash?”
“It happened during a heavy snowstorm,” Patrick supplied. “He was driving on I-90 and somehow drove off the road in the storm and hit a snowbank. The car was plowed under. They found it days later.”
“Was he killed in the crash or… later?” Tyler asked, taking another sip of the scotch, then grimacing.
“The article I found mentioned head trauma, so…”
Tyler hoped he'd died right away. Michael Koenig had had no business working with teenagers, but he hadn't been a monster. Or maybe Tyler had become so jaded to monsters by the time he had come around that, in comparison, he hadn’t seemed so bad. In any event, Tyler didn't rejoice in the man’s death and he hoped he hadn't suffered.
Tyler didn't think he'd have the same merciful thoughts had the man in question been Matt or Greg or that head fucker, Pastor Steve. No, he'd have hoped they died slowly, hungry and thirsty and cold and smelling their own waste.