Burn (L.A. Untamed #2)

by Ruth Clampett

  I place both of my palms firmly on the table, on either side of my resting head, and then push up with more strength than necessary. Just moments later I’m standing tall and stepping away from the table. It’s time to be strong and face this head on. Somehow I need to get things moving back in the right direction.

  As I approach the hospital room I was directed to for Mikey, I hear a woman giggling. I almost turn back, convinced they gave me the wrong room number, but I peek inside just in case.

  Sure enough some bubbly redhead is blathering on about something as Mikey is boosted up with pillows in his bed, a weak smile on his face. What the hell? I may not have been sure what to expect, but I sure as hell didn’t expect this.

  When Mikey sees me standing in the doorway he gestures for me to come inside. “Trish, come meet my friend, Carmella. She works here.”

  I narrow my eyes, and it feels like heat is rising off my pupils. He should be resting not taking random visitors. I want to let the snarky out, unleash it in a big way, but I bite my tongue and count to three. Whomever this woman is doesn’t change the fact that Mikey almost ended his life last night and he needs to be handled delicately.

  Stepping into the room, I extend my hand. “Carmella? Sorry to say I’ve never heard of you. How do you and Mikey know each other?”

  She dabs the corner of her lips with her index finger and smiles before shaking my hand. Her fingernails are long and the tips are painted pale ivory with tiny rhinestones on them. She has showy rings on several fingers. I can only imagine what she thinks of jewelry free, make-up-less, me.

  “I’m the Facilities Director here. Our office orders all the flowers for the hospital public areas, and I was the one who brought in charming Michael and his gorgeous work. Bloomsbury Gardens is my go-to floral shop now.”

  “Tell Trish about the last florist you used,” Mikey says.

  I study him. He may be weak but his coloring is definitely much better than it was last night.

  “Oh my goodness, they were leftover from my predecessor, positively tacky . . . carnations and baby’s breath for days. Their stuff looked like those arrangements you pick up in gas station parking lots on holidays.

  Mikey smiles. He was always such a charmer. “Thank you for lifting my spirits, Carmella.”

  Her expression suddenly turns somber, and she glances over at me and then back at him. “Of course. We’re friends, Michael. I’m glad I could help today, but I don’t want to ever see you in here again as a patient—only as our floral designer, okay?”

  He suddenly looks somber too, and he nods.

  “And you promise to keep your appointments?”

  “I will. Thank you again.”

  “You’re welcome.” She turns to me. “And nice to meet you, Trisha.”

  “Likewise. Thanks.”

  I wait until she’s halfway down the hall before I turn to Mikey. “What was that all about?”

  “They wanted to lock me up at the psych ward at UCLA, Trish, and I can’t bear the thought of that. I know it would only make my depression worse.”

  Just the idea of a psych ward sounds creepy, like Stephen King kind of creepy. Honestly, if it were me, I’d refuse, too. And knowing how sensitive Mikey is, I think it could do him more harm than good.

  “So is this an optional thing? I thought they just went ahead and committed you if they thought you needed it.”

  “Well, after I met with the ER doctor I called Carmella since I was freaked out and I knew she had relationships with everyone in this place.”

  “Why have I never heard of this woman before?” I ask.

  “I’m friends with a lot of my clients but I don’t like to talk about work at home, so you don’t hear about them.”

  I take a sharp breath. Just another thing to add to the list of things I didn’t know about Mikey, the secret keeper.

  “Anyway, she stopped in after I was evaluated and she convinced the doctor that I wouldn’t handle hospitalization well, that regular sessions and family supervision would be the better plan.”

  “Family supervision?” I ask, my stomach tightening into a little ball. I hope he’s not thinking . . .

  “I told her I’d be with you, that you’d look out for me.”

  I want to yell at him, but considering how fragile he is I have to swallow my fury.

  “Michael—”

  “Please, Trisha, please. You’re a firefighter so they know you’re trained with this stuff. Being locked up in a psych ward would kill me, and I can’t take that apartment anymore. The walls were closing in on me. I think that’s what pushed me over the edge in the first place.”

  “Well it’s no wonder with all your stuff stacked up like that. Why didn’t you get a storage space?”

  “It’s crazy to spend money to store that fine furniture in a metal shed. Besides, everyone I know gets robbed in those places.”

  “What about your mom’s garage?”

  His face turns red. “I haven’t told her about us . . . you know . . .”

  I can feel my eyes bug out. “You haven’t told her we’ve split?”

  “Well, I was still hopeful we’d work things out, so why upset her?”

  I press my hand over my forehead. “Good Lord.”

  “Trisha, please. Please let me come home.”

  The pleading tone in his voice breaks me.

  In my frustration I’m determined to give him a dose of reality about us, tell him that I’m in love with Joe and everything. But the longer he gazes at me the more I realize how frail he is. He put on a good face for Carmella to get out of the psych ward, but I can tell he’s far from being in the clear and on stable ground.

  “How long are we talking about?”

  His gaze suddenly brightens looking hopeful. “A week or two?”

  A week? Two? How will I ever explain this to Joe?

  “I’ve got to warn you . . . if you think your place is depressing you must remember how the house looked after you cleared it out. It’s still pretty much empty other than a few basic fillers from Ikea.”

  “I could bring our furniture back?” he asks, his eyes wide with hope.

  This festering feeling bubbles up in my gut. You know the kind of unsettling feeling that later you realize was a sign you should’ve paid attention to.

  Later, when he’s finally too wiped out to keep his eyes open I leave with instructions how to get into his apartment, along with a list of what he’ll need during his stay at my place. I also leave with a sharp feeling of dread.

  Joe swings by the house to check on me right as I’m unloading Mikey’s things. He doesn’t take the news well.

  “What do you mean he’s staying with you?” Joe asks, his teeth gritted and his eyes dark as coal.

  “If I didn’t say yes he was being locked up in the psych ward.”

  “Which is exactly where he should be, Trisha. He intended to kill himself. This is not a stable, or well man. And now you’re telling me he’s moving back in with you?”

  “Just for a week, or so.”

  “And sleep where? In bed with you?” He has a scarlet flush working his way up his neck. I’d think it was hot if this were another circumstance and if his rage wasn’t so scary.

  I give him a stern look. “Of course not in bed with me. I was thinking I’d sleep on the couch in the living room.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that makes perfect sense. You’re taking care of him and then sleeping on a little loveseat you can’t even stretch out on. Why are you allowing yourself to be a doormat?”

  “Hey!” I snap, folding my arms over my chest and scowling at him. “I’m not a doormat. I make my own decisions.”

  “I guess you do, whether they make sense or not,” he mumbles.

  “What if I’m just being a good person? Is that really so awful?”

  “It’s more complicated than that, Trisha, and you know it.”

  “I know,” I mutter looking down.

  He stands waiting for a minute
. I’m not sure if he’s waiting for me to have an epiphany or if he’s trying to figure out what to say next. But I’ve got nothing left to say right now. I’m on overload.

  He pulls out his keys. “I’m heading back to the station. Will he be here tonight?”

  I shake my head. “They’re watching him one more night, and then I pick him up in the morning after I meet with his therapist.”

  Joe looks off in the distance and then back at his rig. “Okay,” he says so softly it’s almost a sigh. Turning, he walks over to his bike, climbs on and roars off.

  I’d be upset that he didn’t at least kiss me, or say goodbye, but I don’t have a single free space left in my heart to hold the hurt.

  The next day feels like it will be the longest day of my life. I’m apprehensive the whole way to the hospital, and Joe’s words from the day before echo in my ears. I numbly meet with the psychiatrist to go through all the issues and patterns that could come up once Mikey leaves the hospital. I’m also carefully instructed on his meds and I take notes, before going to collect him to head home.

  As soon as I have Mikey settled in the bedroom and he falls asleep, a feeling of panic stirs me up. I know it was the right thing to want to help him, but it was a knee-jerk reaction I hadn’t really thought through. My house is my safe refuge, where I’ve had peace and quiet and where I’ve learned how to live without Mikey. Now he’s here in my space and I’m already agitated, and it’s only been a couple of hours. What am I going to be like in a week?

  I’m also missing Joe, and I’m worried he’s still mad at me. I haven’t spoken to him since he rode off on his motorcycle yesterday, and he was supposed to be home today. I keep looking out the window hoping to spot him.

  I’ve been sorely tempted to call him, but I’ve stopped myself since maybe he just needs to process all of this on his own. It’s not like Mikey being here will be a permanent thing.

  After about an hour of wandering around the house trying to figure out what to do, I grab a bottle of water and go out to the front porch and sit. With any luck Joe will finally show up and we can have a talk.

  I’m halfway done with my water when a Jeep pulls up across the street. Through the tinted window I can make out that it’s a very tall guy behind the wheel. My heart thumps. Maybe it’s Joe, and he borrowed the Jeep for an errand. I set my bottle down and stand up so he can see me when he approaches.

  But by the time he’s halfway across the street my fingers have curled into fists. It sure as hell isn’t Joe. What is that bastard, Stanley, doing showing up here? I’m tempted to go inside the house and bolt the door, but my twisted sense of curiosity gets the better of me. Whatever he has to say, it better be good to justify coming over and pissing me off. As he approaches I narrow my eyes and fold my arms over my chest.

  “What do you want?” I yell out when he’s close to my walkway.

  “I was hoping I could talk to you, Trisha.”

  Sure he wants to talk to me. I roll my eyes. “He’s asleep, and I’m not waking him up for the likes of you.”

  He glances down at his work boots, and then back up at me. “I swear. You’re the one I’m here to see.”

  “Well, I sure as hell don’t want to see you. So you can turn around and go back to where you came from. Besides, shouldn’t you be minding the shop?”

  His expression becomes muddled, like he can’t understand what I’m referring to. “Of course I’m not minding the shop,” he says.

  “Why not?”

  “I quit weeks ago. Didn’t Mike tell you?”

  I shake my head. “No he didn’t. So who’s there taking care of business? He won’t be back for at least a few days still.”

  “Melissa. But she’s totally in over her head. That’s why she called me and asked for help, and then she told me about what happened.”

  I just stare at him, trying to compute everything.

  He jams his hands in his pockets. “I understand why you hate me, but can you tell me if he’s okay?”

  “It’s none of your business.” I know it’s cruel to say but right now I’m not subscribing to the decorum of friggin’ civility.

  “Trisha, please,” he begs. “Melissa said he’s been such a mess lately. I’ve been so worried.”

  I hear the anguish in his voice and realize that being cruel to him only makes this situation worse. Taking a deep breath, I try to calm down.

  “Well, thank God we got to him in time. According to the tests he doesn’t have any brain damage, and his liver weathered it. But I’m still not sure where his head is at.”

  Stanley nods. “He’s always so hard to figure out. He puts on that upbeat, positive front, yet he can get very dark inside.”

  As I gaze at Stanley I realize that I haven’t really looked at him eye-to-eye since the scene in the back office of the flower shop went down. That night after seeing his hairy ass I don’t remember looking at him again since all my focus was on Mikey as he fumbled to pull his pants back up.

  Stanley and I had always been friendly. Hell, he worked for Mikey for years. He’s a big, strong guy, but right now he looks defeated with dark circles and bags under his eyes, and his broad shoulders hunched over. It’s as if he’s a broken man instead of the upbeat jokester I’d always known.

  Releasing a long sigh, I point to the porch chair to my right. “Have a seat.”

  He gives me a grateful look, and sits, twisting his hands together before turning toward me. “I’ve been wanting to tell you, Trisha, that I’m sorry for what happened. You didn’t deserve to walk in on that. You’ve always been kind to me, and I know how Mike feels about you.”

  I give him a side-glance with a lifted brow. He knows how Mikey feels about me? “How’s that?” I ask, not sure I want to hear the answer.

  “He loves you more than anyone or anything, which is why he kept that side of himself so hidden. He was devastated that you walked in on us.”

  I lean forward in my chair and stare at the yard. So it sounds like Stanley knows a lot about my life with Mikey . . . more than just an employee would. A question starts to fester in the back of my mind.

  “So why’d you quit your job?”

  Stanley’s head drops, and he rubs his face roughly with his hands. “I’m not here to tell you my story.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  He gazes off into the distance. “I quit because I love him.”

  “I see,” I whisper, letting the hurt of his words sink in. It was one thing that my husband cheated on me for sex, but the idea that love was involved is something else. If Mikey knows Stanley loves him, and still had sex with him, Mikey must have those kind of feelings back. He’s not the kind of asshole who would openly toy with someone’s deepest emotions.

  “Did you quit that night?”

  “You really want to hear all of this, Trisha?”

  I flex my fingers that have been gripping my knees. “Maybe I need to.”

  He crosses his arms over his chest and squeezes like he’s holding himself together. “After you left the shop and Mike went after you, I fell apart. I was inconsolable and too upset to drive. I just couldn’t believe that we’d finally been caught and would now face the consequences. What if he didn’t acknowledge our relationship? When Mike returned in a state after you threw him out, he found me sobbing and we had an argument that escalated.”

  I can almost picture the scene in my head and it makes me feel incredibly sad.

  “You see, this on-and-off stuff with Mike had been going on for a while. His needs, well those kinds of needs would build up and when they did he would come to me, and I helped him.”

  “Helped him?”

  “Do you really want specifics?”

  “I do.”

  “Sex, I gave him whatever he wanted or needed . . . whatever gave him relief. I told myself that it was like my Grinder hook-ups or bar bootie calls in West Hollywood and getting off was okay because it was what both Mike and I needed. I was lying to myself, but that’s what
we do when we’re losing control.”

  I blink several times, trying to push the picture of Stanley and Mikey having sex out of my head.

  “So last year after Mike’s dad died, things changed. He let his guard down more and suddenly there was emotion, and at times what felt like love. He finally was getting comfortable about who he was.”

  “I know his dad had a big issue with gays, so are you saying that when he died Mikey felt free from his guilt about wanting men?”

  “Yes,” Stanley replies with dark eyes. “And as Mike changed so did I, and I allowed myself to want more from him . . . ask more from him. He started making me promises like we’d be together soon, but then he’d say that he loved you and didn’t want to hurt you. It made my head and my heart fucking spin.”

  “Really?” I say, blinking back tears hearing he was trying to work up the courage to leave me all along. Could that really be true?

  “So stupidly, that night after everything went down and he was unwillingly thrust out of the closet, I assumed that this was going to be the turning point for us to become a couple. Instead he assured me, with many cruel accusations and insults that he was going to get you back no matter what it took. It was like the whole thing had been a lie.”

  “Mikey knows what I’m about. Surely he knew I’d never take him back.”

  “You really won’t?” Stanley asks, seeming surprised. “I’d take him back in a second if he’d have me.”

  “It’s different for you Stanley. You both have the same needs. I know now he’s not meant to be mine.”

  His mouth goes slack, as his eyes cloud with desperation. “He’ll never forgive me for making him lose you, Trisha.”

  “Well, he has a lot of work to do, and that should be one of the things you guys have to work out. We all have the truth now and what matters is what we do with it.”

  We sit quietly for a few minutes, then Stanley stands up and thanks me for hearing him out. I assure him that once Mikey is stable I’ll tell him that he came by. So much of what happens now is up to Mikey.