by AJ Rose
Just then, Chief Noble strode down the hall, a man in charge of every situation. I was gratified to see security on his heels. Smirking at my father, I moved to the side to meet the chief’s advance.
“Everything okay here, Dr. Perry?” His voice was nothing but concerned. I suddenly found myself wishing I’d have been his kid, grown up under his direction, which I’d always respected.
“It will be, Chief. If you could have security keep an eye on him, while I call the police to come get his sorry ass, that’s all I need.”
Chief hesitated, keeping his eyes trained on me. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay, son? You look white as a sheet. Is the concussion giving you trouble?”
“Whoever gave him that concussion didn’t do it right, if he’s still upright,” my dad growled. I didn’t even acknowledge his trailer park ass.
“Could be, sir, but I’d feel better if I could make that call as soon as possible.” I felt for the card with the police phone numbers on it in the pocket of my lab coat, reassured to find it immediately.
Chief held out his arm to beckon me along. “Let’s do that in my office, then, Perry. Give you a little privacy.”
“Security has this?” I asked, looking at the three guards with him. “Don’t let him out of your sight. Drunk as he may be, he’s still dangerous.”
“Yes, sir,” one of them said. He stepped forward while the other two fell into step behind the chief and me as we walked in the direction of the boss’s office.
“You might want two for my dad. He’s a cagey bastard and you shouldn’t underestimate him.” Frankly, I was surprised they hadn’t blocked my father in to keep him from fleeing. Even more surprising was the fact he wasn’t trying to flee. It just proved he wasn’t really there for my help to get away from the cops. He probably had some other agenda that involved my cracked skull and another funeral.
The guards shared an uneasy glance, but Chief Noble reassured them. “It’s fine, gentlemen. I think one of you with us will suffice.”
When we reached the chief’s office, the guard followed us in and began asking me questions about what had happened. Chief Noble interrupted him.
“Dane, have you got a phone number for your partner?”
I looked at him strangely. “Why?”
“I think we should call him, Dane. You’ve just had quite a shock, it seems. Wanna tell me what that was about?”
So I spent a few minutes explaining how the police had visited me to tell me about my runaway murderer of a father and my dead brother, and how he’d come to me for help fleeing from his responsibilities, as usual. I pulled out the card Jarvis had given me earlier and passed it to Dr. Noble.
“You might want to make a copy of that card, sir. If things don’t go right, you have the number, too.”
“This is legit?” He seemed surprised, though I couldn’t have guessed why.
I nodded.
“And your partner’s number?” Chief asked, suddenly all business. His hospital was vulnerable and he bustled into action, not wasting time to make sure all the bases were covered. He called down to the head security desk and spoke to the same shift supervisor to verify Jarvis and Russell had apprised him of the situation. His next call was to Craig, while he assured me his head of security was making the call to the police for me.
“Relax, Dane,” he said, his voice concerned but soothing. “We’ll get you taken care of. Yes, hello? Is this Dr. Perry’s partner?” He turned away from me and I let myself fall into a chair, rubbing my eyes to stave off a sharp headache. I couldn’t make out all the words, but I heard the chief tell Craig he should come get me. “He seems to be developing new symptoms which are a concern. There’s more, but I think you should get here as quick as you can, Mr. Dahl. If you can get here in the next half hour, I really think Dr. Perry could use more time off and someone to see to him at home.” He gave Craig directions directly to his office, and disconnected, speaking to me. “I want to make sure the stress of the day hasn’t hampered your recovery from the head injury. Okay, Dane?” I could only nod agreement while he placed another call, this time to someone within the hospital. The chief’s tone hushed further, and I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but it sounded like he was setting up the test. I supposed with the headache I was having, it was a reasonable precaution to run me through another CT scanner.
When he disconnected, he sat on one corner of his desk, adopting an informal position of paternal concern. God, why couldn’t someone like him have been my dad?
“Dane,” he began, hesitating.
“Craig’s coming for me?” I asked, a little plaintively. Yeah, I needed him. I wasn’t even going to pretend I didn’t. Letting my head rest on the back of the chair, I closed my eyes and all-out slouched in front of my boss.
“Yes, but given the tragic news you’ve received, I think it would be a good idea to speak to someone from the psychiatry wing—a grief counselor—just to set up a future visit, maybe answer some questions.”
Peeling an eye open, I looked at him. “You want me to see a shrink?”
“You’ve just suffered a pretty big loss, and it’s possible you’re in shock. People can’t know how they’re going to react to such news, and considering it was only a couple days ago when you were mugged, I’d say the week you’re having would justify a session with someone sympathetic, wouldn’t you?”
I grunted. I didn’t need my head shrunk.
Chief wasn’t encouraged. “I also think we should get another CT, have Dr. Dearborn check to make sure you’re strong enough for what you’re about to go through.”
“What am I about to go through?” I asked, voice flat and unaffected. I couldn’t even muster the energy to be irritated with Noble.
“Well, grieving for your brother and possibly facing a trial for your father. That’s a big deal even without having just been injured. Take the rest of the week off, and give me a call on Sunday to see where you stand, okay?” He placed a warm hand on my shoulder, and it felt so good to have someone care.
“You paged me, sir?” Dr. Dearborn poked his head in. He was a tall man with a precise military hairstyle shot through with gray. He was lean and wiry, but imposing, given he was six-six.
“Yeah, Doctor, I want you to personally run Dr. Perry here through a head CT to check if his concussion from the other night has any further deterioration. He’s had a rough day today and probably came back to work earlier than he should have, but he has a headache, so I’d rather be safe.” The chief and the head of neuro had a hushed conversation near the door to the office and I didn’t bother trying to eavesdrop. I just lay in my chair, existing on a wave of nothing, which honestly felt nice for a change. Chief had my back.
“Okay, Perry,” Dearborn said, using his best bedside manner. “I’ll get you a wheelchair and go jump you ahead of all the other schlubs waiting for the scanner right now. We’ll get you fixed up, okay?”
“Whatever,” I muttered.
I pretty much did whatever they told me to do, lying still on the table while the machine whirred above my head. Dr. Dearborn spoke into the speaker so I knew what was going on.
“Scans are coming through now, Dr. Perry. Just hold still a little longer.”
My father had been in this hospital.
“Okay,” I agreed, though I couldn’t hide the shake to my voice. I wondered if security had held on to him long enough for the cops to get here. “Did they come get my father?”
“I don’t know,” Dearborn said. “They were working on it when I talked to the chief. Hold still.”
“Holding,” I groused, a bolt of unease shimmering through me. After a beat of silence, I spoke again. “Because he’s managed to get away from facing consequences before. He’s going to try to get away if you don’t watch him closely enough.”
“I’ll let security know,” Dearborn assured me. “Almost done, okay, Dane?”
Yeah, yeah, I thought spitefully as I heard the whir of the machine die down. They’d le
t me lie in the cold room with the scanner while they looked over the images of my brain, which I knew were fine; I just had a headache. In the meantime, my dad was in the custody, for lack of a better word, of people who didn’t know the extent to which he’d manipulate them, or just flat out outthink them, to get away. He was probably loose in the hospital already, and here I was, a captive in a room with no windows and one door while doctors blew off my concerns because they were more interested in the shape of my gray matter.
I was a sitting duck.
I had to get out of there.
“Dr. Dearborn?” I asked.
“Yes, Dane?”
“Just a few more minutes, right?”
“Yeah, sit tight. I’m getting the last of the images to load now, and can put you at ease in just a few.”
“Okay,” I said, pushing the scratchy blanket they’d used to cover me to the side. Thankfully, they hadn’t made me change into a gown, leaving me in my scrubs. Slithering from the sliding table, I crouched beside the scanner and peered into the window where monitors connected to the machine displayed data as it was collected. All I could see were the tops of their heads. Their concentration was entirely on my brain scans, and not on me. Well, if they expected me to lie there while a madman ran loose in the hospital looking for me, they could go fuck themselves.
I scuttled to the door, bent low at the waist until I could get out, while they still contemplated the folds of my brain. I had to get home. Pulling out my phone, I sent Craig a text.
Going home. Meet you there. Done at work for now.
Getting my things from the locker room, I changed quickly and called for a cab, not taking the chance that I’d be easily followed through the subways back to the loft. Dad might already have my address, and I had to beat him there if I was to feel in any way safe behind the doorman and locked doors.
Present Day
Craig opened his door and stared at me, making no secret of his appraisal of my appearance, and it didn’t escape my notice when his gaze stalled at my crotch for an extra beat. I couldn’t help but smile, though I was busy with a similar assessment of his attire for the evening. In a ruby-red button-down shirt, silver tie, and black slacks, he was frankly the most dressed up I’d ever seen him.
“Wow,” I said, more breath than spoken word.
“I could say the same.” Seeming to realize he’d had his door open for an inordinate amount of time, he shook himself and stepped back. “Come in, come in.”
Smoothing my palm over my black tie and lavender shirt tucked neatly into charcoal slacks, I stepped into his personal space. Bold wasn’t normally my style, but he looked good enough to eat, and no matter how I wanted to forget, there was a ticking clock in my mind, counting down the moments until he left for California. I had no moments to lose by being shy. I kissed the corner of his mouth.
“You look fancy.” I put some West Virginia twang on the last word, and he laughed, his hands finding my hips. His lips were soft when they landed on mine, and I did my best not to let things get too far, but the air between us sizzled with heat, and god, if it had been any other function, I’d have said fuck it and dragged him upstairs to ravish him in bed.
But a hospital banquet for some of the biggest investors, including Craig’s parents, who’d written a substantial check toward the new cancer wing, was not something I felt we could be late for, and definitely not something we could miss altogether.
“Hold that thought,” Craig muttered, apparently coming to the same conclusion. “My parents will kill us if we don’t show up like obedient sons.”
I cocked a brow. “Kill us?” Sons? I couldn’t even bring myself to utter that word around the bubble of hope lodged in my throat.
He scoffed at my insecurity. “Yeah. They know we’ve been seeing each other again.”
“Oh, wow.” I scowled at my shoes, wishing I’d shined them better. “This is going to be a blast tonight.”
“Relax,” he said, patting my cheek playfully. “I did tell them enough of what you went through so they’d understand what happened when you… ended it before. They’re cautious, but they’ve forgiven you.”
My brow climbed farther up my forehead. “You told them?”
“As little as necessary. I hope you’re not mad.”
I considered it. “No, I’m not mad. In a way, I’m relieved. It might be awkward, but you’ve kept me from reliving it for another retelling.”
“You look really nice,” he said, changing the subject and checking his watch. “We’d better get going.”
He reached for his jacket, and I stepped out of his way. That’s when I saw the boxes. They were stacked along the wall between the kitchen and the step down to the living room. There were just a few, but it was enough to make my heart throb painfully. He was really going. He was packing up his life here, including the memories of the years we shared together, and shipping them off to the other coast.
Why can’t you go with him? the petulant voice in my head asked. You can get your own place, and a clean slate work-wise would be nice, wouldn’t it? No one handling you with kid gloves? No reason you can’t keep dating him same as you are here, just a different ocean as the backdrop. So why don’t you offer to go?
I blinked, looking around the loft, remembering snippets of our previous life together, the times we hosted friends, when we went on a video game kick and spiced things up so the loser gave the winner a blow job, and the time I’d been sick with some kind of stomach bug and hadn’t had the energy to make it up the stairs. Craig had dragged a sleeping bag to the side of the couch and slept on the floor beside me all night. He cared for me like no one else had.
So why couldn’t I go too?
Because he has to want me to, and I don’t know if he does yet. That didn’t mean I wasn’t doing what I could to get us there before he left.
“Dane? You ready?” Craig asked, his hand on the lights while he waited for me to walk out the open door.
Shaking off the cobwebs of nostalgia, I preceded him out the door. “Did you speak to the Pixar people yet?” I asked while he engaged the multiple locks.
“Yeah, they sound really pleased. They have a real estate agent on retainer who’s getting me information on condos in the Oakland area.” He sounded matter of fact, not like he was discussing accepting his dream job, not like this was the biggest opportunity he’d had, and not like his paintings had another well-entrenched art city to impress in San Francisco.
“Hmm,” I said, taking his hand on the walk to the elevator. “Have you got a timeline yet?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t given notice here yet.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Why not? I thought telling them to go fist themselves with their favorite boy-toy was the whole point of you sending reels to the big guns in California.”
His gaze dropped to his shoes, and he sighed. It was a sad sigh, not a dreamy or contented one. It was a sigh of mixed feelings.
“Now it seems petty.”
“Pixar seems petty?”
He looked at me then, and his brown eyes showed depths of emotion I had only ever seen him paint before, not exhibit.
“I got my dream job because I wanted to say fuck you to someone. And now, I have to leave the city I couldn’t wait to move to my entire life, and I see no good reason why a fuck you should trump a life I worked hard to build.” He bit his lip, then seemed to come to a conclusion. “I don’t want to leave you behind because of a dick-measuring decision, and now, if I don’t take the job, I’m wasting a huge opportunity. But if I do take it, I’m smashing another one.”
“Stop,” I said, turning into him and pulling on his shoulders so we were chest to chest. “You did not get that job because of a fuck you. You got it because you’re a talented artist with vision, skill, and a love of your art that shines in every medium you try. You sent the reel because you know your value, and you aren’t being valued where you work now. You are taking the job because every brick of the life y
ou’ve built here was working toward the goal of moving on to bigger and better things, of being seen and lauded for this incredible soul you show people through color and charcoal and paint. Don’t let the boundaries of a city keep you from getting those bigger things. And yeah, I’m going to miss you on the other side of the country, but what kind of asshole would I be if I held you back from this? One who doesn’t deserve you, that’s what. Besides, there’s Skype. Who says you’re leaving me behind?” I cupped his cheek and caressed my thumb over his cheekbone as the elevator doors opened. We didn’t move. “I have always loved you, and if I can lose my fucking mind and still manage to love you, a measly three thousand miles isn’t going to come between us.”
He released a wobbly chuckle and kissed me until there was a polite “ahem” to break our little bubble.
“Sorry,” I said apologetically to the older woman with a perfect silver bob and a dog tucked under her arm, waiting to take the elevator up.
“No problem. You gentlemen have a good evening,” she said with a wry smile as we swapped places.
“Well, I did already take the job,” Craig conceded as we left the building and I hailed a taxi. “It’s just a matter of finding a way to tell the veeps. So as soon as that’s done and I give them a date for my last day, I’ll have a timeline. Pixar gave me a start date two months out.”
“So it’s December now, and that means you have until February to go. Plenty of time,” I assured him.
“Plenty of time for what?” His eyes glittered in the dim of the cab.
“For feeling like it’s the right move.”
He smiled wistfully then, and gripped my hand, keeping quiet for the remainder of the ride into Manhattan.
The hospital had a large room more often used for guest lectures and audio-visual presentations for smaller audiences when the five-hundred-person auditorium was in use. We called it the ballroom, though I couldn’t remember there ever being a formal event there that didn’t involve slides of patient data, statistics, or images of injuries and diseases. To see it now, actually furnished as a ballroom, with circular tables covered in white tablecloths and fancy centerpieces, and an open space large enough to act as a dance floor, was quite the surprise. The decorations had a bit of Christmas whimsy to them, with snowdrifts made of pulled cotton wrapped around glass candleholders, twinkle lights in red, green, and white, and clusters of pearlescent balloons floating strategically around the room. A bar was set up along one wall, manned by two handsome tuxedoed men, and four or five women, dressed in calf-length black skirts with tuxedo stripes up the sides and stiff white formal shirts, acted as cocktail waitresses. They mingled among people dotted here and there, pleasant smiles affixed as they took drink orders.