Long Way (Adventures INK Book 2)

by Mercy Celeste

  “Not a boy. I’m a Marine.” A sleepy voice interjected. “Oorah.”

  Zack laid his wrist down on his chest, and tucked the call box next to him. “If you need anything, call the nurses. We’re going to go get some dinner and find a hotel nearby. We’ll be back in the morning. Well, Brian will. I have rounds, way too early. They have Brian’s number if you need him back.”

  “I’m good. Go on. Get some rest.” Skip could hear exhaustion in the man’s voice, and wondered how many hours he’d been unconscious. “I’ll be here.”

  “I’ll be back to check on you first thing,” Zack said, nodding to the man in the dark, before he went over to whisper to the other man in the dark.

  “Hey, Old Man,” Brian was beside him again, leaning into the light. He looked pale and more than exhausted. “You gave me a scare. Thought I lost you.”

  “Yeah… no. I’m hard to get rid of.” Skip felt tears pricking his eyes again. He reached for Brian’s cheek, and swiped his trembling hand through the russet-tinted stubble on his son’s chin.

  “Dad,” Brian said, cupping Skip’s hand in his and holding it to his face. There were tears in his eyes and his voice. “God, don’t… I can’t lose you. I haven’t had you long enough, you know.”

  “I know.” Skip could barely whisper in answer. His throat clogged with tears. “Haven’t had you long enough either. Ten years are not enough. Need a lifetime. And grandchildren. Is it too soon to ask for grandchildren?”

  “Well, my biological clock is ticking,” he grinned, but his eyes still glimmered. He glanced quickly into the dark void past Skip’s bed. “He’s… I approve, you know. If you’re going to marry him, I mean. You don’t need my approval. But he’s a good man. He loves you. He’s probably more mature than you are.”

  “Same back at you. All of it. The Doc. Hang on to him.” Skip blinked several times, hoping to stop the floodgates from opening. “My father died in front of me. I hate that you almost relived that without even knowing. I was so afraid of something happening to you that I didn’t think about… I’m not going anywhere. Not for a long time.”

  “I know.” Brian let the tears loose; he didn’t try to stop them. “Love you, Dad.”

  “I love you too, Son.” His arm grew too heavy to hold up and he let it fall back to the bed. “I think I need that morphine, Doc. Starting to hurt way too much.”

  “Sure thing, Skip. I’ll tell the nurse.” Zack nodded toward Brian, and stepped out of the room, leaving the door cracked wide enough to shine a patch of light on the sleeping Marine in the next bed. He wasn’t hooked up to any machines. He breathed easily. His color looked good.

  “Do you need anything before I go?” Brian dragged Skip’s attention back from his lover. He could hear the heart monitor blipping a little too fast, but it steadied out as he turned back to his son.

  “No, no. Go get some sleep. Take care of your husband. Come get me tomorrow. Around noon.” He stopped talking as a thought occurred. “Where’s my computer bag? Is it still in the Jeep? My manuscript is in that bag. The top was off. Oh, god, if I lost that… I’m toast.”

  “I think the cops have it. She took the gun from your bag. Not a single cop saw her walk up and climb into it. She… just cracked. Why did you have a gun in your bag anyway?”

  “Bears,” Chad answered from across the room. “Big bears. Really big bears.”

  “He’s stoned out of his mind,” Brian laughed.

  “But the bears were really big,” Skip said as a nurse came in with a syringe. “Come back tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be here… if the bears don’t get me.” Brian waited for the nurse to check the machines. She poked the needle into the slot hanging from his drip line and his arm tingled with cold, and his fingers felt heavy as did his eyelids. “Sleep tight, Dad.”

  He felt the brush of lips on his forehead, and Brian was gone.

  “He’s a good son.” He heard from across the room.

  “He is,” he slurred the words.

  “Saffron?”

  “Yeah, baby?” The room started to go fuzzy around the edges. The dim light over his head wavered in and out.

  “I’m sorry.” He heard the words from a distance. He sounded heavy and floaty… like fog on the ocean at three in the morning in the middle of December.

  “So am I,” he managed to say, if his mouth worked. He couldn’t tell if his tongue was still in there. Maybe he hadn’t said anything. There was too much fog now. “So am I.”

  * * * * *

  He was awake before the sun rose. The nightmare seemed so real. So very real, that his side stung. This time felt more like a bee sting, than the last time he’d been shot. Or he’d dreamed it. He wasn’t sure.

  The blip, blip of monitors forced the haze from his mind. Hospital. He looked around the double room. The tan curtain was partially pulled between him and the other patient.

  The blips and wheezes of monitoring equipment weren’t attached to him. Chad sat up and tried to lower the side rail and failed. He pulled at the edges of the hospital gown until he got it off. He still wore pants. There was blood staining the material from his waist down to his hip. He’d have to throw these away.

  That was a lot of blood for a bee sting.

  Skip!

  He hadn’t dreamed any of that. His mother… oh, god, that couldn’t have been his mother. She was way too old. Too crazy. She’d… shot Skip.

  He crawled to the foot of the bed, past the rail, and tore the curtain back, and almost tumbled out of the bed onto his face on the floor.

  Skip lay motionless in the other bed. His pale face almost lifeless. His freckles were so dark against the ashen skin that Chad thought he was dead. The monitor blipped along at a steady pace. He didn’t seem to be hooked up to any type of life support system. Just a heart monitor. And blood pressure. Okay… Chad had been there a couple of times. Skip was fine. Probably drugged.

  Chad winced as he lifted his arm to brace himself on the rail in hopes of dragging his ass completely out of the bed. The stitches pulled. He could use some of the good drugs right about now.

  A nurse came in as he was trying to stand. She set her stuff down on the table at the end of his bed and came to help him get onto his feet. “How are we feeling this morning, Sergeant Mayes?”

  He planted both feet on the floor and blinked to clear his vision. “A bit disoriented. Maybe hungry. Other than that. I’m good. I think. Was going to find a latrine… uh, bathroom.”

  “It’s over near the door. The doctors will be in soon. You should be cleared for release. Breakfast will be served in about an hour.” She let him go as soon as he was steady on both feet.

  He looked over at the man in the other bed. Food really the farthest thing from his mind. “How’s Skip? He looks… rough.”

  “Mister Simpson is in some pain. He finally stopped fighting the morphine a couple of hours ago and went to sleep. But, he’s going to be fine in a few days.” She didn’t ask why he wanted to know. Apparently, their relationship was common knowledge. Or Skip’s son’s husband, the pretty doctor, whose name completely escaped Chad at the moment, had left instructions. He remembered something about that after Skip had come out of surgery. He’d been wheeled into the room not long after Chad had been admitted, and the doctors had all conferred about them as if Chad wasn’t there listening. “Doctor Sorensen will be in to check on you before he starts his rounds if there’s anything you need.”

  Chad thought about it for a long moment. Besides the latrine… bathroom. He’d gotten past calling the damned room the latrine, but now it was all coming crashing back in on him. “I’m okay. Where’s the rest of my clothes?”

  She walked over to a narrow closet and pulled out a plastic bag and carried it back to the bed. “Your shirts are covered in blood. I could get you a gown… or a scrub top, if that would help.”

  He looked at the gown on the floor in distaste and opened the bag. His undershirt was folded on top. It was crisp with dried blood. B
ut his blouse wasn’t so bad. There was a hole where the bullet had gone through, and some blood, but… there was more on his pants’ leg than the shirt. “I’m fine,” he said, dropping the destroyed shirt back into the bag.

  “I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said with a tight smile and pulled the curtain closed between the beds.

  Chad fought the urge to throw the curtain back and watch what she did. He knew she was just going to check Skip’s vitals. He knew she was doing her job. He knew all this. But… he closed his eyes and saw his mother’s haggard face. Her crazed eyes seemed to bore a hole in his head. He shivered and grabbed the blouse from the bed and dragged his ass to the la… bathroom so the woman could do her job in peace. His mother’s face still haunting him with every blink.

  “Excuse me,” he said before he thought better of it.

  The nurse stepped to the foot of Skip’s bed, and took the stethoscope out of her ear. “How can I help you, Sergeant?”

  “My mother. Is there any way I can find out where she is right now? I mean. The police said she would be brought here for evaluation. I’d like… to maybe see her.” He had no idea what she heard in his voice but her face softened at his request.

  “What’s her name, hon, and I’ll check for you as soon as I finish taking Mister Simpson’s vitals.”

  “Jillian Mayes… Calhoun, Jillian Calhoun,” he said, forgetting she didn’t go by her married name anymore. The nurse simply nodded and jotted the name down on her clipboard.

  “I’ll check on her, hon.”

  “Thank you,” Chad said and closed himself into the bathroom.

  He needed a shower and clean clothes. His pack was still in the Jeep. Wherever that had ended up. He needed food and to get piss-faced drunk for about a week. Or… he wouldn’t think about sex.

  Thinking about sex was what had gotten him into this situation. If he’d just gone home after his father died. If he’d answered her calls. If he’d stayed the hell away from Skip, the man wouldn’t be lying in there looking like… death warmed over.

  He turned on the tap and splashed his face with cold water. Didn’t help.

  He sat down on the toilet and propped his elbows on his knees, but didn’t get so far as burying his face in his hands. The water was warm when he stood up again. He relieved his bladder and tucked in his ruined blouse. Then untucked because he wasn’t in full uniform. He didn’t have to be in full uniform. Not anymore. He didn’t have to stop wearing camo, but… he was covered in blood. No one would notice that he wasn’t spit polished. Hell, he had no idea where his cover was. Or his wallet.

  He washed up as best he could without getting into the shower. He had no interest in putting bloody clothes back on a clean body. He’d wait for Skip’s son to get here. He’d go back to their house, get his things, shower, change clothes and come back.

  That was the plan.

  He found a note on the table by his bed. Room #215.

  His wallet was in the plastic bag along with his socks. His boots were in the closet. It wasn’t even six in the morning yet. Long before visiting hours. Hell, maybe he wouldn’t even be allowed to visit her. If she was in a locked ward…

  Only one way to find out.

  He stepped around the curtain and pulled the chair up beside Skip. He still looked so very pale lying there, his freckles and strawberry-blond eyebrows standing out in stark relief. Chad stopped the sob that gurgled in his chest.

  Marines don’t cry.

  Men don’t cry.

  Boys don’t cry.

  He blinked rapidly to clear his vision and took Skip’s hand in his. He was warm. That was good… right?

  “I’m so sorry, Skip. So sorry. This should never have happened.” He waited for a long moment for Skip to answer. He didn’t. His chest rose and fell. His eyes moved behind his eyelids. He breathed. He slept. He wasn’t hooked to a feeding tube or oxygen or anything worse. He was dreaming about something. His hand twitched in Chad’s hand.

  The tears came, and Chad clutched Skip’s hand to his forehead with both hands. “I love you. I do. I love you so much. And I almost lost you… because… and I might be just like her. I… can’t stop thinking that… I’m not like him, like my father. I blamed him for a long time. I couldn’t understand why he left. Why he left me. If I wasn’t just like her.”

  Skip still didn’t answer. Chad remembered the dreams he had before he woke up. He’d been the one holding the gun. He’d killed men. He’d killed so many men. He almost killed Skip. And… Skip’s little boy sitting on the porch watching the ambulance take his father away, leaving him behind, orphaned, and alone.

  Skip squeezed his hand. Or he flinched in his sleep. He seemed restless now. As if Chad was disturbing him.

  He knew what he had to do. He knew he needed help. Maybe he wasn’t in love at all. Maybe he was using sex as a crutch to pretend he wasn’t insane. And that with the love of this man he could be… cured.

  “I’ll be back,” he whispered and settled Skip’s hand over his heart. He left him. He didn’t stop to look back. If he looked back, he’d never be able to leave.

  He knew what he had to do.

  He walked past the deserted nurses' station to the elevator. He punched the button for the second floor and felt his stomach plunge with every floor he descended. Into his own persona hell.

  The nurses in the psych ward wouldn’t let him see his mother. But he heard her screaming through door 215, cursing his father and screaming his name. “When can I see her?”

  “I’ll have to clear it with the doctor. If you’ll leave your number, he’ll call you when he’s ready to discuss her condition.” The nurse was unhelpful.

  Chad wrote his name and number on the form she gave him, and when she turned away, he stepped over to the door and looked inside.

  His mother lay strapped to a bed. Her arms and legs so fragile as she flailed and ranted and raved.

  “The doctor will be in touch, Sergeant Mayes.” The nurse pulled him away from the doorway. She seemed to be more sympathetic now. “But, given the circumstances, long term care will most likely be advised.”

  He nodded and asked, “Where’s the cafeteria?”

  He followed her directions to the first floor to wait. He should go back to his own room. But he didn’t know what room that was. He pulled at the plastic band around his wrist until he broke it and dropped it into the trash. His phone buzzed in his cargo pocket before he finished a cup of coffee.

  When he walked out into the sunshine that morning, it was with the knowledge that he’d committed his own mother to an institution. If Skip chose not to drop the attempted murder charges against her, she’d go to prison or be committed. Either way he looked at it, there was no choice.

  He had no choice.

  He found a cab waiting outside the hospital and climbed in. He had no idea how to get to Skip’s house.

  “Where to, buddy?”

  Chad sat in the back of the cab and watched the redhead walk past. He looked as exhausted as Chad felt.

  “Airport,” he said, the scent of blood wafting from his shirt in the heat. “No, a hotel, first. And I need to buy something that isn’t covered in blood.”

  “Is that your blood or someone else’s?” the driver asked, eyeing him with a look he couldn’t interpret.

  “Yes,” he answered. “Just drive okay. I don’t care where. Any hotel near a store will do. Cost doesn’t matter.”

  “Suit yourself, buddy,” the driver replied as the redhead lifted his sunglasses and turned to wave. He looked… just like a memory.

  He knew what he had to do. No matter how badly it hurt. He knew exactly what he had to do. The taxi rolled away and Chad looked straight ahead because no good ever came from looking back.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  He didn’t say a damned word for three days. Not about the Marine, or the woman who shot him. Or where he’d been, or what had happened to scare him so badly he’d flown home.

  Brian helped him to his
truck and gave him an arm to steady himself as he climbed into the seat.

  “Are you hungry?” He asked as he drove away from the hospital. His father sitting silently beside him, looking out the open window.

  “I’m good,” Skip said, his voice lost to the wind. Maybe it was better than the emotionless zombie he’d been the past couple of days.

  “The cops sent your things back. Your manuscript is in the backseat.”

  “That’s good,” Skip said in the same flat, disinterested tone.

  “We skinned a goat and hung it up in the dining room.” He glanced over to his father when he came to a stop.

  “The curing shed would have been a better place to hang it,” he said, again in the same voice.

  “Okay. You know, sometimes I don’t know if you’re kidding when you say shit like that.” Brian was done being understanding. The Marine had left Skip, just left him cold, after he’d gotten him shot. Brian was pissed as hell about it. But Skip didn’t seem to care. “Always talking about chicken coops and pottery barns and now a curing shed. Like it’s some kind of in joke that I’m not a part of.”

  Skip looked at him then, his eyes glassy with pain, or maybe he’d been crying. Brian couldn’t tell. Maybe he was still tripping balls on morphine. Whatever it was, Skip wasn’t… well, this zombie wasn’t the man he knew. Skip didn’t say a damned word. He leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes.

  Brian gave up. Zack told him to give Skip time. He would talk about it when he was ready. But Brian was tired of feeling like he was… what? Not actually a part of the man’s life? He was his son for fucksake, and until recently he hadn’t even known what his own father did for a living.

  “You know, you could have told me that you were a writer,” he said, trying to hide his irritation and draw the man out of his stupor.

  Skip didn’t say a damned thing. He acted like he was asleep. Maybe he was. He still looked like he should be in the hospital. He looked tired and pale and… lost.

  Brian stopped talking and wove through traffic. He hated driving in heavy traffic. When he was a few miles from home, Skip sat up straight and blinked. “Take the next right, up ahead,” he said, scaring the absolute shit out of Brian.