by Kelsey Hodge
I roll my eyes. Of course, he would think it was about his coming out. That’s what Lorenzo and I argue about the most. “No, Liam, not about his coming out.” The tone of my voice makes Liam realize I don’t want to continue this conversation. We stay quiet until we reach the hospital.
“I’ll drop you off out front. You run in and find out what’s going on and text me the details,” Liam tells me, and I nod as he stops in front of the main hospital reception.
Making my way to the reception, a nurse looks up at me and asks, “Can I help you?”
According to the nametag pinned to her uniform, her name is Susan. Using all my cop skills, I reply, “Yes, Susan, my name is Detective Wyatt Johnson.” I flash my badge for good measure too. “I believe that my boyfriend Lorenzo Romano was admitted this evening.”
She turns to her computer, typing something into the system, and a frown appears on her face. She looks up to say, “He’s here. Normally, it would be next of kin who can see him…” I’m about to argue with her that I must see him when she states, “He’s on the sixth floor, room six-ten,” She points to the elevators behind me. “Take it to the sixth floor, take a left, and there will be a nurses station right in front of you. They’ll be expecting you.”
I give Susan my thanks, pull out my cell, and text the details to Liam. Making my way to the elevators, I push the call button, and the doors ping open immediately. I push ‘6’ on the control panel, and the word ‘ICU’ appears next to the number. My heart rate increases. Shit, it’s serious. The moment the doors open on the floor, I’m out and almost running to the nurses station.
“Can I help you?” a friendly nurse asks, as I reach the station. I see that her nametag reads, ‘Chloe,’ and I think the name suits the voice.
I repeat the same greeting I did downstairs. “My name is Detective Wyatt Johnson, and I was told that my boyfriend is in room six-ten.”
The nurse is slightly taken back but again looks at the computer before replying to me, “Oh yes, Detective Johnson, would you mind taking a seat in the waiting room?” She points to a large windowed room behind with a row of wooden chairs covered in the blue vinyl. “I’ll get the doctor to see you.”
I nod my head and make my way to the waiting room. Thankfully, I only wait five minutes before a striking man enters the room. He’s about six-four, with blond hair that’s slicked back off his face and the bluest, kindest eyes I’ve ever seen.
“Detective Johnson, my name is Dr Charles Winston. I’ve been looking after Lorenzo.”
“How is he, Doctor?” I ask, even though I’m almost too scared to know the answer.
“Detective…” the doctor starts.
I jump in, interrupting him, “Please call me Wyatt.”
“Wyatt, take a seat. There are some things I need to ask you before we continue. Lorenzo was admitted under extraordinary circumstances that we need to clarify.”
“Okay…” and wait for the questions. The doctor pulls out a piece of paper with a telephone number on it.
“Can you confirm if this is your telephone number?”
Looking at the paper, I look up at the doctor. “Yeah, that’s my number. Sorry for the language, but what the fuck is going on?”
The doctor takes a deep breath. “Lorenzo was dropped off this evening at the emergency room unconscious, with this note.” He hands me another paper, and I read the words on it.
‘MY NAME IS LORENZO ROMANO. DO NOT CONTACT FAMILY. CALL THE IN CASE OF EMERGENCY (ICE) NUMBER IN CELL.’
“We felt that the note had been left for a reason, and it must have been important for a reason. So, against normal hospital rules, we followed the instructions and have been calling that number for the last two hours. Once we knew that Lorenzo was stable.”
“But why didn’t anyone leave a voicemail? Surely, that’s the first thing to do,” I ask.
“Normally, yes, but your name wasn’t on the phone. The number is labeled, ‘ICE,’ and we wanted to confirm that the person on the other end knew Lorenzo and wasn’t family.”
Considering this information, I must ask, “In that case, why have I been allowed up?”
“That’s me breaking hospital protocol again. I thought if Lorenzo had an emergency contact, there must be someone out there who cares. So, I left a message on his file to say non-family members only allowed admittance, hoping a girlfriend or boyfriend arrives.”
Just as the doctor finishes the last sentence, I see Liam arrive at the nurses station. The nurse points to us in the waiting room. I wave him in and introduce him to the doctor. “This is my partner Detective Liam Smith; he’s also a friend. Is he allowed to stay?”
The doctor is hesitant until Liam comes into the room and walks straight up to the doctor and asks, “How is he?” His voice is laced with concern, looking at us for answers.
This seems to put the doctor at ease, and he gestures for both of us to take a seat.
“By the look of things, Lorenzo was beaten up after a robbery. His wallet, watch, and we believe his cell were stolen. He has a broken cheekbone and a dislocated shoulder, both of which we’ve managed to reset, along with some facial bruising. He also sustained some severe injuries; he has some broken ribs and internal bleeding that we managed to stop. Our biggest concern now is his head trauma. He’s still unconscious. We’ve done a head CT scan to rule out any brain bleeds or swelling and are awaiting the results. Until then, all we can do is wait and monitor him.”
I’m numb. I know it will be serious when I saw ICU in the elevator, but I’m not prepared for those injuries. “How close were we to losing him?”
“It was touch and go. He was brought in just in time. Any longer, and we might not be having this conversation.”
I slump back in my chair, and all I can think about are my last words to him. They could have been words of anger, and that hurts. In the back of my mind, I still cannot shake the reasons for those words. They need to be forgotten—Lorenzo needs me more.
I hear Liam thanking the doctor, who I hadn’t realized moved to leave the room. When we’re ready, the nurse will show us to Lorenzo, and my cop brain kicks in.
“Doctor, before you go, you said Lorenzo’s cell was stolen, but then said I was the ‘ICE’ contact in his phone. How is that possible?” I have no idea why this thought has come up, but my subconscious must feel it’s essential.
“Always a cop,” he says with a slight chuckle. “Yes, I said his cell was stolen. The one we found on him was an old model with only one contact number… yours.” With that piece of information delivered, he nods his head to Liam and me and leaves the room.
“Liam, something’s not right here. I think this was more than a brutal robbery.”
Liam looks at me with understanding and concern in his eyes. “Wyatt, I think you’re right, but let’s concentrate on Lorenzo. He needs you now. When he wakes up, we’ll look at it all together, okay?”
I nod my head. He’s right, so I make my way to the nurses station, so they can take me to Lorenzo.
I have no idea how long I’ve been beside Lorenzo, holding his hand, rubbing my thumb over his knuckles, willing him to open his eyes. The results come back from the CT scan and confirm that there’s no brain damage, but he has a severe concussion. The doctors aren’t concerned and have stated that his body is in a state of shock. It’s healing, and I need to give it time. I glance at my watch and look at the date; I’ve been here for two days. During that time, I’ve gone over everything that has happened between Lorenzo and me, and I still haven’t come to any conclusions. I need him to wake up so we can talk.
I’ve slept in the chair beside his bed, knowing I need to be there when he wakes up. The only time I’ve left him is when Liam forces me to go home, shower, change my clothes, and get some food. During this time, Liam stays with him. No one else has visited, and everything feels odd. The note stated not to contact any family members, but I thought maybe one person would have come by. But nobody comes—until late that second nigh
t.
“Will he be okay?” a voice asks from the doorway.
Startled, I look up to see a tall man, who looks like he’s in his early fifties with a stern-looking face and a jawline covered in a light stubble. He’s wearing a dark suit, crisp white shirt, and a dark tie. It seems to be an odd outfit for this time of night.
“Sorry?” I ask.
“Will he be okay?” the stranger asks again.
“Yes,” I reply but give no more information.
I hear a mutter of, “Thank God,” before the stranger turns and walks away.
“Wait!” I shout and run after him. Thankfully, he turns but doesn’t say anything. “Who are you?” I ask.
“Just a friend,” he replies, turning to walk away. This man must be the one who dropped Lorenzo at the hospital.
“You brought him here, didn’t you? WHO. ARE. YOU?” I demand. I need to have answers, and this man can give me some.
“Just a friend,” he states again, but I can tell he knows more. So, I grab his arm and keep a firm grip on it.
“I won’t ask again. WHO. ARE. YOU?” I growl at him, standing to my full height and putting on my most intimidating face that has brought some criminals to their knees. It does nothing to the man standing in front of me.
“All you need to know is that I’m a friend. Now let go of me,” he states, taking hold of my hand and pulling it off his arm, with as much force as my grip on him. I realize that trying to be the hard man won’t get me the answers I so desperately want. So, I try the softer tactic.
“Please! I need to know what happened. Is there anything you can tell me?” There must’ve been something in my voice, as a softness enters his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
With a sigh, he looks at me. “The only thing I know for sure is that he told his family he’s gay, but I have no idea how he ended up in that condition.”
As his words sink in, I realize what he said. Lorenzo told his family. For a split second, I don’t believe this man, but as I look at his face, I only see truth in his eyes. I repeat to myself, ‘He told his family.’
“Thank you,” I say to the man, “I know you brought him here. Please give me something I can tell him when he wakes. This will be important to him.”
The stranger turns, walks to the elevator, and pushes the button. When it arrives, he walks in, turns to face me, and as the door closes, he says one word, “Frank.”
I make my way back to Lorenzo and re-take my seat, looking down at his battered and bruised face. Then it hits me. On the same night he told his family he’s gay, he’s subjected to a vicious mugging. Considering who his dad is, there must be a connection. That one thought sends shivers to my soul. He must have realized that telling them was a risk, and yet he still did. I lean forward and place a kiss on his forehead and say to him, “Oh Lorenzo, you told them you’re gay.”
Leaning back in my chair, I think back to the times we fought over him telling his family. Would I’ve pushed him if I knew who his family was? He knew from the very start that I was a cop; he knew the dangers involved with going out. Yet he still decided to pursue this and build a life with me. He must have known that if the truth ever came out, someone would get hurt. I wonder if he ever realized it would end up being both of us. Looking at him in the bed, I wonder if it’s all worth it.
I love Lorenzo more than I ever thought possible, and I know he has gone through all this for us. We have so much to talk about. We have a long way to go in the healing process, but none of that can happen until he opens his eyes. I squeeze his hand, hoping something happens. I feel the briefest of squeezes back. I look down at our hands and see nothing, but as I look back at his face, his eyelids flitter and slowly drift open. Lorenzo speaks one word before closing them again.
“Wyatt?”
Chapter 11 - Lorenzo
My eyes flicker open. The bright light causes me to wince, so I shut them again. I give it a few seconds and try again, but I open them slower this time, giving my eyes time to adjust to the brightness of the room. Where the hell am I? The smell of disinfectant hits my nose, and I look around the room, trying to gather my bearings. I realize I’m in a hospital bed, with Wyatt sleeping in the chair next to me.
“Wyatt.” My voice is barely above a whisper. I try to wet my lips, but my throat is so dry, it’s almost painful. I try again with a little me force. “Wyatt.” I instantly regret it as the pain radiates through my skull, and I close my eyes to stop the pain.
“Lorenzo?” I hear the concern in Wyatt’s voice, and I turn my head towards him, slowly opening my eyes. “Can I get you anything?”
“Water,” I whisper back.
I watch as Wyatt rises out of the chair and makes his way to a bedside table pushed back against a wall. I hadn’t noticed it when I was looking around the room. He fills a cup, pops in a straw, and walks back to me. He holds the straw to my lips as I suck up some water, and it feels so good. I quickly take another sip.
“Thank you,” I say, trying out my voice, which after having the water, is a lot stronger. “Is it you?”
“Yeah, it is. How are you feeling?”
“Like there’s a marching band practicing in my head,” I say, closing my eyes again.
“Let me get the doctor, to see if he can give you anything.”
I listen as Wyatt leaves the room, relaxing back into the pillows. I think back to the last thing I remember. I was at Mom and Dad’s house. I remember telling them I was gay and how angry Dad was. I had to walk home and was grabbed from behind. Faceless men pulled me into an alley. At this point, everything goes blank. I have a vague recollection of being lifted off the floor and being carried. My next memory is waking up in this room.
I hear the door of my room open, and two sets of footsteps come in. I feel a hand on mine.
“Lorenzo, Doctor Winston is here.”
The next voice I hear is sincere and caring. “Lorenzo, welcome back. You had us worried there for a while. I must do an exam. Is that okay?”
I nod my head, which I regret as it causes the marching band to get louder.
“I’m going to shine a light into your eyes. I’ll try to be as quick as I can, but I need to check your pupils. Then I must ask you some questions. Once that’s done, I’ll see about getting you some painkillers.”
“Is it okay for me to stay, Doctor?” Wyatt asks. I hear the worry in his voice. Just knowing he still cares makes me smile, until I feel more pain. Great, now I can’t even smile.
I feel soft hands on my face, and the doctor slowly opens my left eyelid and shines the brightest light I’ve ever seen into my eyes. Then he does the same to my right eye.
“That’s good, Lorenzo. Both pupils are reactive. Do you think you can open your eyes for me?”
I take my time opening my eyes, still giving them time to adjust to the very bright room. It’s difficult, but then the room gets dimmer, and it’s not so painful.
“I dimmed the room light, Lorenzo. It will help. Let me know if it’s okay, I need to ask you some questions. Any dizziness or nausea?” the doctor asks me.
“No,” I reply but add, “My head is killing me. I feel like there’s a marching band in there.”
“Lorenzo, do you remember anything about what happened?”
“No,” I reply honestly.
“You were robbed and beaten up quite badly. You had some internal bleeding, broken ribs and cheekbone, and a severe concussion. We’ll have to keep you in for monitoring, but your vitals are good.”
“How long will he need to stay in, Doctor?” Wyatt asks.
“Because of the severity of your concussion, I would like to keep you in for a week, at a minimum of four days. It will all depend on how you heal.”
“Thanks, Doctor,” Wyatt states and sits back down, taking my hand in his again.
“Lorenzo, try to get some rest. I’ll come to check on you later. For now, I’ll send in some painkillers. They will help with the headache.” With this, the doctor leaves
, and it’s me and Wyatt in the room.
We sit in silence until the nurse appears with the painkillers. “Here you go, Lorenzo,” she states while handing me two little white tablets. I struggle to prop myself up, which causes Wyatt to rush to my side to hold me, with the nurse holding the cup of water and straw close to my mouth. Quickly, I swallow each tablet with a sip of water, hoping they will take effect soon. Wyatt carefully lowers me back down onto the pillows.
“Thank you,” I say.
The nurse gives me a bright smile and leaves the room. Then it’s Wyatt and me again.
“Do you honestly not remember anything that happened?”
“Not really,” I say. “I remember walking home from my parents and then being dragged into an alley. After that, everything is blank.”
“Did you see the attackers’ faces?”
“They had ski masks on, from what I can remember.”
The painkillers kick in, and I feel exhausted. I lean back into the pillows and close my eyes.
“No more questions, just rest. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”
“Promise,” I mutter, but I never hear his reply as I’m pulled into the darkness of sleep.
The next time my eyelids flicker open, the brightness doesn’t hurt my eyes as much, and the marching band in my head has decided to practice a little quieter. My breathing is painful. I hadn’t noticed that the first time I woke up. That must be due to my ribs. I ignore all this and instantly look over to the chair and meet Wyatt’s beautiful eyes.
“You’re still here.”
“Of course I’m still here. Where else would I be? How’re you feeling? Do you want me to get the nurse?”
I smile at the concern in his voice. “I’m feeling better. The marching band is quieter, thank God. So please, no nurses.”
“Okay, let me know if you need one.”
I smile and nod my head. I still can’t believe he’s here with me, especially after the last conversation we had. I wasn’t sure I would see him again. Knowing he has spent however many days by my bedside gives me hope for a fresh start, a new beginning, a hope for a future together.