074a50a5-6717-4074-afd7-3ef0b380f481 out (14 page)

"Thanks. I'm scared." Gresh's voice shook as he
spoke.

Kip wrapped his arms around Gresh, his gaze searching for
Lane. The helplessness lessened because he knew he had Kip to help. If the
blindness turned out to be permanent, he didn't know what he and Gresh would do,
but he had friends who would stand by them.

Jamie came in, pulling his shirt over his head. "Hey,
what's going on?"

"We need to get Gresh to the hospital," Kip said.

"Okay," Jamie glanced between Lane and Kip.
"I'm staying here and taking care of the ranch. You all don't worry about
anything. I'll take care of it. Call me when you have some news. Gresh, buddy,
we've got your back."

"Thanks," Gresh choked out.

Lane held up Gresh's clothes. "Let me get him into these
then I'll call you back in for help."

Getting Gresh into the truck took some time. They strapped
him in, Lane crawling into the back with Gresh letting Kip drive. Lane called
ahead and told the emergency room staff they were bringing in Gresh and
described the problems.

When they arrived an orderly and a nurse came out to the
truck and put Gresh on a stretcher. Lane watched helplessly as they wheeled his
lover away. After filling out the paperwork he dropped to a chair, the tears
flowing freely. Kip came in after parking the car and sat next to him, putting his
arm around Lane's shoulder. They stayed like that for a long time, waiting for
the nurse to come out and tell him what was wrong with his husband.

*~*~*

Connor stared at the bottle for a full minute before picking
it up and taking it to the counter. He paid cash and headed out of the liquor
store, straight to his car, hoping no one saw him. Guilt twisted through his
guts but the guilt over Riley was bigger than the guilt he felt about drinking.

Mike wouldn’t understand but hopefully the man would never
find out. He'd driven into Houston for the day to take care of business. He and
Mike had sex a few more times over the last few days and each time the memories
of how Riley and he'd fought grew bigger, twisting his conscience until he
couldn't stand the pressure. The blame for Riley's death rested squarely on his
shoulders.

Connor pulled up outside of his house, which used to be
Riley's house, wrapped his fist around the neck of the bottle and twisted the
cap off, taking a long draw from the bottle. The burn felt good, sliding down
his throat. He sighed and relaxed into the seat. Being with Mike had felt so
good, better than with Riley and that's where the problem started. Mike was
better for him and to him than Riley had ever been. He'd been willing to spend
the rest of this life with Riley, wanting to make a commitment and settle down,
but with Mike, he felt more, loved him more and wanted him more. That freaked
Connor out. He needed to get lost for a few hours, stop his mind from racing
over the issues and give himself a break.

Connor took another swig from the bottle, turning it up and swallowing
down the golden liquid. The numbness started and his mind stopped spinning. He
hadn't drunk much but he already felt better. Another swig and he was feeling
fine. After a few more drinks he leaned his seat back and closed his eyes.

Thoughts of Mike morphed into Riley and he took another
drink, angry with himself for falling for another guy so soon. How could he
love Mike when Riley had just died?

Connor lifted the bottle staring at the small amount of
liquid left. How had he drunk so much of the whiskey? He took one more swig and
set the bottle on the seat. It tipped and spilled a bit. He grabbed the bottle
and stuck it between his legs. His eyes couldn’t focus. Connor reached for the
keys, missing them twice before grasping them. It took a huge coordinated
effort to get them out of the ignition but he knew enough to not drive. He
tossed the keys on the floor, making it almost impossible for him to accidently
try to drive.

He cracked the window, letting in a little cool air. The wind
wasn't blowing too hard—just enough to create a breeze. Mike didn't deserve his
crazy ass. This is why he'd disappeared, cutting everyone off. He wasn't worth
their effort. The darkness came, blocking out all thought. Connor slumped in
his seat, oblivious to everything around him, his mouth open and drool slowly
leaking out.

Mike's business in Houston didn't take as long as he thought
it would. He pulled up next to Connor's car and realized that the windows were
open. A storm was brewing and he didn't want the big guy's car to get ruined.
He hopped out of his car and raced over. His steps faltered and he stilled when
he spied Connor in the front seat, his head against the window and his mouth
wide open.

"Shit." Mike looked for breathing and was glad that
Connor was alive. He approached the car, searching for a gun on the seat. When
he didn't find one he breathed a sigh of relief. He did see the almost empty
bottle between Connor's legs and his heart sank. "Fuck."

Mike wrenched the door open, cursing as Connor started to
fall out of the car. Mike caught him and pushed him back in, surprised that
Connor didn't wake at all. The car reeked of whiskey. Mike picked up the bottle
and emptied the rest onto the ground. There was only about an inch left of the
drink. He wondered how long it had taken Connor to consume the bottle. He
needed to get Connor awake.

He tapped Connor on the shoulder. "Connor."

Nothing.

Then he shook Connor and got no response. "Fuck."

Mike blew out a breath and knew what he needed to do. If he
were at work and found someone in this state, he'd call an ambulance. Connor
would be pissed, but he was drunk beyond his ability to be conscious. Mike
slapped Connor's face, hoping for a response but the man didn't move.

Mike checked Connor's eyes, finding them glassy with no
response. He dug into this pocket for his phone. He put it back into his pocket
and went around to the other side of the car, opening the door and pulling at
Connor's shoulders to get him to move. It was useless. He grabbed his phone
again and called dispatch, relaying the information.

About eight minutes later he heard the sirens. Connor still
hadn't moved and Mike was getting really worried. When the ambulance arrived,
Mike helped them get Connor onto the stretcher and into the back of the
ambulance. He followed in his own car, wondering if Connor would ever be like
he'd been before Riley's death.

Something had to be done. He thought Connor was back on the
right path. Now he didn't know what would happen when he went back to work in
Dallas. He couldn’t force Connor to move with him but he wouldn't leave him
here alone.

*~*~*

Gresh waited patiently for the doctor to come back in. They'd
done an MRI which had been frightening since he couldn’t see anything. He heard
the curtain rings run along the metal bar, signaling that someone was with him.
"Hello."

"Hi, it's just me, nurse Doreen. Can I get you
anything?"

"I want Lane in here." Gresh wondered why Lane
hadn't been with him, but they had kept him in the MRI room for a long while
and Lane couldn't be in there with him.

"Sure, let me go find him." The nurse's voice
sounded chipper and he wondered what she looked like.

Gresh heard the curtain move again and he thought it was
Doreen leaving. If this were permanent, he had no idea how he would live. Would
Lane want to stay with him? Not even a minute later the curtain pushed open
again.

"Gresh, I'm here."

Lane's voice was such a welcome sound that he burst into
tears. His throat closed up and he gasped for breath. Hands smoothed over his
shoulders and then he was enveloped in a hug. Gresh recognized the touch as
Lane's hands. The hug soothed him and he calmed. Lane's lips were on his
forehead.

"I don't like his," Gresh groaned.

"I know. We'll figure it out," Lane whispered
against his head as he rocked him.

"What if I never regain my sight?"

"We'll make adjustments. I'll help you and you'll learn
how to get around without being able to see."

Gresh sucked in a breath, more tears gathering. "You
would stay?"

Lane's arms tightened around him, crushing him close.
"I'm never leaving you." Lane's lips were on his, his tongue licking
at Gresh's mouth, demanding entrance. Their kiss was interrupted when someone
cleared their throat. Lane pulled back a little, but didn't let go of Gresh,
his breath hot on Gresh's cheek.

"I'm doctor Nathan Salvatore."

"I'm Lane and this is Gresh, my husband."

"Nice to meet you, though it would have been better
under different circumstances. So I understand you had a recent head injury and
that you took a trip. Had your doctor cleared you for flying?"

"Yes," both Lane and Gresh answered.

"Okay, well, I've studied the MRI's and I'm not too
upset with what I'm seeing. You have a bit of fluid on your brain. First off,
you are not allowed to fly anywhere without an MRI first."

"Okay," Gresh said.

"I'm getting you admitted and we're going to start some
medicine. We'll monitor the fluid and in the morning we'll make a decision on
what procedure to do, if any. This may resolve itself before we have an
opportunity to do anything."

"Doctor," Lane said.

"Yes."

"So you don't think this is going to be permanent?"

Doctor Salvatore cleared his throat and Gresh heard the man
move around the bed. Gresh didn't like not being able to see what was going on.
He jumped when a hand touched his arm.

"Gresh, it's just me, Doctor Salvatore. I want both you
and Lane to understand that the brain is funny. I have no idea how long this
will last. I do want you both to get some sleep tonight. It may seem
impossible, but Gresh, you really need to rest and Lane, I'm sure you're under
some stress with your husband going through this. I'll have the nurses set you
up in a room with two beds but mark it private in the unofficial logs."

"Thank you," Lane said.

"I will be in early and we're going to get you in for
another MRI in the morning. When I get the results and compare them to the
first MRI I'll have a better idea what we're dealing with. I'm also going to
call your doctor and see if he can send any films over."

"Thank you." Gresh relaxed a little, hoping that
they would have good news in the morning.

"Rest and I'll see you in the morning." The rings
sounded and Gresh guessed that the doctor left.

Lane's lips brushed over his forehead and Gresh sighed.
"I'm a mess."

"Babe, I love you. I don't care what we have to do,
we'll be together forever. We've already gone through so much, this is little
compared to everything else."

Gresh sighed and leaned against Lane, "I love you. You
make me so happy."

The curtain was pushed back and Gresh waited for someone to
speak, his nerves on edge as more noise was made.

"So it looks like you've been booked for an overnight
stay in our luxury resort," a new voice said.

Lane laughed and Gresh chuckled a bit. "I'd rather not
be here."

"Yeah, I get you. At least you escaped dinner. I heard
it was horrible tonight. I'm Aaron by the way." Gresh felt a hand on his
and he lifted his arm so he could shake the man's hand.

"And I'm Doug, the funny one. Aaron tries to make people
think he's funny, but he's not. We're going to get you ready to go upstairs.
Once we get up there we'll transfer you to a bed, it's probably not as
comfortable as your one at home, but it's better than this thing."

"Thanks," Gresh said, realizing just how helpless
he was. He couldn’t even see the guys and he'd be at a loss on which way to
move once they were upstairs. Desperation filled him. He prayed they could get
this worked out because being blind sucked.

"What Doug didn't tell you is that he's fucking
ugly," Aaron said.

"Am not—at least I got style," Doug countered.

Gresh laughed loudly this time. He relaxed a bit, glad that
the guys were joking with him. "I'm sure you both have good points,"
Gresh said.

"See, I got good points," Doug laughed.

"Lane, which one of them is better looking?"

Lane chuckled and patted Gresh on the arm, "Neither one
of them matches you."

"Great, you both must be fucking ugly," Gresh
teased.

Both guys laughed as they began pushing the bed. He settled
in. The unease surrounding him had slacked off a bit but he still didn't know
how he would survive if this didn't get solved.

Chapter Fifteen

Connor didn't wake up on the way to the hospital and Mike
found him still unconscious when he arrived in the ER. Mike's anger grew with
each passing minute. The medical staff hooked Connor up to a flow of oxygen and
set him up on an IV. Mike stayed with him, hoping Connor would come around.
After about twenty minutes Connor started gagging. The orderlies rushed in
along with a nurse and rolled Connor to the side so he could throw up.

They cleaned Connor up and left Mike alone with him again. Connor
was still unconscious and Mike wondered how bad off Connor really was. The
nurse came and took Connor's blood. An hour went past and Connor moaned. Mike
jumped out of his chair, worry and concern fresh on his mind mixed with the
anger brewing just below the surface.

He waited for Connor to move. After a moment Mike sat back
down. The wait was terrible. Something had to be done. Mike started researching
substance abuse clinics as Connor lay in the hospital bed. He found one he
liked and placed a call, praying they could get Connor in. Luck was with him
and they had an opening in one week. Mike booked it.

Another twenty minutes passed before Connor regained
consciousness. His eyes blinked open, his focus gone. Mike stood beside the
bed, waiting for Connor to wake up enough to talk. He wasn't going to back
down. Connor would enter rehab and he was going to make sure the man knew he
meant business. Mike had already called his boss and told him he would be back
to work the day after he took Connor to rehab.