Making Promises (30 page)

You did not desert me…

“Brothers in Arms”—Dire Straits

MICKEY brought his laptop and some DVDs the next day, and he sat with Shane through most of the morning and part of the afternoon, watching children’s movies and laughing through
WALL•E
,
Up
, and
Lilo and Stitch
.

They also talked quietly—and Shane would have liked more of that, except, dammit, his head hurt and his body ached, and his wound throbbed fiercely under the pain medication. More than once he lost his train of thought when they were in the middle of a conversation, and in the middle of
Lilo and Stitch
, he wandered off and came back to find Mikhail’s hand fretfully on his forehead.

“You were making noises,
lubime
,” Mikhail muttered. “Here, let me call the nurse.”

“I’ll be fine,” Shane muttered, and Mikhail kissed his forehead.

“Of course you will. Where is that fucking red button?” The nurse came and took his temperature and added something else to his IV and then returned with the doctor, who looked grim. Mikhail asked what the problem was, and the doctor pulled him aside.

When he came back to Shane’s side his face looked pinched and miserable, but he patted Shane’s hand reassuringly. “Shane, do you remember Deacon’s number offhand?”

“It’s in my cell phone—right there by the end table.” Making Promises

“Good. I… I am going to call Deacon. The doctor says you are going to be fine, but they are going to need to dose you with some horrible things that will make you sick. Your family needs to know. I will not be here when the worst of it passes,
lubime.
I am sorry—I will come tomorrow, but I do not think you will know I am even here.” Shane took his hand and tried to think beyond the pounding in his head. “I’ll know,” he muttered. “I’ll know.”

He was aware of Mikhail searching through his cell phone for numbers and then sighing as he pushed the numbers into the standing phone by the bed. He also heard Mikhail’s relief when someone besides Deacon answered.

“Benny, right? You are Benny? We didn’t meet yesterday—I’m sorry, I was asleep.” Mikhail finished the conversation, and Shane heard the fine edge of panic creep into his voice.

“But Jeff will be here in an hour… oh, Christ… I will not be here when they give him the first dose. Somebody will be, yes?” Mikhail hung up and laid his chin by Shane’s head, as he had the night before.

“I’ll be okay,” Shane mumbled, and Mikhail smiled faintly.

“I truly do hope so,
mishka.
That is what I am going to tell my mother, and she will be most provoked to find I am lying.”

“You don’t lie,” Shane muttered. “And you are here. I know you are.” He closed his eyes then, and for a while there was only Mikhail’s cold hand in his hot one, and a broken voice singing something in a language he didn’t know.

Mikhail’s voice and touch left him, and what followed was a nightmare of heat and cold, of nausea and shaking, body aches, and cramps. He would fall into a fitful sleep to be jerked out of his rest by pain—in his wound, in his head, in his stomach, in his limbs—it didn’t matter. Once, he woke up screaming through a raw throat, only to be soothed by a quiet hand and a deep voice.

“That’s nice, Deacon. You should sing more often.” There was a quiet laugh, and then hard, competent hands sponged off his forehead, neck, and chest. Shane realized that he’d been screaming 180

because he was hot and freezing cold, and he was freezing cold because he was in the middle of a sponge bath.

“A little personal?” But he was too tired to be embarrassed.

“Nah—I kept my EMT license current, Perkins. Trust me, I’m a pro.”

And he was. Shane was too tired to keep his eyes open, but he felt himself being made clean and dressed in another hospital gown. Because it was Deacon, he didn’t talk—but because Shane was mostly asleep, he did sing. Shane remembered thinking that it was a wonder of the universe that he knew Deacon who could sing and Mikhail who could dance and his only talent seemed to be installing sound systems that let him yearn to do both things.

His next sleep was easier, and when he woke up, he no longer felt like screaming. He cast bleary eyes around the room and saw Benny and Crick asleep on the bed in the adjoining cubicle and Deacon sprawled out on the chair. He grunted and tried to sit up and remembered he couldn’t put his elbow down on the side that had the wound. With a groan he flopped back down on the hospital bed, and Benny swung her legs over the side of her bed and got up.

“Shhh…,” she whispered, coming over to the side of his bed. “What do you need?”

“Water?” he rasped. His mouth felt like powdered borax.

Benny nodded and brought him the little pitcher with the straw. He sipped, and then he gulped, and then he was too tired to do either. He fell back against the bed with a sigh.

“Where’d Mikhail go?” he asked, and he watched Benny shake her head.

“Shane, it’s Tuesday. He had to leave town yesterday.” Shane closed his eyes. Shit. Shit. And he never got to say goodbye.

“Oh, God—I need to call…. What do you mean it’s Tuesday?” Benny let out a tired laugh. “Do you know how much I hate hospitals?” she asked randomly. “Last year me, Deacon, Parry Angel—we were all in the hospital for a week. And then Crick got back, and we spent a week there in Virginia, trying to get him to come home. And you—feels like we’ve been here all week, you know? And Christmas is in, what? Six Making Promises

days? Damn, Shane. I’m so tired of you guys getting sick. It’s horrible. All these men, being my big brothers, and they’re all threatening to die on me.

It’s really starting to piss me off.”

Shane blinked at her and tried to put it all together. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he muttered.

“Well, you did. You scared us all. Mikhail actually took a bus here the day before he left—he looked like hell. Andrew had to take him home and then he helped him pack because the guy was a wreck. And after all that, he managed to miss Deacon and Crick entirely. By the time he called us when your fever spiked, I don’t even think he was trying anymore. He just ended up here when they’d left, and he didn’t care. He probably would have walked through the gates of hell and bent over for the devil himself if it meant he didn’t have to leave you when you might die on him.”

Shane’s eyes were closing in spite of himself. “Call him,” he muttered. “Call him. Tell him I’m fine.”

“I’ll text him and tell him you’re awake,” she said irritably. “But I’m not saying you’re fine until you’re well enough to feed your own damn dogs. That pony-sized thing keeps trying to lick my face off—you really need to get better, you know?”

“How’re the cats?” he asked, smiling a little. He did miss Angel Marie. Hell, he missed them all.

“Feral,” Benny sniffed. “And horny. Every time one of us walks in, they all start humping our shoes.”

“They’re fixed,” Shane mumbled, but the conversation was oddly reassuring. It sounded normal, and like home.

“Tell that to the big fuzzy brown one….”

“Orlando Bloom?”

“Yeah, whatever. Last time I was there that damned animal violated my knitting.”

Shane lost a battle with a laugh and then whined because it hurt his ribs. “Violated?”

Benny was tired, and she looked older than sixteen. Her outrageously colored orange hair was showing a good inch of plain brown root, and the vestiges of makeup only served to etch her exhaustion into 182

her face more deeply. She had a baby to care for and the three men at The Pulpit (four if you counted their hired man, Patrick), and she’d been pitching in to help him out like the rest of the family, but her eyes still managed to twinkle.

“Let’s just say that wool is no longer virgin,” she quipped dryly, and Shane’s chest shook.

“Benny,” he said, too close to sleep to back away now, “I love you like a sister, sweetheart. I’m so sorry you had to go to all this trouble.” The last thing he felt was a kiss on his brow. “I don’t mind, dumbshit. Just try not to get hurt again soon. It was rough on us all.” When Shane woke up again, Deacon was there with him, reading a textbook on animal husbandry. “Only you,” Shane mumbled. He felt better. For the first time in days, only his wound ached.

Deacon looked up and smiled. He was tired, too, and his hair could use washing, and he’d lost some weight, dammit, but his smile was still amazing. It wasn’t the same smile he gave Crick, but it was still lovely.

“Only me what?”

“Only you would be reading a textbook in a hospital room.” Deacon stood up and pulled his chair near the side of the bed. “Yeah, well, only you would scare the shit out of all of us six days before Christmas.”

“I’m sorry,” Shane said again, and Deacon nodded.

“Apology accepted. The doc says you should be able to come home tomorrow, as long as home is The Pulpit and tomorrow is the day after tomorrow. We’re working on that last one. No one gets better in a hospital. Me ’n’ Crick can take care of you fine.” Shane smiled with some relief and felt weak tears sliding down the creases of his eyes. No going home to a cold apartment. No four white walls that didn’t care. “Thank you,” he choked, unable to look at his friend. “I’d love to spend some time at The Pulpit. Sorry you all got stuck with the animals.”

Deacon shrugged. “Your cop friend has been doing a lot of that. He does a good job—even brought his son to visit with the cats, which was a pure relief. Horniest goddamned animals I’ve ever met.” Making Promises

Shane was going to ask him about Mikhail, but Crick and Jon walked in right then, and Crick looked at Shane and said, “Thank God. I thought we were going to have to spend Christmas here—ouch! Jon, would you cut that out? That’s my bad side, and I can’t hit back.” Jon shook his head mournfully. “Deacon, I know you’re trying, but could you try to civilize him a little quicker? I’m not sure we can take this one out in public yet.”

“I like him fine,” Deacon replied mildly, and Crick scowled at him.

“Are you going to like me when I nag you about eating? Come on—

tell Shane buh-bye and let me go feed you.”

“Steak?” Deacon said hopefully, and Crick looped his good arm around Deacon’s shoulder and kissed his temple.

“Yeah, fine. Steak. Just let’s go home, and you can nap after you eat the steak, okay?” Crick looked at Shane and shook his head. “Crazy bastard’s been trying to take some online classes this semester—it’s not like he has time to sleep as it is.”

“Need my AHT license,” Deacon mumbled. “Damned vet won’t let me give the horses their shots without it. Like I don’t know how to give a fucking shot.” He looked up then and saw Shane smiling weakly, and smiled back. “We’re making Perkins tired,” he said, the shyness gone and the authority back. “Jon, you here for the next shift?”

“Yup. Anything to get out of the house while the women are baking.”

“Pussy,” Crick shot with a little bit of malice in his voice. “Learn to cook like a real man, and they won’t drive you out of the house!” Jon looked down a haughty nose at him. “The reason,” he said, “that they drove me out of the house had nothing to do with my cooking.” Deacon smirked. “You were roughhousing with the girls again, weren’t you?”

Shane smirked too. Jon’s own daughter, Lila, was barely six months old, but Shane had seen him crawling on the floor with her and wrestling with Parry Angel, and he figured Jon could cause enough ruckus to make even his sweet-tempered wife throw him out on his ear.

“I,” said Jon with dignity, “was creating a much needed distraction from naptime.”

Deacon reached out a hand and smacked his best friend across the side of the head. “You asshole—who do you think is going to have to sing that child to sleep tonight when she’s too wound up to go down easy.”

“You sing nice, Deacon,” Shane mumbled. He was getting sleepy again, but not too sleepy to see Crick and Jon meet amused glances at Deacon’s discomfiture.

“You were awake for that? Shit. C’mon, Crick, we’d better go.

Everyone needs to be walked, and the stalls don’t clean themselves.” The two men left, but not before Deacon gave Shane’s hair a tender tousle, like a brother, and Crick shook his hand as it lay limply on the cover at his side. Human touch—unsentimental and highly, highly appreciated.

When they were gone, Shane watched Jon settling down with a book—he was reading a sci-fi epic, and Shane had to smile. Someday, he’d like to get a look at the paperback library that fueled this family.