Not His Kiss to Take (2 page)

Laurie worked her way over to Evan’s table and flirted another beer order out of him. Evan liked her and loved her wry sense of humor; plus, she called him “Doc” from back in the days when he used to come here with friends after his shift ended. Rolling her eyes in disgust, she leaned down and complained in his ear.

“
I wish they’d take their rowdy asses to that sports bar a block over and leave me the hell alone.” She smirked. “You think maybe they got lost on their way there? You know, seeing how it’s so hard to read and all?”

“
Maybe they already got kicked out of there and decided to grace us with their presence.”

“
You’re probably right, damn it. Figures. They don’t tip worth crap, and that big one keeps grabbing my ass. He’s got, like, this massive hand. You should
see
the size of it.”

Evan felt for Laurie. “They’ll probably get bored and leave soon.”

“
Hope so.” Laurie slid onto the opposite seat and rubbed the arch of her foot. “I heard there’s this massive, twelve-car pile-up on Division, right beside Northtown Mall. Someone in a hurry just had to go and pass a snowplow on the right. Idiots. Sounds like there’s multiple fatalities—one customer told me they were peeling bodies out of the wrecks with the jaws of life.” Wincing, she stood back up and scanned her tables. “Be careful out there, Doc.”

“
I’ll be fine. I walked tonight.”

They could sure use him at Emerg.
But you’re one of those patientless doctors now, aren’t you? Besides, fifteen minutes—tops—under those fluorescent lights and you’d be going bat-shit. And it would only take thirty goddamn seconds working in close proximity to all that Latex to trip off the allergy without so much as you touching of a pair of those gloves. Then you’d be shooting yourself up with Demerol in the washroom and wishing you could bash in your own head.

A new crowd of snowcapped partiers crashed through the doors. The sidewalk must be slick as hell. Laurie heaved a sigh, winked conspiratorially, and left him to take their orders.
So glad I’m not a waiter.
There had to be twenty of them. Evan shuddered in sympathy and liberated a twenty from his wallet, one dollar for each new arrival, and set it on the table. Just because.

His blond angel had disappeared sometime during the fracas of arriving revelers. Too bad. Evan could have used a few more minutes ogling the eye candy. Mustn’t have gone far, though, for his untouched drink still kept his discarded coat company. Yes! He’d get another chance to admire Pretty Boy before he had to leave.

“
Evan Harrison.”

One of the new arrivals sprayed icy drops all over his table as he unwound a mile-long scarf knit in a rather unfortunate snot-green wool. “Dr. Chase,” he said, surprised. “How the heck are you?”

“
Great, actually. I’m on days off. Or at least I am until I get called in. I give it about an hour with this storm—man, its bad out there. Gonna have to make my one and only drink last until they find me.” Dr. Joseph Chase had been an occasional colleague on nights, and knew an endless supply of inappropriately lewd jokes—even told gay ones. Uninvited, he pulled out a chair and sat. Evan didn’t mind. “It’s Claire’s birthday, and I need to escape before I put something in her drink to numb her tongue. God, that woman can yap. Reminds me of a Pomeranian. Not that I mean to insult Poms or anything, but
damn,
Evan. Hurts the ears.”

Joseph’s escape plan worked for Evan as well, the man’s company a welcome respite from the loneliness. Dr. Chase didn’t treat him any differently, didn’t ask when he was coming back, and didn’t ask the standard
how are you?
Or worse, the dreaded
how’s the headache?
He just chatted. Bless the Joseph Chases of the world. Fifteen or twenty minutes later, the Pomeranian came to the table, barked loudly in Joseph’s ear, and dragged him back to their table. Shuddering in sympathy, Evan considered adding another twenty to the one sitting on the table. Just because.

The asshole partiers were finally leaving, somewhat in a hurry too, and were strangely quiet all of a sudden. Good riddance.
They probably did something shitty to Laurie, and Louis told them to get lost before he snapped all the wee little bones in their necks.
Why didn’t snowplow accidents happen to people like that? The rest of the bar seemed to take a relieved breath as they stumbled out the door. Except for pretty blond boy.

Where the hell was he?

Two minutes later, Evan managed to waylay Laurie on her way by with a tray of empty glasses. “You see where he went?” he asked, nodding to the abandoned table.

Laurie glanced over at the vacant seat. “No idea, hon. God, though, isn’t he just he cutest thing?”

Since he’d never once hit on her, and Laurie was quite the looker, she must’ve figured out by now that he liked guys. “Hot as hell,” he agreed. “But he disappeared almost half hour ago.”

“
Weird. Why don’t you check the john for me?” Experienced hands shifted the large tray around. “If he’s using in there, you come tell me ’kay? We don’t need that shit goin’ on in here.” She shook her head. “Even if he’s so damned cute I could eat him up like cotton candy.”

Please don’t be using, please be clean, don’t be in there fucking up your life.
Evan kept up the silent mantra as he slid from his chair and headed to the back, where the washrooms were located.
Cotton candy? Sorry Laurie, I bet he’d taste even better than that.

The men’s room seemed darker than usual, the back light off. He’d mention it. Some drunk could fall on his face in here, crack his head open, and sue their asses off. Or miss the urinals. Smelled like someone already had—ugh. The john appeared empty at the moment. Water dripped in the quiet, a steady
pat, pat
. What had sprung a leak?

Where the hell did he go?
All the doors along the row of stalls hung ajar. Except the end one.
Fuck. Please don’t be using—angels as pretty as you should be clean as the snow falling outside, not using.
Then again, the kid could just be puking in there, and likely dry-heaving after all this time. But he’d promised Laurie, and yeah, she really didn’t need that shit going on in here, cute thing or not.

The end stall’s door hung crookedly shut. A smear of something dark and shiny disgraced the top corner. Evan stepped closer and startled as his heel crunched over broken glass. What the…? Glass from the shattered light fixture? Must have just happened, because usually this was a clean place. Unease slithered up his back.

Something felt very wrong.

Fresh blood. Evan knew that shade of red anywhere, that scent.

Shit, shit, shit! No.

The worn sole of a wet running shoe peeked out from under the door. Evan recognized that tattered Nike on sight. Oh shit. He grabbed the upper edge of the door and yanked. The door banged open, swinging on the remaining hinge. Crammed into the crevice between the toilet and blood-spattered tile wall lay an unmoving length of battered, broken body.

“
Jesus Christ!” His own shocked cry echoed off the tiles. After years working the night shift in Emergency, Evan had grown immune to panicky reactions. But not horror. Not that it slowed him down any. He flung himself onto the filthy, wet floor and lunged over the toilet. “Kid! Jesus, kid! Can you hear me?”

Pat, pat, pat
dripped the water, and it was the only sound that echoed off the tiles.

Chapter Two

The thin body twitched.

Thank God.
He’s not dead—thank you, thank you.

Awkwardly reaching out, he sought the boy’s carotid artery to make sure. Yes, still alive. He hadn’t imagined it. But that pulse felt slow, weak, nowhere close to the rate it should be. Blood bubbled on his lips with every labored breath he took. Evan hesitated to move him, but he couldn’t do a more thorough assessment with the kid wedged against the wall and Evan hanging over the toilet. Things could be broken: nose, jaw, ribs…
neck.

Please no…not the neck.

Paramedics might do a c-spine; they’d immobilize his cervical spine and make sure not to paralyze the kid if the damage turned out to be severe enough. Evan had no equipment, just his slightly out-of-practice mind.
Paramedics! Get Laurie to call an ambulance. Yes, an ambulance. And the cops.

Fucking hell!

Just as Evan was about to make a dash for the washroom door and the help that lay on the other side, the boy groaned, such a pitiful, agonized sound Evan didn’t know whether to cry or rejoice that at least he still breathed. The kid twisted jerkily under Evan’s fingers as he pressed against the pulse-point on his neck. His semiconscious body curled in on itself and defensively folded into fetal position. Okay—not a good sign. Injured people reacted like that in response to extreme pain. Comatose patients did it. The boy dragged a shaky, uncoordinated, and bloody hand up to his face, trying, even now, to protect his head.

“
It’s okay,” Evan croaked.
You gotta do better than that, Christ. You haven’t forgotten how to do this, have you?
Pulling himself together, Evan tried again, sputtering wordlessly before recalling his soothing-doctor voice back into rusty use. “You’re okay now. They’re gone—you’re safe. Don’t worry, I’m going to help you.” The kid jerked erratically and attempted to draw his knees up to his chest. No room for it, and regardless of that, his legs were hobbled, jeans and underwear tangled about his knees. “Oh Jesus.” What had they done to the lovely boy?
No, not that. Please…no.

Paramedics. Cops. Get help!

“
I’m going to get help, okay? Just hang on for a second. I’ll be right back.” Maybe he wasn’t immune to panic after all—Evan suddenly didn’t know what to do. Or say. Paramedics usually brought him the pieces and expected he’d put them all back together again. Usually he did, but he’d never been in a situation like this, never had to be the one to scrape up those pieces. Leaving the semiconscious boy alone, even for the few seconds he’d need to call for help, seemed so wrong. Why the hell didn’t he have a cell phone like everyone else?

“
Doc? You in here?”

“
Laurie! Jesus Christ! I need you to call an ambulance. Right now! And the cops.”

“
What’s wrong?” she asked, stepping fully inside.

“
Someone beat the crap outta the boy.”

“
Those fuckers!” she cursed. “I knew they were assholes. Wait till I tell Louis. He wanted to kick them out earlier. Oh shit, he’ll go fucking ballistic.”

“
Hurry.”

“
On it,” she replied.

“
Wait!” Could more help be available? “You know that big birthday crowd that came in?”

“
Yeah?”

“
There’s a doctor there, Dr. Joseph Chase—the one with the ugly green scarf. Can you get him to come in here?”

“
Sorry, hon, they all left two minutes ago.”

“
Shit!”

“
I’ll call that ambulance now. You think he’s gonna be okay?”

“
I dunno.” And that was the truth. Laurie left, muttering curses under her breath. “Come on, kid,” he said. “Let’s have a look at you.”

Evan crawled along the floor and examined the boy as best he could in the shadows and through the filth. Each touch sent the kid into a frightened panic, legs kicking and hands flailing. Surprisingly strong for such a small package. Evan spoke to him as he worked, kept his voice low and soothing, used his best calming tone. It all came back to him with an unexpected ease.

Broke his heart to see the lovely face he’d so admired earlier now battered and bloody. Both nostrils were thick with clotted blood. Swollen eyes were rapidly shading to black. What kind of person would do something like this? Fuckers was right. Bruises bloomed ugly on the kid’s pale skin, up his back and over his exposed ribs. God, what if…? Had he been raped? Evan shuddered when he realized the answer was
probably
. The fact his pants were down and the toilet unused indicated he’d not been in the stall doing personal business. There was blood on his buttocks and the back of one pale, naked thigh.