Rough [02] - Roughhousing (15 page)

The young girl behind the secretary's desk blinked wide eyes up at him as he towered over her and pointed to the area Bram knew was used for the most serious patients, patients like Isabel had been.

"He's in trauma one, but I don't think the police are done with him yet, sir.” The secretary's young voice wavered and then trailed off to a self-conscious stammer. “Sir, you might have to wait a minute. Sir?"

Now Jamie was in the exact same cubicle his sister had been in. The nurse who had called reassured Bram Jamie was going to be all right, but she made it clear he was injured and needed someone to care for him. He intended to be that someone, earlier argument with James aside. Bram increased the length of his strides, the people around him becoming nothing more than faceless blurs.

The rooms were all clearly marked with large, twelve-inch numbers over their doorways. Trauma one was immediately to the left of the station, its striped curtain pulled shut. Several pairs of identical, black polished shoes and black pant legs showed at the bottom of the curtain. Thin stripes down the pant legs marked them as officers of the law.

A man's voice rumbled low and measured, most of it too soft for Bram to hear, but the words “Justin” and “pressing charges” carried loud and clear. He couldn't care less what these men wanted. They stood between him and his injured lover.

All of his protective instincts geared up to maximum, Bram yanked the curtain back, feeling fierce, ready to battle anyone or anything. “Jamie?"

Gaze darting from the huddled form on the stretcher to the various wires and tubes leading from bedside equipment that disappeared under the off-white blanket covering James and back, Bram strode into the room. He barely nodded at the police officers as he pushed past them to get to James’ side.

"Jamie? Hey, I'm here.” Bram bent over the stretcher and gently ran fingertips alongside the sutured cut on James’ forehead and the bruises dotting his jawline and mouth. He felt a sudden queasiness grip his gut and old memories of this room in another time threatened to crash in on him. He pulled back his hand and whispered, “Jesus, Jamie."

Bram watched as James opened his eyelids to half-mast. “I'm okay. Kind of.” He gave Bram a tentative smile that turned to a grimace. “Just got banged up a bit."

James tried to push into an upright position. Bram pulled the head of the stretcher up a few notches to help while the nurse slipped in and adjusted his pillows. Wincing, James uttered a tight hiss, but managed to sit up, looking more alert. He gave another weak attempt at a smile.

Red specks flaked off James’ face where blood had dried in the corner of his eye. If he didn't think it would make James uncomfortable, Bram would have reached out and brushed them all away. Instead, he allowed himself the small pleasure of gripping one of James’ hands where it lay at James’ side, bruised, with knuckles raw. The pointed throat clearing behind them just made him hold it tighter. His eyes found James’ watery, dazed gaze and locked onto it, refusing to waver even as the shuffling of feet from behind him came closer. Bram wondered how much shit James had been subjected to from these guys before he arrived.

"Your friend stepped into a domestic. He may look bad, but he more than held his own. Believe me, the other guy got the worst of it, Mr. Lord."

A deep, confident voice interrupted his thoughts, drawing both his attention and his gaze to the thirty-something officer at his side. The man had a head of distinctive, bright red hair and an air of self-assurance. His face was open and surprisingly friendly. All the same, Bram couldn't keep from moving just enough to block James from the man's view as much as possible. He made a point of keeping James’ hand securely in his own firm grip.

"I'm sorry. Do I know you?” Bram's stare flickered from one officer to the other still standing by the open curtain. Neither face brought a name to him. Although there was something faintly familiar about the redheaded officer, he couldn't place it.

"Sergeant Pete Barclay.” He extended his hand.

Bram shook it, a furrow of confusion still slightly marring his brow. “Nice to meet you, Sergeant."

The sergeant hooked both his thumbs in the top of his gun belt in a relaxed, less official pose. “I recognized you. Your company helps sponsor the annual softball tournament to raise money for the Survivors Fund every year."

The other officer let out a surprised, somewhat impressed grunt. “Oh, Hell, yeah. I wondered where I knew you from."

Barclay turned and gave his partner a nod before facing Bram again. “I played against your team in the tournament this past June.” Barclay gave a twisted smile full of grudging admiration. “You and your construction buddies are a tough group of men to beat. You destroyed more balls in that one game then we lost all season."

"It was hard to keep Mitch from chewing on them.” Bram's tried for a sincere smile, but he knew it had to look strained. He was tired, worried, and still in the dark about the extent of James’ injuries. James grimaced with each restless shift on the stretcher.

He looked from Barclay to Wanda and then down at James, taking in his lover's pale, sweaty face and pained expression. “Anybody care to enlighten me about this situation? What happened? How badly is Jamie hurt?"

The nurse, who introduced herself as Wanda, spoke first. She touched the top of James’ head and softly asked, “Okay if I tell him about things, James?” Without opening his eyes, James gave one brief nod and sucked his lower lip into his mouth as if to bite off a small cry of pain.

Bram gave up any pretense of not caring and gently stroked one thumb over an unmarked spot on James forehead. “Just lay still, Jamie. I got this one.” He looked up expectantly at Wanda. She obediently launched into a recitation of James’ injuries from the minimal to the potentially serious.

"He sustained numerous abrasions and bruises to his face, jaw, and the knuckles of his right hand.” She gave an unseeing James an exasperated look. “You can't punch something hard and not walk away with a few trophies of you own."

Glancing back at Bram she started counting off injuries on her knobby, bent fingers one by one. “One suturable laceration over his left temple, a huge, fist-shaped, mottled area over his right flank that marks the spot where his kidney's been bruised.” Wanda glanced pointedly at James’ groin. “He's going to be passing blood-tinged urine for a few days. That's normal. CAT scan shows it's not too bad. Don't worry about it unless it gets really dark or clots form."

Taking a deep breath, she went back to her finger counting. “The biggest problem he has is the concussion. It's technically only a mild one, and again CAT scan shows there isn't any brain hemorrhage present at the moment, but he's got all the worst symptoms. Headache, nausea, vomiting, photophobia, motion sickness, and disorientation."

She looked up from her counting and studied Bram's face. He knew he looked overwhelmed. He felt it.

Wanda shook her head. She patted his hand where it covered James'. “All this is normal for a head injury, even a mild one. It'll last forty-eight to seventy-two hours. If it gets worse, you need to bring him back."

"Can he go now?” Unsure, Bram looked from James’ distressed expression and tense body to the nurse.

"No, not until the doctor releases him. He wants to watch him another hour or so. We like to keep them for about three hours after the time of the initial head injury. Most severe symptoms show up by then.” She checked the monitor attached to James and then moved to the doorway. “Oh, by the way. His lab work shows he's anemic and his blood pressure is consistently low for man his age. It's a sort of vaso-vagal reaction thing he's got going due to the chronic hypovolemia. That's dehydration for you non-medical sorts. I'm surprised he doesn't pass out more often."

She caught the guilty look that passed between Bram and her patient. “So he does pass out now and then?"

James blushed and Bram nodded, drawing the nurse's attention back to him. “A couple of times,” he paused to find a way to say it with out embarrassing James, “In the shower when he's ... hot and spent..."

"I got it.” Wanda grinned and tapped at the injured side of James’ now pink tinged face. “He can't be alone for the next few days either. He'll need a keeper.” She looked at his and James’ joined hands and then glanced at Bram, giving him a teasing smile and a wink. “You know. Someone to watch over him."

Wanda left the room humming the old, romantic Ella Fitzgerald tune of the same name. Bram had to smile. The words certainly fit the situation.

He squeezed James’ fingers and turned to the waiting pair of officers. “Can you tell me what happened?"

Barclay glanced at a silent, trembling James briefly, then looked up at Bram. “I guess he won't mind or he wouldn't have asked for you. Nick Ellwood,” he gestured over his shoulder to the open doorway, “he's in the room two doors down getting his sorry ass looked at. Nick and his wife Sheila were going at it again."

Barclay sighed and exchanged a look with his partner. “They're a frequent domestic call. Ellwood's uncle owns the apartment building so he never gets tossed out. Every tenant, with the exception of Macy Love, she lives across from the Ellwoods, seems to have a run in with them. Mr. Justin walked into the middle of one of their arguments and Ellwood jumped him. I'll need to get the story from Mr. Justin when he's feeling up to it, but for now both Ellwood's wife and Ms. Love made an official statement to that effect."

"So there're no charges against Jamie?"

"No. There won't be any.” Barclay pulled a driver's license out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Bram. A quick glance at it showed it to belong to James. “Needed it to confirm his identity while he was unconscious."

"Unconscious? You were unconscious?” Bram turned an incredulous, steely glare on James. It did him little good with James’ eyes clenched shut, so he turned it on the officers instead. “He was unconscious? When? For how long?"

"He passed out when we first arrived at the apartment. He stayed that way until about an hour ago. Wanda called you almost as soon as he could give her your number.

"Slept through all the tests and scans and stuff. Best way to do it, if you ask me. All those needles and crap,” Barclay's partner added, then self-consciously thrust his hand out to introduce himself and shake Bram's hand. “Officer Tom Westcott. Nice to meet you, Mr. Lord."

"Officer.” Bram bent over James and calmly asked, “Jamie? Are you sure you'll be all right to go home?"

Keeping his eyes closed, James licked his lips and drew in a shallow breath before answering. “'M ‘kay. Just wanta go home, Bram. Take me home, ‘kay? Your place ‘home'.” His voice was raw and weak. Bram could see what the effort was costing him.

"You got it, Tiger. Just let me talk with the nurse again. We'll be out of here before you know it.” Bram patted James’ arm and released his hand. Reaching for the call bell hooked to the side rail, he pressed it and waited. When Wanda reappeared, Bram pointed a finger at her and said, “Lady, we gotta talk."

* * * *

The drive back to Bram's house was rough and slow. James remembered little of his hospital stay and next to none of the trip. He roused a bit when Bram helped him out of the truck, but got the distinct impression his feet left the ground for the remainder of the trip inside the house and up the stairs.

The next thing he was aware of was his naked body sliding between soft sheets and a warm, cozy comforter drawn up to his chin. Once he lay on his side, a slab of heat plastered itself to his back and strong but gentle arms held him securely in place while the room spun and dipped. A deep, reassuring voice mumbled soothing things into his hair while his surroundings dissolved into a dark void and blissfully disappeared.

He only woke twice during the night. Both times to heave into a basin that miraculously appeared under his face when he needed it the most. Between bouts of draining illness, a pounding headache hammered his consciousness back into submission and James drifted into a fitful sleep, hands gripping the thick arm wrapped around his waist, sure it was the only thing keeping him linked to the real world.

Chapter Twelve

The blinds and curtains were drawn, making the bedroom a shadowed, quiet sanctuary. James cracked an eye open, the other still buried in the plump pillow. He waited until he was fully awake before lifting his head and rolling over onto his back. He moved with exaggerated care, unwilling to do anything that would change the tolerable, dull ache at his one temple into a jackhammering explosion of agony. He'd had enough of that last night to last a lifetime.

Cautiously, James made it to his back with more than a slight increase in the pain in his skull, but the urge to relive himself was growing and the ache in his injured kidney was fast becoming a burning, distinctly unpleasant sensation. One that flared up to an intense level the moment he struggled to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He couldn't help but let out the raw groan that had been lurking at the back of his throat since awakening.

"Holy shit!” He moaned and clutched his side, hoping pressure would stop his kidney from trying to explode with the need to empty itself. “Guess no good deed goes unpunished."

Grabbing a hold of the night table, he pushed to a wobbly stand and stood swaying, naked, morning erection bobbing between his legs, and bladder screaming for relief. He stared balefully at his uncooperative cock, knowing he'd never get to take a piss until the erection went away. Even the pain wasn't doing its part to help fade his stubborn blood flow. “Explains why I'm dizzy. All my blood's in my prick instead of my head. Christ!"

He sat down on the bed with a jarring thump that had him moaning and clutching his side. He slowly fell over on the mattress, arm pinned under him pressed to his flank. The steady tread of sure footsteps neared and James watched through watery eyes and the bumps of the comforter bunched under his half-buried face as Bram quietly slipped through the doorway.

The big man paused, then strode to James’ side and helped him sit back up. “Having trouble, Tiger? I heard you moan all the way downstairs."