The Way Things Are (36 page)

“Ha!”

“Seriously, how would it have ruined your life for your boss to talk some sense into you when I knew you wouldn’t listen to me?”

Ken took a deep breath and considered his options. He needed to calm down and to get the hell away from his brother so he could try to get Jay and go to the hospital. But now, of all times, he couldn’t trivialize what he and Patrick shared over the last few weeks. When Patrick’s life was hanging by a thread, he couldn’t let Malcolm’s accusations invalidate what they had.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to shout that he’d done nothing wrong, that Patrick was more than worth it. He couldn’t say he’d done nothing wrong, because he had. Just because he’d decided to ignore the conflict of interest didn’t mean it’d ceased to exist. He had done his best to minimize the damage, but arguing with Malcolm about the ethics of the situation wouldn’t get him anywhere.

“I’m crazy about him,” Ken said quietly, intentionally lowering his tone so Malcolm would calm down too. “I was up front with my boss about it from the start. I asked her to take Jay’s case two days after he was assigned to me. I’m not going to say there was nothing wrong with dating Patrick, but my supervisor’s decided it doesn’t warrant disciplinary action. If that’s not good enough for you… then you can bitch about it later. I’m going to follow him to the hospital.”

“You just met him,” Malcolm whispered.

“I know. It sounds a little nuts. But I love him.”

Malcolm drew his hands over his face. “Okay, first, call your boss and tell her what’s going on. Second, where’s his son?”

Ken called Mary Anne and left her a frantic message. The recording cut him off before he got even halfway through explaining everything, but he figured it would have to do. “Jay should be at home.”

Malcolm spun Ken toward a waiting unmarked police car, his expression severe and guarded. “Let’s go get him, okay? Just in case.”

It was seven o’clock by the time they picked up Jay and made it to the hospital. Despite Ken’s lingering anger, he was glad his brother was with him. If nothing else, Malcolm’s calm, confident demeanor made it possible for Ken to hold himself together.

Jay let Ken guide him toward one of the waiting-room chairs. He hadn’t seemed upset at the apartment, but as the reality of Patrick being hurt sank in, Jay had become increasingly withdrawn. Now he sat there, looking dazed. His backpack and the four sketchbooks it didn’t quite contain were forgotten at his feet. Ken slouched in the chair beside him. Corbin, who was apparently the emergency contact Patrick had listed with his employment application, sat in the chair on Jay’s other side. His father sat next to him, his withered old hand on Corbin’s shoulder.

And there they sat. Minutes ticked by, feeling like hours. Malcolm was constantly on his feet, talking quietly to the triage nurse and pacing. An older man in a button-up shirt spoke with Malcolm for a few minutes, then came toward them.

“This is him,” Malcolm said, nodding toward Jay.

“Jay? I’m Dr. Sauber. Dr. Hertzig is working with your dad right now, and she asked me to come talk to you.”

“Is he okay? Why can’t we sit with him?” Jay asked.

“He’s hurt,” the doctor said, his tone walking a knife-edge between blunt and gentle. “Someone gave your dad a drug that’s slowing his entire body down. Dr. Hertzig has managed to get his blood oxygen concentration up, but he’s still having trouble breathing on his own. Because he also has a head injury, we don’t want to risk giving him anything to counteract the drug, because it’ll raise his blood pressure. If he has a concussion, artificially raising his blood pressure could make it much worse.”

“So what are you going to do?” Malcolm asked.

“The safest thing to do is let the drug run its course. We’ve had to intubate him to help him breathe, and we’re monitoring his cardiac output carefully. He’s still unconscious, but he’s stable. We’re going to take him for X-rays and a CT scan too.”

From the way Jay drew his feet up onto the chair, hugging his knees, Ken knew he was beginning to break down.

“Dr. Hertzig will come out and let you know as soon as he’s awake, okay?”

Jay didn’t even glance at the doctor. He didn’t seem to see anything. Ken nodded to the doctor, then dug a sketchbook out of Jay’s backpack. He flipped through the graphite-covered pages until he came to the last drawing. It was a half-finished sketch of a large ornate building with a homeless man sitting in front of the building next to an overflowing shopping cart. Ken set the sketchbook down on the armrest between the chairs, then dug through the front pocket for a pencil. He took Jay’s hand, wrapped his fingers around the pencil, and let him go. Jay didn’t look at the page, but his hand began to move, scratching the pencil across the page so fast it was a blur.

Ken set his hand on Jay’s forearm. “Hang on a second.” He flipped the sketchbook to a blank page before Jay covered the drawing in dark gray. “There you go,” he said, setting the sketchbook back down.

Jay hesitated for a moment, shifting his feet beneath him, then went back to scratching at the page.

Another two hours dragged by. Malcolm’s partner arrived with coffee. Later, Brandon wandered in and brought them takeout for breakfast.

An exhausted-looking young woman in blue scrubs came out. “Jay Connelly?”

Jay looked up from the sketchbook but said nothing.

“This is him,” Ken said, almost hoisting Jay out of the seat.

“I’m Dr. Hertzig, I’ve been taking care of your dad. He’s awake, and he’s been asking about you.”

“Why won’t they let me see him?”

“He’s had a rough time, and he’s been shifting in and out of consciousness for the last hour or so. The respiratory therapist has been in with him for the last twenty minutes. As soon as he’s done, you’re welcome to come back.”

Jay nodded rapidly. “I want to see him.”

“It shouldn’t be too long,” she promised. “And are any of you gentlemen Detective Atkins?”

Ken pointed toward Malcolm.

“He’s given me permission to talk to you about his lab work and injuries. Would you come with me?”

“Why him? I’ve got a right to know what happened, don’t I?” Jay asked, standing up. Ken was torn between trying to be reassuring and wanting an explanation himself.

“The first thing your dad did when we removed the breathing tube was ask to see you,” the doctor explained, “and this might take a while.”

Jay looked angry, like he might snap. “What about Ken?” Jay nodded toward him.

The doctor scrunched up her nose. “In the ER, we try to limit visits to immediate family.”

“He’s….” Jay stared at Ken helplessly.

The expression on Jay’s face made him want to curse. Jay expected him to be calm and comforting, and above all, to know what to say. Every time he tried to give some explanation, he found his own voice failing him. He wasn’t sure what Patrick would want him to say. He wasn’t sure quite what they were at the moment himself. He was a mess of frantic nerves, and even knowing from the doctor’s comments that Patrick was stable didn’t make it any better.

Jay’s worried eyes looked at him with an understanding that seemed unnatural for a fifteen-year-old.

“He’s family,” Jay said quietly. “Do you have just a plain ‘significant other’ box you can check? Because that’d be him.”

Despite the terror he was trying to swallow, Ken rallied. “I’m Pat Connelly’s partner, yes.”

“But words and labels and things like that are, you know, a little weird for my dad,” Jay tried. “They might grow old together before he can say the word ‘boyfriend’ without choking.”

The doctor stared between them for a moment. “I’ll have the nurse let him know you’d both like to visit. What’s your name?” she asked.

“Ken Atkins.”

She looked at Malcolm. “Atkins?”

Malcolm rolled his eyes. “He’s my kid brother. Trust me, I know how awkward this is.”

“He’s your brother and Mr. Connelly’s boyfriend?”

Malcolm winced at the sound of the word. “Yes.”

“Boyfriend?” Malcolm’s partner stood up abruptly. “Your brother is dating our witness? When the hell did that happen?”

Ken stepped in front of Jay, automatically shielding him from even the possibility of a negative reaction. He was a bit surprised when Malcolm surreptitiously did the same.

“Yes, boyfriend,” said Malcolm, his voice now calm on the surface. “It’s not our problem. It’s not, right?”

His partner deflated almost instantly. “No,” he said, trying to smile. “No problem. A little confusing since he’s got a kid and all, but not a problem.”

“You think you’re confused about that, imagine how my mom felt,” Jay muttered.

The doctor interrupted with a placating smile. “I’ll let the nurse know you’re allowed to visit. Detective, if you’ll come with me?”

Jay looked like he might protest again. “I’m sure it’ll just be boring medical stuff,” Ken lied. He nudged Jay toward a row of vending machines. “Come on, I’ll buy you a candy bar while we’re waiting. I guess you’re going to need more than a candy bar eventually, though.”

“There are chips too,” Jay pointed out. “Those count as a vegetable.”

Despite the grave situation, Ken chuckled. “Nice try.”

“They’re made of potatoes. Potatoes are a vegetable.”

Ken knew that there should be real food, but the idea of going to try to find a cafeteria, and not being in the waiting room when there was finally a chance they might get to see Patrick, was unthinkable. “I’m willing to go with the potato chips are a vegetable theory for today.”

It was still another half hour before they were allowed back. In a tiny glass-walled room, Ken and Jay found Patrick stretched out on a gurney, his eyes rolling toward the top of his head. He had a thick white gauze bandage wrapped around his head, and from what Ken could see of his hair, it had been all but shaved off. It was hard to resist the urge to reach out and touch the bit of copper-colored stubble he could see peeking out beneath the bandage.

“Pop, you okay?” Jay asked, ducking under the arm of a nurse who was hooking Patrick up to a tangle of bedside monitors.

“Kiddo?” Patrick’s voice was hoarse and rasping. But he smiled at Jay. “How was school?”

Jay shrugged. “Ken said I didn’t have to go. Uncle Corbin got my homework and stuff for me. I got a B on my algebra test.”

“Just a B?”

“Yeah, well, you try studying at Uncle Corbin’s. It’s not exactly quiet.”

Patrick smiled and tried to shake his head. The motion made him grimace and gasp.

“Pop?”

“I think,” Ken ventured, “and this is just a guess… he was probably going to say something about your test being on Friday. Two days before you went to stay with Corbin.”

“Yeah, well….” Jay shrugged again. “Points for effort?”

“Sure,” Patrick whispered, his voice cracking. “Did you eat?”

“Yeah, I had breakfast and some chips. You’re not answering. Are you okay?” Jay persisted. “Ken wouldn’t say what happened, just that you were hurt.”

“I’m hurt. I’ll survive, though. My throat feels like it’s on fire. The doctors won’t let me eat or anything yet. Think you could go hunt down a bottle of water for me? There are a few dollar bills in my wallet in that plastic bag there on the chair.”

Jay nodded and searched through the clothes in the bag, smiling for the first time since Ken picked him up. “Just water?”

“Yeah,” Patrick gasped.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Jay promised.

Patrick’s green-and-gold eyes swiveled toward Ken. “Hi. Sorry I wasn’t there to meet you in the parking lot.”

Ken stared at him, stunned. Someone had chased Patrick down and tried to kill him, and he was apologizing about not calling Ken back. “Of all the excuses you could have for not being there when I showed up, being drugged, attacked, and dragged away is a decent one. They cut your hair.”

Patrick almost smiled. “I needed stitches. They shaved it all so it grows out even.”

Ken strolled around the bed trying to look nonchalant. He leaned close to the bandages over Patrick’s head and whispered, “I’m sure there’s hair somewhere on you thick enough for me to curl my fingers in it.”

Patrick’s husky groan was punctuated by a shiver, and Ken didn’t dare guess if it was from pain or the anticipation of pleasure. “You’re….”

“I’m what?”

“Mean. I hurt every time my head moves, even a tiny bit. This sucks.”

“Concussions usually hurt. You must have been knocked in the head a few times when you were competing.”

“Not like this. Part of it’s the drugs.”

“Strong painkillers?” Ken ran his fingers over the back of Patrick’s hand, touching the rough callouses on his fingertips gently.

Patrick moved his head slightly from side to side. Even that was enough to make him wince. “No painkillers. They said it wasn’t safe, and I don’t want anything that’s going to make me feel that out of it again.”

“What happened? I heard gunshots, then I got your text, but….” Ken was at a loss for words. He’d been at a loss for words most of the day.

“You were supposed to run away,” Patrick said. “That’s what ‘run’ means.”

“I ran. Believe me, I sprinted. My right knee is throbbing even with painkillers and a whole one of those muscle relaxers. I ran.”

Patrick glared at him, his eyes narrow. “You did not.”

Ken grinned. “I ran. Just not away. Do you really want to think about what might have happened if I’d run away? You stopped breathing, Pat. You’re so used to protecting Jay you take it on yourself to try to protect everybody. I get that. But you don’t have to do it alone. If we’re going to make this work, we’ve got to be on equal footing. You’ve got to let me help you.”

“But….”

“There’s no room for argument with this.”

“If Ethan had gotten up, if he’d picked that gun back up, he could have killed you.”

Ken traced the oxygen tube under Patrick’s nose. He trailed his fingers down below the open collar of Patrick’s hospital gown to the conductive stickers positioned around his heart. Not the little stickers used for EKGs, but the large ones used with electric defibrillators.

“And I know he would have killed me. If he didn’t, that shit he slipped in my coffee would have.” Patrick closed his eyes. “He probably would have tried to kill you anyway.”