Chapter 6

Russell white-knuckled the steering wheel most of the drive to the college-adjacent hospital. Thankfully, it was late and the streets were fairly empty, so Bryan wasn't too worried about an accident. A large parking garage stood across a big intersection from the E.R. entrance. Since Bryan had never been here, he followed Russell's lead. He half-expected to find Angelo in the waiting room, impatient to go home, but when Russell spoke to a lady behind a glass window, she gave them a room number.

Bryan's gut curled tight as Russell navigated the corridors until they found the right room. The door was half-open. Bryan might have stayed outside if not for the slight tremor in Russell's shoulders, betraying his friend's anxiety. Angelo was sitting upright on a bed that seemed too small for his tall frame, dressed in a drab hospital gown that didn't cover a bandage on his left forearm. Another bandage covered his left temple, and he was glaring at his lap where both hands rested, palms up as if not quite sure what to do with them.

"Hey, friend," Russell said. "You've had a hell of a day, huh?"

Angelo looked up, wide eyes blinking several times before focusing. "Hey, Big Bear. Sorry, but they wouldn't let me drive myself home. Plus, my clothes were all bloody, I guess."

He'd been blown up in a bar after having a horrible day, so he'd likely been drinking. Bryan didn't see a banana bag on the IV stand; he'd been hooked up to more than one during the worst of his drinking binges. If the hospital had given Angelo anything for the pain from his injuries, he was definitely in no shape to drive, even if he had his own car here.

Bryan held up the bag with the change of clothes. "We brought you something to help with that."

Angelo zeroed in over Russell's shoulder and frowned at Bryan. "Why're you here?"

"Volunteered. Russell has already had one big scare tonight, so I didn't want him picking you up by himself."

"Oh. Well, thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome, I guess."

Angelo grunted.

"So what happened?" Russell asked. He perched on the room's only extra chair, so Bryan hovered by the door. "The woman who called said there was an explosion at Tim's and you were hurt."

"Yeah, something to do with the boiler, I think they said." Angelo's normally posh, almost accent-free voice was definitely slurred. "We were ready to go and then bam! I'm on the floor breathing smoke and my left side hurts like a motherfucker. Blast hit me on that side. Threw me a few feet, they said. Nat and Sasha got me out."

"Are they okay?"

"Yeah, cuts and burns, too. Nat might've broken his wrist. Haven't heard anything new in a while. No one's really saying much, I guess because the cops need to rule out arson or whatever."

"Why would anyone want to blow up this bar?" Bryan asked.

"Like dumbasses need an excuse anymore," Russell replied with a snarl. "But Tim's is known to be queer-inclusive, and even though Reynolds is a pretty liberal town, there's bad apples in every barrel. Must be rulin' out a hate crime, makin' sure it was an accident."

Angelo shrugged then grimaced. "I just want to get out of here and sleep this off."

"You will, as soon as the doctor releases you."

"Should be dumping my release papers any second. They were just waiting on my ride to get here so I don't escape on my own."

"The staff must know you well. You hurt anything besides your face, arm and pride?"

"Gash in my side got a few stitches." Angelo pointed at his left midsection. "Doc pulled out a piece of wood the length of a sewing needle. Talk about a monster splinter."

"You mean a Master Splinter," Bryan said before he could stop himself.

Angelo blinked twice then grinned. "Look at you, knowing who the Ninja Turtles are. Didn't think you had time for anything besides country music and chasing tail."

"I did have some semblance of a childhood before the tail chasing started. Learned to ride a bike, tie my own shoes and everything."

"Congrats, sounds like you graduated kindergarten like the rest of us."

"As much fun as this is," Russell interrupted, "it's fuckin' late, I'm exhausted, and this can wait until morning. Angelo, get dressed. I'll go rustle up your discharge nurse." He left without another word and shut the door completely.

Angelo huffed as he reached inside the bag for his clothes. He wasn't hooked up to any IV's or wires, but he also moved slowly and stiffly, his mouth twisted into a grimace.

"You need help?" Bryan asked.

"Why not? You won't be the first person to get a peek tonight." Angelo shoved the sweatshirt at him then leaned forward. Grimaced. "Fuck, if it hurts after a hospital dose of pain meds, it's going to be a bitch getting around the rest of the week."

Bryan shook out the sweatshirt and hid a smirk at how huge it was. Angelo was going to look like a kid trying on his dad's clothes. "I'm sure they'll write you a prescription to help with the pain."

"No thanks, that shit makes me loopy. I can't afford to be loopy on the job, or I'll get my ass hurt worse than it already is."

"I'm sure they have something that's low-dose. Or take the rest of the week off. Isn't that the best part of being your own boss?" Bryan untied the back of Angelo's gown and tugged it forward, off his arms, baring his chest. A tan, smooth, well-sculpted chest marred by a large, rectangular bandage on his left side.

"Can't take time off. Money's tight and I've got too many projects going at once." They got Angelo's wrists through the sleeves and then worked on his head. His hair was already a dirty mess, stiff with blood, and it looked even worse after going through the neck of the shirt.

Bryan had never seen Angelo anything less than perfectly dressed, hair styled—even the first time they met when Angelo was drunk off his ass, his appearance has been near-immaculate—but Bryan couldn't bring himself to tease Angelo. Not while he was in obvious physical pain. Bryan had nursed plenty of aches and pains of his own in prison with nothing stronger than Tylenol to help, so he had sympathy for the wounded man.

"You can't handle those projects remotely for a few days?" Bryan unfolded the sweatpants, glad Russell had the forethought to bring a pair with a drawstring. "Can you swing your legs over the side of the bed?"

"No and yes." He scooted closer to the edge, then slowly pulled his legs around, the strain showing in every flinch and grunt. His gown and the blanket pooled around his lap. He looked up and his eyes twinkled with a hint of humor. "Don't worry, they left my drawers on."

"Bummer." Bryan's cheeks heated but Angelo didn't react to the slip. He was staring at his hands again.

Bryan squatted in front of Angelo and worked the sweats up his muscled legs, noting the dark hair that went from his ankles to his upper thighs. An interesting contrast to his smooth chest and back. Angelo braced one hand on Bryan's shoulder so he could stand long enough to hitch the sweats up to his waist. Bryan caught a glimpse of white briefs, which surprised him for some reason. He'd have assumed Angelo went for high-end, name-brand boxer-briefs.

"Shoes?" Bryan asked.

Angelo pointed at the chair. "My shit's in a bag over there somewhere. Not sure if they're salvageable, but I can wear them home."

Sure enough, a pair of scuffed, filthy loafers were in a white plastic bag, along with his bloody clothes. Everything reeked of smoke so Bryan cinched the bag back up. He still sneezed twice while helping Angelo get his shoes on. "Where's your coat?"

"Probably in several dozen pieces scattered around Tim's. I don't know, I hung it up when I got there. Even if it wasn't blown up, it's probably been ruined by the smoke and fire hoses. Fuck, I loved that jacket."

Bryan hadn't been sentimental about clothing since he bought a vintage motorcycle jacket from the 70's with the money from his first paying gig. He'd found it in a box in Mom's storage unit, and the old leather hadn't survived the lack of climate control. Oh well. He had very much learned to value relationships over things; he also empathized with the forlorn look on Angelo's face. Loss was loss. Plus, Angelo's entire career was based on ownership of one of the most valuable material possessions of all: real estate.

"I'm sure once the investigators are done and the owners get into the place," Bryan said, "they'll pull out anything that can be saved and try to get it to the owners."

"It was top-grain sheep leather, and if it got wet or absorbed smoke, it's ruined. No, best to let it go, grieve, and move on. I've got another coat to get me through the rest of this winter. I'll just make sure no one important sees me in it."

"Okay, now I really wanna to see this coat."

Angelo huffed. "It's a piece of shit but it's warm. It's like that pair of holey pajamas you save for when you're sick in bed and don't give a rat's ass what you're wearing, because no one's going to see you in it anyway, because you live alone."

"Dude, you're talking to a guy who wore the same monochromatic jumpsuit day in, day out, for the last five years. And before that, I lived in jeans and t-shirts, so my basic look is ratty comfort."

"And somehow that doesn't surprise me in the least. Ugh, where is Big Bear? I want to get out of this fucking place, like, yesterday." His fingers twitched.

This time, Bryan couldn't stop himself. "Is there something wrong with your hands?"

"What? No, why?"

"You keep staring at them and being weird."

"That's because I want my phone and I don't have it, and it's weird not to have it. That fucking phone had my entire life and business on it, and I'm just thankful right now that I back up all my files on an external drive and my tablet, or I would be so fucked. Still, I want my phone."

"Lost in the explosion?"

"Apparently, yes. I vaguely recall giving it to Nat so he could charge it behind the bar, but I don't think he ever gave it back to me. Guess it's still there in the rubble and shit. I'll have to get a new one tomorrow."

"If you even feel like getting out of bed tomorrow. Let's face it, man, impact injuries? They tend to feel a lot worse the day after."

"Yeah, I know. I was in a fender bender about fifteen years ago, not my fault, and I thought I was okay. Let me tell you, though? Whiplash is a real, painful thing."

"So I've heard."

"What? Never been in a car accident?"

"Actually, no. I've also never been blown up, either. Sorry."

"No problem. I've never been to prison, so we've both got unique life experiences." Angelo's eyes widened. "Shit, sorry, this is why I don't like drugs."

Bryan shrugged, not at all insulted by Angelo speaking the god's-honest truth. He wasn't proud of having done time, but he also acknowledged his mistakes and wasn't about to shove well-known information under the rug. "It's fine, you aren't wrong. I'm just, you know, glad you're okay. Mostly."

"I'm not dead so that's something. We're probably all lucky we're still alive. God, what if Nat had been in the kitchen when it blew? Or Sasha?" Angelo shuddered and, for a brief moment, seemed like he was going to burst into tears.

Did Angelo still have lingering feelings for Nat? Patrick mentioned the pair had dated for a brief time.

Or he's just emotional over a near-death experience, Gillespie. "Any of you could have been killed tonight, Angelo, and that's either because of a freak accident, a negligent owner, or some asshole with a grudge, if they decide it was arson or deliberate or whatever."

"At least if I'd died tonight my troubles would be over. All my debt would be somebody else's problem."

"You want people who love you to grieve so it'll be easier on you? Isn't that textbook narcissism?"

"Never said I wasn't self-absorbed."

"Clearly." Bryan sighed, because needling Angelo wasn't nearly as fun when Angelo was too stoned/stunned/exhausted to properly rise to the bait. "Look, you are obviously still coming down off the shock of what happened tonight. Let's get you home and into a comfortable bed. You can wax poetic on your moral failings tomorrow after sleep, coffee and breakfast. Fair?"

"Fair. Nat was going to take me home. Not, like, to his place or anything, but back to my place."

"Nat sounds like a nice guy."

"A nice guy with enough self-respect to dump my ass. Oh well. Take me home."

"We will."

They waited in semi-awkward silence for a few more minutes, before Russell returned with the discharge papers, which included wound care, a prescription for tramadol, and orders to follow up with his primary care doc in a few days. Angelo rolled his eyes at that, and Bryan would lay money on Angelo not having a PCP or attending regular checkups. Not that Bryan did, either. The last doctor who'd examined him was in prison a few weeks before his release.

Bryan waited with Angelo outside the ER entrance while Russell fetched the car. They didn't speak, and Angelo had fallen asleep in the backseat by the time they arrived home. The upstairs was dark and Russell hadn't received any texts from Patrick, so Patrick had mercifully slept through this latest drama.

"Look," Bryan said to Russell, "instead of trying to manage Angelo upstairs and risk waking Patrick or Robbie, why don't we put him in the carriage house? I keep my stuff in Patrick's old room now, so he can have Robbie's."

"Hmm. Think he can manage that staircase like this?"

The carriage house had a metal, spiral staircase to the second floor that was a bit daunting to the perfectly sober, and it had often made Bryan nervous watching Robbie go up and down as fast as he did. "If not, then he can crash on the couch. It's comfortable enough for one night. Or I can blow up my old air mattress." The only downside to that plan was the bathroom was on the second floor, but if necessary, Angelo could stumble outside and pee in a bush. The property was surrounded by trees, hedges and a privacy fence.

Russell nodded several times. "Yeah, okay. It'll be easier to explain all this to Patrick in the morning if he doesn't risk walking into Angelo in the hallway. Angelo ain't crashed with me yet since Patrick and Frog moved in."

Bryan was pretty sure Patrick wouldn't get jealous if they did stumble over each other in the dark. Patrick was more likely to freak out about the explosion and get slightly paranoid of it happening anywhere he took Robbie for dinner from now on.

Between the two of them, they roused Angelo enough to walk him into the carriage house. The spiral staircase perplexed him enough that Russell had mercy and declared the couch his bed for the night. While Russell got Angelo's shoes off, Bryan grabbed a blanket and pillow and brought them downstairs. By the time Angelo was tucked away, he was snoring, and the deep, content sound was almost…comforting.

Bryan followed Russell back outside. "Thanks for this, friend, I mean it," Russell said. "Don't know what's eatin' at Angelo tonight, but I hope he'll wanna talk tomorrow."

"You're welcome." While Bryan did know the full reason why Angelo had come over needing to vent, it wasn't his place to say. That was for the friends to discuss when Angelo was ready. "I'll keep an eye on him."

"Thank you. See you, uh, later this morning, I guess?"

"Yeah. Night, Russell."

After locking the carriage house door, Bryan watched Angelo sleep for a few minutes, mostly to reassure himself Angelo was, indeed, asleep and breathing and not in any obvious distress. He tried imagining pretend-dating this man in exchange for some unknown amount of money that could be anything from a dollar to possibly six-figures.

He could kind of imagine it. Angelo was sexy, cocky, infuriating as hell, and exactly the kind of challenge that appealed to Bryan. At his core, Bryan needed to be challenged. It hadn't been enough to pursue a musical career; he had to be the best, the hottest star, make the most money! He couldn't just meet his father's demanding expectations; he needed to exceed them beyond measure! He hadn't just been able to demand Lawrence stay the fuck away from Patrick; Bryan had needed to beat that point home beyond a reasonable doubt.

Going along with Angelo's half-baked plan wasn't about the payout for Bryan. It was the challenge. Could he be a good fake partner for Angelo and present a real relationship to this lawyer for the sake of Angelo's career and finances? Probably. If nothing else, it would give Bryan a safe space to practice dating again, without any actual "dating" expectations of sex and affection in return.

Not that Bryan would turn down some physical affection if it came his way. He hadn't gotten off with more than his left hand and imagination in years.

Asleep, all of Angelo's self-assuredness fell away, leaving a hurt, vulnerable man in its place. A hurt, vulnerable man who needed someone to help him out of a tight spot, and who'd asked Bryan for his help. Help Bryan was in a unique position to give, because he lost nothing in the deal. Maybe a date with Leah the Bakery Girl, but what was that in the grand scheme of his life so far? He'd already sacrificed five-plus years of life so Patrick and Robbie could have a better one. He could give up a few more months.

Mind made up on the matter, Bryan got a glass of water, some ibuprofen tablets, and left both on the table beside the couch. Content his friend would be okay alone for a couple of hours, Bryan finally went upstairs and tried to sleep.