A red tainted Silence (63 page)

Of course, Dr. Yancy probably expected me to believe that. She wasn’t done with me yet, and I knew it. But right then, all I cared about was seeing Brandon, holding him, touching him. Giving him my strength.

372

Carolyn Gray

I was nervous as I left Dr. Yancy’s office. Me, nervous, yes. But, you see, it’s like this --

I hate seeing Brandon hurt, and I knew he was hurting, and badly, and I felt so drained and wiped out from my session with the doc, I was afraid I’d start to cry, or say something upsetting or stupid, when I saw Brandon lying there in that bed with all those IVs, and tubes, and all the other shit they’d attached to him. Like the dick monster. I didn’t want him to see me all strung-out. I didn’t have a firm enough grip on my emotions. But I wanted to see him so fucking badly that it seemed kind of silly to be worried about crying in front of him. But I did worry. I was a mess and knew it. My thoughts were all jumbled, flustered, just like my emotions. Like me. I guess that is the explanation, my emotions all being all twisted up like they were, for why I lost my temper so easily not ten steps outside of the doctor’s office.

“Excuse me, aren’t you Nicholas Kilmain?”

I’d been walking with my head down, Jeff as ever on my heels. I nearly stumbled when I heard my name, all lost in thought, my mind only on Brandon and what all he’d been through, and how I wished I could’ve spared him all that he’d endured. Gladly, I would’ve stayed in my captor’s prison for twenty years if it’d meant I could erase the last ten years of hell Brandon had gone through. Not that he’d let me do that. Brandon’s like that.

“What?” I said, catching myself, and then I heard the unmistakable sound of a camera’s whir.

“Anything you can tell us about Mr. Ashwood’s condition, Mr. Kilmain?” Jeff pushed his way in front of me. “Mr. Kilmain has no comments. Now, if you’ll excuse him --”

But the reporter wouldn’t be deterred. He just moved around Jeff like he wasn’t there.

“The people want to know. Your fans, Mr. Kilmain. His fans. They care about him, you know. What’s wrong with him? Is it true he’s cracked?” A Red-Tainted Silence

373

I shook myself. What had he said? He hadn’t just said what I thought he’d said, had he?

“I suggest you remove yourselves --”

“Wait, Jeff,” I murmured, staying him by putting my hand on his shoulder. I stared at the smirking weasel trying to stare me down. At his camera boy. “What did you say?” The man’s eyes glittered. “They say he’s lost it, gone nuts. Is that true?” Jeff looked hard at me as I moved around him. “Who told you that?” I said, my voice soft.

There’s only two times I’ll talk really soft, and both times you’d better watch out. The first was when I was aroused, and only Brandon’s heard that kind of soft. And he knew to watch out when he heard it. In a good way, of course.

The other was when I was pissed. Beyond pissed. Furious. Barely in control. And considering I was already pretty much out of control, I was speaking very, very softly indeed.

Anger bubbled inside me. It takes a lot to make me angry. I tend to let things simmer too long and then I explode, but I had a feeling the simmering stage was going to get bypassed.

Quickly.

Sensing victory, the weasel’s camera boy started his camera whirring again. The bubbling grew louder within me. I clenched my fists. “Sources. Inside sources,” he said, earning a glare from the weasel.

Weasel turned to me and smiled. “He has a history of that, doesn’t he? They said he nearly bled to death because of it. That something he saw freaked him out. He collapsed downtown outside The Blue Door restaurant, didn’t he? So can I quote you on that, that Brandon Ashwood had a nervous breakdown?”

Boiling, roiling fury seared through me. I’d had enough. “No, but you can quote me on this.” I pulled my fist back and punched him in the face, grinning madly at the satisfying crunch. Weasel bellowed, bending over at the waist, his hands covering his nose. Blood poured out onto the floor.

“He hit me! Did you see that? Take a picture. He fucking hit me!” The camera boy stared at me in shock. I grabbed the camera and hurled it at the wall.

“Nicholas!” Jeff said.

But I was beyond listening to Jeff. I was pissed. I was mad. I was ... incensed. I pushed the weasel. He caught himself, and I pushed him again, all reason leaving me. I don’t think I’d ever been that mad. No one messed with Brandon. No one.

“Get the fuck out of this hospital. Get the fuck away from Brandon. You get near him, write any trash about him, and I’ll fucking really kick your ass.” I’m such the lyricist, aren’t I?

Jeff grabbed the weasel, started to haul him toward the elevator. Weasel cringed, his face white except for the blood dripping out of his nose.

374

Carolyn Gray

“You’re the one who’s nuts. You’re insane. You’re gonna regret this, Nicholas Kilmain.

I’ll print whatever the hell I want. You punched the wrong guy.” He snarled at his cameraman, who had frozen in place. “Get the camera, you fool!” Jeff punched the elevator button. The cameraman reached for his camera, but I said with my Soft Voice, “Leave it.” He gulped, nodded, ran for the elevator as it opened. Jeff pushed Weasel inside. I whirled on my heel and stomped down the hall, stopping halfway, waiting for Jeff to catch up. One didn’t run from one’s bodyguards.

“Don’t worry about that one. Reporter with the Star, trash mag,” Jeff said as he caught up to me. “You all right?”

“Oh, I’m fine. I’m just peachy,” I said, stomping off again, anger making my steps quick.

I couldn’t believe it. I was shaking, my gut twisting. My scar hurt, and I didn’t give a damn. I dug my nails into my palms and didn’t care. I wanted to feel pain, lest I break out screaming.

People passed me in the hall and stepped back, and I didn’t care who saw me like that.

Let it be known: Nicholas Kilmain is pissed!

“I want to know how he got in here,” I said, fury fueling my steps. “I’ll take care of it.

Nicholas, stop. You can’t go in to Brandon like this.” I stopped, cradled my face with my hands, eyes closed. Only then realizing my hand hurt. “Dammit, that hurt!” I said, shaking my hand and holding it to my chest. I was definitely not meant to be a boxer. Tears stung my eyes. I fought to take a deep breath, calm myself. Jeff put his hands on my shoulders. When a sob escaped me -- I couldn’t believe what that nasty man had said, what I had done -- he pulled me to his chest. His nice, broad, big chest. But not Brandon’s chest, so after a moment, once I got myself a little more together, I pulled back.

Jeff released me. “You gave him a hell of a good hit. Where’d you learn to hit like that?”

A giggle escaped me. Hysteria? “I don’t know. I’ve never hit anyone in my life. But he made me mad.” Then I realized no, I had hit someone before. My captor, when he first took me down. But he’d been bigger and stronger and meaner than me, and my blows had been like those of a gnat. Useless.

I wiped my face with my sleeve, took a big sniff, shook myself. “Do I look okay?” Jeff eyed me, then straightened my jacket. “Yeah, your cheeks are flushed, your face is pale, your eyes are red, you’re all tense, and your jaw is clenched. You look fine.” I huffed. Grinned. “Okay, okay, sorry. I just can’t believe that man, though. I hate reporters sometimes.”

“We’ll find out how he got in here. We’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks, Jeff.”

“Any thoughts on who could’ve given him such ideas?” A Red-Tainted Silence

375

I started to walk again, slower now. “Lucky stab in the dark. Brandon’s not crazy, but he has had a nervous breakdown before.” A couple, really.

“He has? When?”

“Barely into our second tour,” I said, shoving my hands into my pockets. I didn’t want Brandon to see my reddened knuckles. We were at the end of the hallway, where Brandon’s room was. “He never liked touring. Didn’t handle it very well.” That was an understatement.

I smiled wanly, then straightened my shoulders. “Do I look okay now?”

“Nicholas, he won’t care what you look like. He only wants to see you.” He nodded as I continued to wait. “You look fine.”

“Good. Good. I wish I’d brought flowers --”

“Are you nervous or something?”

“No! No of course not. Why would I be nervous?” I smiled sheepishly, then laughed.

“Silly, huh.”

“Just go in. The worst is over. He’s waiting for you.”

“Don’t say anything about the reporter where Brandon can hear, okay?” I grimaced.

“At least not until he has to know. The bastard will probably throw a suit at me or something.”

“I won’t say anything. No problem.”

I nodded. “Thanks, Jeff. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“About time you appreciated me.”

I laughed, then, straightening myself up, running my hands through my hair, walked toward Brandon’s room. I opened the door, and smiled. Just in time to see Brandon’s mom spoon him some Jell-O. “Mmm, yummy,” I said.

Brandon swallowed, glared at me. “You like it, you eat it.” His voice was harsh, rough.

But he was talking. He was awake and talking and the nasty intubation thingy was gone, as were most of his IVs. Not the dick monster, though, I noted sadly.

I walked up to the foot of the bed and looked at him, cocking my head to the side. “I would, if it meant you’d get well faster.”

Brandon raised a hand, stilling his mom’s descent with the spoon. “Enough.”

“You need to eat, son.”

“I know. In a minute. I want to be alone with Nicholas.” She nodded, then winked at me as she handed me the Jell-O. “You make him eat it, then.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, kissing her on the cheek. She smelled like roses. Infinitely better than hospital smells. She left and I took her place. “Ready?” I said, holding a spoon of the jiggling orange stuff in the air.

“Nick --”

376

Carolyn Gray

“Yes?” I said brightly.

“Put the fucking Jell-O down and come here.”

I stared at my lover, then smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” I put the Jell-O down.

“I’m sorry, Brandon.” Tears began to well in my eyes. “I’m so sorry, so damn sorry.” My breath caught and a sob escaped me. I’m such a fluff. He reached out and I grabbed his hand -

- his grip so weak -- and let him pull me to him. I collapsed onto the bed, whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over again. That’s all I could say and I couldn’t tell him any more than that, because he mustn’t know exactly what I was so sorry about. I sighed.

He pulled me onto his chest, making me flinch with worry -- what if I hurt him? -- but he hushed me, held me, stroked my hair back as the tears, I couldn’t stop them, cascaded onto his neck. My ribs hurt, my scar hurt, my stupid hand hurt. I hurt all over but it was nothing compared to his hurts. And yet here he was, again, yet again -- why was it always like this? -- the one comforting me.

He kissed me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. “Hush, Nicholas, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

“You nearly died,” I whispered hoarsely. I squeezed my eyes shut, remembering my promise to him, a promise he now didn’t remember me giving him, but that didn’t matter. I was sworn to it, and I sobbed again, remembering how important it had been to him that I promise never ever to give up. Never give in, if anything ever happened to him.

“You nearly died,” I said again, snuffling.

“But I didn’t. I’m weak as hell, but I didn’t die, okay? I’m not going anywhere, I promise you. I’m going to be okay. They didn’t do anything to me I can’t handle, honest.”

“But -- but you have a dick monster!”

He chuckled, his hand resting on his groin. “It doesn’t bother me. Bothers you more than it does me.” I pulled back, looked at him in horror. He grinned tiredly, brushed my cheek with the back of his hand. “The nurse told me it’s out tomorrow.”

“I’ll hold the pee bottle for you.”

He groaned at that, flinching as he held his hand over his incision. “Please, Nicholas, let’s not go that far.”

I kissed his cheek. His skin felt warm, dry. “But I will. You would’ve for me, you know.”

“Of course I would’ve. They said they were getting me up tonight.”

“Tonight? You’re kidding. What if you slip? How will you walk with that -- that thing in you? Oh, Brandon, that’s nuts!”

He laughed softly. “No, you’re nuts. Pure nuts.” He stroked my hair back from my face and smiled. “I think I’ll win the battle on this one, Nick. Don’t worry so much.” A Red-Tainted Silence

377

I knew he wasn’t talking about battling the dick monster. He was talking about everything -- everything he was going through. “You’d damn well better.” He blinked. I smiled, amazed at how beautiful he could be even though he was so sick.

How brightly his eyes shined. In his writing he always talked about my eyes, how beautiful my eyes were to him, but they’re just plain ordinary old blue eyes. Millions of people have blue eyes. And my thick lashes? Mascara. Seriously. Without it my lashes are invisible.

But his eyes -- He’s the one with the amazing eyes. The stunning eyes. There’s nothing simple or plain or ordinary about them, hiding beneath feathery lashes. Knowing eyes.

Lover’s eyes.

Green, beautiful, rare mossy green, clear and bright and looking at me with such love, such joy and happiness because he believed the worst was over, that he was going to be okay.

I wished I could believe it. I felt my eyes water, and he shook his head, using his thumb to brush my tears away.

“You feel so much, Nicholas,” he whispered.

“Too much.”

“Never too much. How many times have I told you that? But please don’t cry anymore for me. I’ll be home before you know it.” He hesitated, then said, “Nick, do you know what happened? Why I lost it when I did?”

I steeled myself, then shook my head. “No. I was in the other room.” He closed his eyes, letting his hands drop to the bed. “I’m so fucked up. I don’t remember, Nick. I don’t remember anything.”

Even though of course I knew he didn’t remember, I was pretending I didn’t know that he didn’t remember, so he wouldn’t be suspicious. Tricky Nicholas, huh.