Patient Privilege (6 page)

The grip the mammoth in pink had on Angel suddenly loosened. Angel watched the doctor nod as he led the two nurses and Mr Pink out of the room. One doctor stayed back, resetting all the alarms and shit. Finally, the room quieted, emptying out until only he and Jon remained.

He sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall. Jon knelt down in front of him, tears still streaking from his eyes. He held Angel's face in his hands, stared him straight in the eyes. Angel refused to look at his best friend. His gaze kept shifting to the left or to the right, up at the ceiling or down at the floor—but never straight at Jon.

"Angel, please listen to me," Jon begged as his thumbs stroked Angel's cheeks. "I love you so much. I can't lose you. When I saw you in the tub, you… you looked…" Jon swallowed so hard his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. Tears fell harder as his eyes lowered. "You looked dead, Angel. My whole fucking world crumbled." At that point, Jon cried so hard his shoulders shook. "Please, Angel, don't fucking do this to me. Don't kill yourself."

Angel wrapped his arms around Jon's trembling body and pulled him toward him. He held on to his only friend with every bit of feeling that somehow managed to break through the numbness of his soul. That's when Angel finally shed his first sincere tear. He hadn't meant to put Jon through all the mess of dealing with a fucked-up junkie. He would've never wanted Jon to find him half–dead in a bathtub.

"Baby, listen," he whispered. "Stop crying. Please stop crying."

Jon sniffled back his tears. "I'm trying."

"I can't promise I'll ever be clean. I can't promise I'll be anything more than I am now, but I don't want to hurt you anymore."

Jon's head lifted from Angel's shoulder. He looked at his friend, but Angel looked away. "What are you saying?"

"I don't know, but I don't want to hurt you."

"You don't understand, Angel." Jon wiped his cheeks as he snuggled against Angel's side. Angel didn't mind the closeness, not this time, in this situation.

"Hurting me isn't the problem. What you're doing to yourself is. I mean, I've come to expect certain things from you, but I… I can't watch you slowly kill yourself. It's too heartbreaking," Jon said.

"I know." Angel kissed Jon's temple. "I want to do better, but it's so fucking hard."

"Are you ready to hear what Dr Daniels has to say?"

"I don't know. I just… don't go yet. Don't let go of me."

Those were probably the first real emotions Angel had ever let Jon see. He'd always closed everything off before. He'd always been so devoid of anything that tapped his feelings, he often wondered if he could feel anything at all—if he still had a soul.

"I won't let go of you," Jon said. "I promise I'll never let go of you."

Chapter Nine

Erik peeked through the crack of the door and saw the boys hugging each other. A small smile curled his lips. If Angel wasn't yelling and cursing and demanding that Jon go away, maybe there was hope for him. Maybe Angel could be healed.

Eventually, after a lot of talking and prodding from both Jon and Erik, Angel decided he wanted help. Erik definitely considered that the best news he'd heard all day. It even made his smile widen a little, made it a little more sincere. The news made Jon throw his arms around Erik's body. The kid thanked him, hugged him and cried, then hugged tighter, cried harder, and thanked him some more. Erik could be really patient with the kid. After all, he had reason to be so relieved. He let Jon unload that heavy heap of emotion on him. Parents and friends often did that to him once he helped their loved ones, so it was something he had grown used to. In fact, he kind of liked the warm embraces from the dearly relieved almost as much as he loved seeing a patient rise above their addictions. It was rewarding.

He patted the kid on the back and told him everything would be okay. "West Clinic will do the best it can for Angel."

Jon thanked him again. "I doubt I could've convinced him to go without your help."

"But it was
you
," Erik touched the tip of his forefinger to Jon's chest, "who convinced him. I just gave him the facts."

"Yeah, but all the stuff you told him was… scary."

"I doubt that's what convinced him to get help, Jon." Erik gripped Jon's shoulder, looked him in the eyes with a weighty seriousness and said, "The hard stuff isn't over yet. It's going to get worse and he may not make it, okay? He may leave the program and run straight back to the drugs. What he needs from you is strength and companionship. He needs to know you love him and will do anything to help him through this. Can you do that?"

Jon nodded.

"Good." Erik patted Jon's shoulder and looked over at Angel—who'd finally fallen asleep again. He then turned back to Jon, who seemed almost as exhausted. "Why don't you try to get some rest and I'll do the same. The doctor is supposed to call me tomorrow when they release Angel. I'll come back to get him and we'll all ride over to West together. Sound like a plan?"

"Yes," Jon said softly. His arms wrapped around his own body. His eyes were still swollen and red from all the tears he'd cried. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. I'll see you both tomorrow," Erik replied before turning to leave.

As he reached the double doors that led out to the waiting room, he thought about the kid he'd come to see in the first place. He wondered if Angel had been through the same hell little Chris had, or if Angel suffered the same self-inflicted pain Erik had put himself through.

Poor Chris never had a chance, and now they wanted to take him away from the only thing helping him break his meth habit. They wanted to dump him into a home for problem teenagers when he only needed a healthy dose of TLC. Chris was yet another issue Erik wished he could change, but all of that drama had to wait. He had to put his work behind him for the day so he could go home and just be Erik, maybe unwind and pretend he lived a normal, healthy life.

As soon as he hit the parking lot, his phone started to ring. He fought to get it out of his pants pocket and when he finally had the damn thing in his hand, he looked down at the caller ID. "Shit," he hissed. He'd forgotten to call Marshall.

Erik sighed as he lifted the phone to his ear. "Hey."

"Is everything okay? I didn't hear from you. It worried me."

"Yeah. I got mixed up with an overdose and his boyfriend. Leaving the hospital now."

"You've always had such a huge heart. I often wondered how you did it, how you could take in everyone's pain and try to fix it all. I wondered how you didn't go insane."

"I drank," Erik said in a flat, matter-of-fact voice. The long silence only made an already tense situation worse. Maybe he shouldn't have spat out the answer like did, but the words fell from his lips before his brain had enough sense to stop them. The best thing he could do now was change the subject. Erik looked down at his watch. It was almost nine o'clock. Where did the time go? "I guess it's too late for dinner, huh?"

"I've already eaten, but we could meet for coffee," Marshall offered. "I would love to see you."

"I would love to see you too," Erik said. His voice grew heavy with desire and he could've slapped himself for getting his hopes up like he did. He leaned against the driver's side of his car, lowered his head and said, "I mean, I would love to catch up with you."

"Then let's meet for coffee. I'm staying at the Palomar in Westwood. There's a Starbucks close by. Does that sound okay to you?"

"Yeah, sure. I can be there in thirty, maybe forty-five minutes."

"Great. I'll see you there."

Erik hung up the phone and tossed it into the passenger side of his dirty old beater. Was he seriously going to Westwood looking like something puked up from the bowels of Hollywood's underbelly, in a car that most people in California would consider criminally hazardous to the environment? He sat down in the car and twisted the key in the ignition—nothing. He twisted it again and the car only groaned in protest. On the third try, the damn thing finally came to life.

As he reached the edge of the parking lot, Erik hesitated. Slowly turning his head, he looked to the left, then to the right. He sat for almost a full minute, trying to decide if he would just go home and call Marshall or if he would actually venture off into Westwood—into a night that would probably leave him wishing he'd never taken Marshall's call in the first place.

At forty-nine seconds, he took a left turn toward Westwood, watching the road that led to his inner peace disappear in the rearview mirror.

Chapter Ten

Erik pulled into the parking lot of the Starbucks on Wilshire Boulevard and parked his rusty old beater between a gorgeous, black Mercedes and some sort of exotic sports car thing that no normal person would drive for a quick trip to the coffee shop. He called those 'compensation cars', because normally, the owner of such a beast wanted to compensate for some other shortcomings. Not that Erik would judge—he just didn't understand the need to spend such a gross amount of money on a car.

He crossed the parking lot, and as soon as he stepped through the glass door, the rich, dark scent of fresh-brewed coffee hit him hard. He took a deep breath and a lazy-eyed grin spread across his face. He'd always loved the smell of coffee. When he finally searched the crowded shop, he spotted the soft sprigs of Marshall's dirty-blond hair, contrasting with all of the boring brown, conservative coiffures filling the room.

"Marshall," he called out softly, but loudly enough to get his ex's attention. He held his hand up and Marshall grinned, his tender green eyes sparkling. It nearly melted Erik's heart.

"Can I help you?" the barista asked.

Erik fought to compose himself, to find his brain and his voice. "Venti vanilla latte, soy milk, no whip," he said almost robotically, as if the words had become programmed into his brain. He held out his debit card, but Marshall's fingers wrapped around it.

"Make that two and give us two blueberry scones. I'm paying," he said with a perfect, bright white smile that seemed to glow in contrast to his tanned skin.

"Thank you, but…" Erik said as he slipped his card back in his wallet.

"I know. I wanted to." Marshall handed the barista a twenty and told her to keep the change.

They moved to the end of the bar to wait for their coffee. An air of intensity blossomed between them—an awkward moment brought about by sexual desire from one, which may or may not have been reciprocated by the other. Erik needed Marshall to love him and want him back, but he doubted Marshall would ever want or need him like that again.

"You look good," Marshall finally said. "You've been taking care of yourself."

"You mean I haven't been drinking. I look good because I'm sober."

Marshall shrugged. "Maybe. I'm glad you're sober. I've been counting the days. I'm proud of you."

The barista came back with their lattes and all conversation about the virtues of being sober ceased. Erik was thankful. Sure, being alcohol-free gave him a sense of pride he hadn't had in a long time, but hearing Marshall talk about it reminded him how badly he'd screwed up. He knew Marshall didn't mean to rub anything in his face, but he had. The last thing Erik wanted was to be upset with his ex. Not for this reunion.

"So, how is your heroin addict?" Marshall asked after taking a large sip of his drink.

"He has a really hard road ahead of him, but he has decided he needs help." Erik took a nice long drink of his coffee. "I think he'll be okay." He rubbed the back of his neck and frowned. "As long as his partner sticks by him, I think he'll be okay." Marshall lowered his head. Erik sighed and started to reach for Marshall's hand, but thought better of it. Obviously, his ex had taken the words as a jab, though Erik never intended them that way. "I didn't mean…"

"No. I know you didn't, but I… I should've stayed by your side. I shouldn't have kicked you out."

"Marshall, you kicking me out made me realize I had a problem in the first place. I might still be drinking if you hadn't. You saved me from myself and in a way, I'm thankful. I just hate…" Erik choked up. He could hear the rawness in his own voice. "I hate that my problem cost us so much."

Marshall reached out and touched his hand. "I hate the way things ended too, Erik, but it saved your life. That's all I wanted. I wanted you to see what you were doing to yourself."

Erik's head lowered, jaw clenching. He had to take a silent moment to push away the painful memories of losing the one person who'd ever really stood by him.

"I think about us."

"Me too." Marshall leaned in closer. His voice softened as he added, "I haven't stopped thinking about us."

Erik turned his hand over and laced his fingers with Marshall's. It took everything he had not to cry in the middle of the packed Starbucks. He would give anything to have his ex-partner back in his life. Marshall had made him happy—incredibly happy. Helping people break their addictions might've been rewarding, but Marshall made waking up every day a treat.

He gave Marshall's hand a squeeze. "I still love you."

"Erik, I still love you too." Marshall glanced around the room. "Let's go back to the hotel and talk. It's too loud in here."

Marshall stood. Erik's hazel gaze met his sparkling green eyes. He couldn't say no to that beautiful stare or that perfect, winning smile. He held his ex-partner's hand and together, they walked out of Starbucks and straight to Marshall's Land Rover.

It took no more than ten minutes to drive back to the hotel, no more than five to stumble through the door of Marshall's suite. Their lips locked. They held each other tight as Erik's tongue dove deep into his ex-lover's mouth.

They stumbled past the sleek, black sofa and chrome-legged coffee table, somehow kicking out of their shoes as they passed the dinette and into the darkened bedroom. By the time their intertwined bodies reached the luxurious, king-sized bed, neither of them had their shirts on anymore, and their pants were well on their way to falling to the floor.

With muffled, hearty laughter, they both fell to the bed, leaving their twin khakis piled on the floor. Erik let out a contented purr as Marshall's hands carefully studied the muscled lines of his chest. He lavished kisses down Marshall's slender throat.