Patient Privilege (7 page)

"I love you so much," Marshall said with an airy moan.

Erik stopped kissing him and their eyes met. "I love you" wasn't the first thought to enter his mind, though those three words encompassed everything he felt. No, he had something much more important to say, something that felt more sincere than three hopelessly romantic words he'd said a million times before. So instead of returning the big "L" word, Erik said, "I don't want you to leave."

Chapter Eleven

Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound had lulled Angel to sleep, but every so often a sudden pain or wave of nausea ripped him away from his dreams. Not that he would complain. His dreams weren't made of fairytales with happy endings. Hell, he would've taken fanged monsters with claws or a high-speed chase. But no, Angel got to relive all the stupid bullshit he'd done and every dumb decision he'd made.

His eyelids fluttered, but he couldn't really make out his surroundings. His fingernails gnawed at the medical tape holding the IV to his arm. For a second, he forgot about overdosing or being hospitalized. For a moment, he thought it'd been nothing more than a bad dream. One eye opened, then the other. It took a few tries before he could actually focus enough to see Jon sitting in a chair beside the bed with a hospital blanket curled around his body. So it wasn't a bad dream after all.

"You stayed," Angel said in a gravelly voice.

"I swore I would," Jon said, lifting his head from the back of the chair.

"How long have I been out?"

"Hours. I don't know. I've been dozing off myself."

"Damn. Whatever they put in that IV is kicking my ass."

"I think it's probably morphine, but I'm not a hundred percent sure about that."

As Jon eased up from the chair, a little booklet fell to the floor. Angel saw the white fluttering pages from the corner of his eye. He caught the word "Heroin" in big black letters on the cover. "What's that?" he asked, finger stretching down toward the floor.

"Oh, um… one of the nurses brought it to me. It's a brochure or something. Has to do with heroin addicts and how loved ones cope with someone who wants to kick the habit." Jon shrugged. "It's pretty interesting, I guess. I fell asleep reading it, but I think it's just because I needed to get some rest."

"Oh," Angel mumbled, head rolling back on the pillow so he wouldn't have to keep looking at the one person who'd always been good to him despite his always being a bastard. The way he'd seen Jon acting, how happy he seemed and how attentive he'd been, Angel sort of figured Jon expected them to be together or something once rehab ended. Just because Angel planned on getting clean didn't mean he planned on settling down. Angel didn't see himself being
that
guy.

He felt fingers squeeze around his; he hadn't realized Jon had been holding his hand the entire time. Jon leaned over the bed and kissed his cheek. Angel's rich brown eyes fluttered again. "You feeling any better?" Jon asked. Angel couldn't mistake the caution in his voice, the way the words came out slow and quietly.

"No," Angel croaked. "I want to get high."

Jon's adorable, dimpled smile turned into a frown. "No, you don't really. Do you?"

Angel shrugged. "I wouldn't feel like shit anymore if I did."

"Want me to call the nurse?"

"No. They won't do anything else for me." He felt Jon's fingers release his hand and saw Jon reach back to grab the cloth he'd been brushing across Angel's forehead.

"Let me rinse this. I'll be right back," Jon said, and the promise of a break from the touchy-feely madness was the best relief Angel could've asked for—not that he didn't appreciate Jon staying or anything like that.

Jon walked around to the bathroom and Angel couldn't tear his eyes away. He honestly didn't know why Jon had such an obsessive need to be so good to him. He treated Jon like shit—had since they'd met. Jon loved him. He was
well
aware of that fact. And Jon knew the feelings weren't returned, yet he'd stayed by his side, took care of him, and continued to love him despite his cruelty.

For a second he wondered if—when he got off the smack—he would be capable of loving Jon the way he deserved. He wondered if he could ever return the kindness, the care, and the tenderness Jon had always shown him. Angel wondered if he could ever love anyone or if he was doomed to pay for the shit he'd done in his short time on earth forever.

Angel hissed as soon as he felt Jon brush the warm, damp cloth across his forehead. It wasn't until the moist heat hit his skin that Angel actually realized he'd been shivering. His fingers knotted the blanket at his waist and Jon helped him pull it up to his chin. "Thanks," Angel muttered, staring up at the ceiling instead of watching Jon take care of him.

"Are you hungry?" Jon asked.

Angel made a sickened face. "I don't think I could hold anything down."

"You need to eat something."

"I can't, okay?" Angel's voice grew loud with frustration. His stomach knotted and turned. Thinking of food just made the shit that much worse. No, he didn't want any damn food. "I want to get fucking high! I want out of this place!"

"Baby, you can't go."

"Fuck them!"

Angel started to rise up in the bed. He knew he wouldn't get very far. They had him too doped up or maybe he was too weak. Probably a combination of the two. Whatever it was, it resulted in him being stuck in the hospital bed while Jon worried over every little breath he took. He hated this shit—hated it more than the thought of Jon finding him almost dead in a tub.

"I want out of here!" he demanded again, his voice almost a growl.

Jon shook his head. "Please don't, Angel. Please stay."

"You gotta help me get high, Jon. I can't stay here. I feel like my fucking skin is crawling. Please, just score a hit for me. Just one hit. That's all I need."

"Let me get a nurse," Jon said as he started to walk away, but Angel grabbed his wrist and wrenched him back with what little strength he had left.

"Come on, bro. You love me, right?"

Jon nodded.

"Then do this for me. Please, go see Trez. He'll hook you up."

Jon shook his head, pulled his arm from Angel's grip. "I can't," he choked out, eyes filling with tears. "I can't help you kill yourself."

"Fuck you, Jon! You don't love me! If you loved me, you wouldn't let me suffer like this!"

Angel glared. Jon hugged his body tight as he backed away from the bed. In a soft, defeated voice Jon said, "I'll get a nurse for you," and with that, Jon left him lying alone in his hospital bed, shivering and jonesing for just one harmless little hit.

Chapter Twelve

Erik stared down at Marshall. His ex's bright green eyes filled with a confusing mix of love and remorse. His fingers brushed through Erik's soft caramel-colored hair.

Marshall said, "Make love to me, please? I've missed that almost as much as I've missed waking up next to you every morning."

Lowering his head, Erik pressed his lips to Marshall's mouth. The idea of Marshall staying was a pipe dream, and he had all but confirmed it when he made no promise to stay or even visit. At this point, Erik would take what he could get because it meant time with the man he couldn't seem to get his mind off of, the man who still held his heart. And if they never had another night together, at least they had this one.

Marshall reached down between their bodies. His hand encircled Erik's arousal, thumb stroking the sensitive curve of the head. Erik moaned against his mouth. It had been a long time since he'd felt another man's touch—far too long. The love he still felt for his ex made this whole thing more intense than it might've been had it been any night in their old lives.

"I love you," Erik breathed. He couldn't help himself. Instinct gave him a voice and his heart gave the words life.

"I love you too," Marshall returned in a voice just as airy, filled with lust and need.

Erik's hands smoothed around Marshall's hips, down his cheeks, down the back of his thighs until his palms pressed against Marshall's calves. He gently pushed, leaning against the backs of his ex-lover's legs until his cheeks parted and the head of Erik's erection teased Marshall's warm opening.

Marshall drawled out a low moan. "I haven't been with anyone since you."

"I haven't either," Erik said as he pulled back. "I haven't wanted anyone else." He pushed forward again, toying with his ex-lover's body.

"I'm tight."

"I know."

Marshall rolled his body, leaning for the overnight bag beside the nightstand. "Let me get the lube," he said in a husky, lust-laden voice.

Erik was surprised, to say the least. For a man who hadn't been with anyone in over a year, Marshall sure seemed prepared. Had he come to Los Angeles expecting Erik to have sex with him? Did he expect to leave like nothing had ever happened? For a moment, Erik felt like Marshall might use him for a night of mind-blowing sex, a simple tryst then leave him with his heart aching again. And he might've pulled his pants back on and left, but Marshall's silky, gooey palm wrapped around his hardened sex and Erik lost the will to say no. His eyes rolled back as a moan rumbled up through his body.

"Make love to me, Erik."

Without a moment of hesitation, Erik rolled Marshall's body back into place. His ex-partner's legs pressed against his chest as he leaned down to take Marshall in a way he hadn't in such a long time.

He arched his back, pressed his erection to Marshall's ready opening. He eased the head in, pulled back then pushed a little harder. Marshall's body relaxed, accepted each and every inch until Erik was fully inside of him, bobbing in and out, in and out again.

Erik moaned. Marshall groaned.

It was a beautiful moment between them, a connection they hadn't had in far too long. Erik would've given his soul to keep Marshall in Los Angeles, but he knew better. He knew Marshall would never leave beautiful San Francisco for the hell of LA even if they had a chance of being happier than they'd ever been before. No, Erik needed to take this for what it was—a tryst, not a reconnection, just a one night stand with a lost lover—not a reunion of kindred souls.

And that epiphany gave him the last bit of fortitude he needed to turn this… tryst into something so hot, so mind-blowing and toe-curling, neither of them would be able to easily walk away.

Erik thrust deep inside him, rolled his hips, and pulled back before slamming home again. Each push had a new intensity to it, a new heat and desire. He wanted to make his lover come so hard he would never want to leave him. He wanted to be Marshall's addiction.

He let one leg fall and reached down to grip his lover's throbbing erection, and each time Erik dove inside, his hand met the same hurried rhythm—up and down, in and out. He pulled out, teased Marshall's opening until his ex-partner whimpered in agony and need, then thrust back in again.

They kept up that salacious dance, Erik stroking Marshall's body and his sex. Suddenly Marshall's back arched and he called out to God to help him. He panted and moaned, eyes closing as he cried out Erik's name. Erik couldn't have asked for better praise.

As soon as Marshall's body gripped his erection, Erik picked up the pace until he felt his own pressure about to explode. He pulled back and stabbed down with so much passion he couldn't hold back a moment longer. He came so hard his voice cracked as he cried out Marshall's name.

Panting, he let Marshall's legs fall as he slipped out of his body. Erik gathered his ex into his arms and held him tight. "I don't want to be without you," he rasped.

Marshall's arms wrapped around Erik's waist, and he laid his head against Erik's heaving chest. "I don't want to be without you either, Erik. Come back to San Francisco with me."

Erik couldn't respond. He would've killed to be back home with Marshall in their perfect little house with their perfect little lives. He would've given his soul to feel that love again. He opened his mouth to say something when his phone rang. It was the hospital. "I have to take this," he said as he reluctantly let go of Marshall's body.

"Dr Daniels," he said into the phone as Marshall stood and padded toward the bathroom.

"I'm sorry for bothering you," the voice on the other end said. "It's Jon. The hospital called you for me. I told them it was an emergency."

Erik frowned. "What's wrong, Jon?"

"He says he's leaving, Dr Daniels. Angel said he wanted to get high and no one could stop him. I told him I would leave if he did." Jon's voice trembled as if he were trying to hold back his tears. "I don't want to leave him. I don't want to see him do this to himself, but I don't know what else to do."

"Just stay there. I'm on my way." Erik ended the call, looked over at Marshall as he pulled his khakis up his legs and grabbed his shirt. He slipped his feet back into his shoes and said, "I have to go. Please don't leave town before we have a chance to talk."

Marshall closed the distance between them. He helped Erik settle his shirt into place then kissed him with a depth and passion Erik needed to feel. "I promise I won't. Please, think about what I said, okay?"

"I will." Erik kissed him again. "I love you."

"I love you too, Erik."

He tore out of Marshall's hotel room, his mind so lost in the throes of passion, lost in the urgency of helping Angel and Jon, that he forgot he'd ridden back from Starbucks with Marshall. He waved his arm in the air and the first taxi to zoom by slammed on its brakes.

"Take me to Starbucks on Wilshire and make it fast."

Chapter Thirteen

It took Erik maybe forty-five minutes to get to the hospital. He'd pushed his little import car to the limit and the damn thing whined in protest, but it got him there and in record time considering the never-ending LA traffic. In most cities, at almost one in the morning during the work week, traffic would've been nonexistent, but not in the city of lost angels where only the dead sleep.

His brown leather loafers pounded against the off-white linoleum floor as he ran toward Angel's room. He didn't know what to expect, didn't know if Angel would be subdued or convulsively sick or in the abusive stage of a junkie's detox. He hoped, for Jon's sake, Angel hadn't reached the latter yet. Jon seemed a little too fragile to go through something that horrible and heartbreaking alone.