1
They want me to pull the plug on him. I won't. Not now, not ever.
Word is he could go any day now. I refused to believe it. Sitting here with him now, holding my new husband's fragile, pasty white hand, my fingers entwined with his; I just refused to believe what they were telling me.
Sometimes all that you've got is hope. And hope I have. I won't let them take that from me.
Prayer can work miracles, so can love. Love is so dynamic and all-encompassing. It’s its own force of nature, changing and influencing all those that it crosses. It can heal anything. Even a brain-dead man hit by a semi.
Looking around the small room, I could only sigh. The fluorescent lights washed his face out to the point where he was almost unrecognizable, the gentle rasp of the breathing machine and the monotonous beep of his heart monitor offered no comfort at all.
I took Edward by the hand, giving it a kiss as I whispered, "Don't worry, baby. I'll protect you." It was just soft enough for him and him alone to hear. Somehow, I knew that he had heard. At least I hoped.
My mother, loving her as much as I did, chose that tender moment to step inside the room. Biting her lip, she gave a soft sigh as she saw me holding my husband’s hand. She knows I don't want to talk anymore. We've been over this, and I'm not budging.
"Cody, there's something else," Her expression was more troubled than usual as she gazed at Edward and me.
"What is it?" I asked, trying to control my growing exasperation. The last few days she had been bugging and pushing me; never failing to offer gentle reminders of just how dire my situation was. I'm just so mentally exhausted and worn down physically that I was having a hard time masking my contempt and anger.
They told me that I have bags under my eyes, and I can't remember the last time I combed my hair or even bothered to wash my face. The past few months have been a living hell. Ironic that the love of my life can't wake while I can barely sleep.
"Edward's grandmother is trying to get a court order to force them to pull the plug," my mother said cautiously, still biting down on her lip as she gauged my reaction. She knew how volatile I could become and clearly didn’t want to add fuel to the fire.
"What?" My heart stopped in its tracks. "I'm his husband." I sputtered, my voice was raspy and disbelieving.
"They're going to fight this, son, and they could win. One way or another, you're going to have to say goodbye."
"Over my dead body," I spat out, the words breaking through my clenched teeth. My mother knows better than to push the issue and judging by the way her shoulders are hunched and her head is bowed, she’s aware that’s just what she’d done.
I prepare myself to continue my argument, wanting nothing more than to explode. But before I do, I manage to catch her eye. She’s looking down at the floor, trying her hardest not to make the situation any worse. And that’s when I realize that I've hurt her feelings.
It's not her fault. I know that. I just want so badly to be able to blame someone. "I'm sorry," I whispered, too ashamed to look at her.
Desperate to do something, anything that might contribute, I place an extra knitted blanket on top of Edward to keep him warm. It feels like an icebox in here, and it's the least I can do to keep my baby comfortable. I know that he would appreciate it.
Only twenty-years-old and all I can think is "what a waste of his life."
I love him. It’s as simple as that.
Actually, no it isn’t. It’s so much more. Love doesn't even come close to how I feel about my Edward. Love is only a word, created by men to describe a feeling that they couldn’t have possibly known.
How can I say, love, when what we have transcends that? Edward has become the air that I breathe and my reason for living? Just being around him fills my soul with warmth and my heart with a tenderness that I had never known.
The worst part is that I know this accident that happened is all my fault. That’s what sickens me the most, knowing what I could have done. It hurts just to think about it.
I clench my teeth and take a deep, calming breath. I could feel my anger rising, and I know that I need to be careful to watch it. My anger won't help Edward come back from the brink of death. Only my love for him can do that.
As I give his hand another squeeze, I can only think of all the plans we had made together; so many dreams that would never have a chance to be fulfilled.
I should never let him go. I know that now more than ever.
~~~
I can still remember the first time Edward walked into my life, clear as day as if it happened yesterday not years ago. There was a literal eruption inside me like nothing I had ever experienced before. It made my knees shake and stomach drop. It was like nothing I had never felt.
Before that, since the horrible break up with my ex two years previously, I thought of guys as anything but conquests. A good lay and that was is.
The day my life changed forever, I was supposed to be with my best friend, Aaron. He wanted to meet at the apartment we shared to practice a new song for our band. He’d been raving about it for ages and now and wanted to start working on it as quickly as possible. But, I just wasn’t feeling it.
Don’t get me wrong; I loved the band, I did. I’d been a part of it since we formed, so I was one hundred percent invested. But being cooped up with them, 24/7 took its toll sometimes.
So instead of that, I was alone, tuning my guitar in the makeshift garage we'd rented back in Beaverton, Oregon.
The place was a hole, to say the least. I really should have been remodeled—no, torn down—decades ago. Scattered throughout the crowded unit, our equipment looked like a tribute to The Rolling Stones. Lined with concrete, mothballs, and rusted metal, it reeked like a cheese factory and looked like a bomb site. But it was ours, and I loved it for that reason alone.
It was while I was in the middle of tuning my guitar that he walked in; Edward that is. He sauntered in the open door as if he'd walked onto a million-dollar yacht.
Strawberry blonde hair rested on his shoulders; his flawless skin marred only by a smattering of light freckles, his eyes the color of the ocean -- a deep blue that I could stare into for hours; ones that I would want to get lost in.
His face contorted in disgust, he wiped the dust off the doorframe above his head as he entered the room. "This place is a fire hazard."
I plucked the strings of my bass guitar, giving them an extra violent twang to signal my distaste for what he had just said. "Excuse me?"
"You deaf?" He folded his arms, leaning against the door now. "And ever heard of a mop or air freshener?"
I shook the long hair out of my face, all the better for him to see me, and me him. "Whatever. What do you want?" I asked dismissively, staying focused on my bass.
"I read online you're giving music lessons, right?" He strolled to the keyboard and ran his fingers over the keys as if he owned the place.
"Don't touch that, and no, not anymore."
Like a big child, he poked at the keys again, as if daring me to do something about it. "Why not?"
"Changed my mind," I said. Seeing that he wasn’t going away, I abandoned the tuning, for now, joining him at the keyboard.
A semblance of a mischievous smile curved his lips as his eyes searched the room. It wasn’t like he was taking in the room per se, but more like he was looking for something else to touch. It was as if he was getting some inane pleasure from annoying me. "So, you said you'd do it in the ad, but now you won't?"
"Too much hassle and too many broke assholes," I said as my eyes followed him, wondering what he was going to touch next. There was something about him that I found intriguing. Anyone else I would have told to fuck off a long time ago, but for some reason, I was giving him a free pass. "Do you always walk around other people's places touching their stuff and snooping around? Wanna take a seat or something?"
He placed his hands on his hips as he looked around the room; lips pursed in confusion. "Take a seat where? On the dirty floor or the filthy futon?
"What?" I asked with indignation as I raised a brow.
Did this guy really come here to insult me? On the one hand, he was right. The floor was filthy, and so was the futon. But on the other hand, that wasn’t really the point. We didn't have much, true, but we were serious about our music and determined to make it. Having a band may have started out as a way for us to get laid, but now it was more than that. It was a way of life. Unfortunately, that way of life often left us without the finer things; things that this snob clearly deemed a necessity.
"So... which am I? A hassle, an asshole or broke?" He tilted his head, widening his eyes as he waited for the answer. That same wry smile still on his lips.
Two could play that game. "My guess is all of the above."
"You're a real charmer," he mumbled with sarcasm, flipping his hair over his shoulder as he strutted past me. His shoes clicked and clacked as he walked, echoing against the concrete floor. They were expensive too, practically screaming out with every step that they didn’t belong here. I didn’t have much time to marvel at the shoes though. Instead, I couldn’t help but watch his tight, sexy body walk away.
Every curve was exactly where it should be; wide shoulders, tight little bubble butt. My imagination was quick to go places it shouldn't.
Now, nobody back then knew about my interest in men. I kept that secret close to my chest. Even my best friend didn’t know about it. I was good at hiding it too. But with Edward, it was hard to hide.
My mother was an old-fashion type and always believed in love at first sight. I'd always laughed at her for it, dismissing it as romantic nonsense. But as I watched this hottie strut across my room, I couldn’t help but have the feeling that my mother would be getting the last laugh this time.
Everything about Edward screamed class. From his expensive clothes, down to the way that he walked, I could tell that he was a real gentleman, and a gentleman like that deserved to be treated with respect. Now that was something that I hadn't done in quite some time.
I didn’t want to admit it, but this guy had me already, despite how much of an asshole he was being. I was going to have to play this cool and be a good boy, which wasn't an easy feat for a guy like me.
"Charmer? Yeah? Not too bad yourself. Hey, stop touching things. Cool it, will you?" I growled, growing a little irritated. I had to bite back my venom, reminding myself who I was talking to.
"Did you just tell me to ‘cool it'?" He asked, gasping in mockery and then looking at me with false irritation. I was annoyingly adorable.
I wasn't usually into more feminine guys, to be honest, but something about him really turned me on from the get-go.
Damn, he's so fucking gorgeous I can't stay annoyed at him.
It would later become uncanny, but I was able to pick up on his mannerisms and ticks instantly. "Now, who's deaf?" I asked coyly, titling my head a little.
His eyes lit up as a mischievous grin formed on his face again. It was as if he enjoyed the challenge of a man who would stand up to him. It was probably something that didn’t happen too often.
"That your bike parked out front?" He walked back to the keyboard, pulling out the seat and crossing his legs as he sat down; but not before he wiped the seat clean.
"Yeah. Why?"
"Hmm." There was a glint in his eye.
"Hmm, good? Or hmm, bad?"
"What do you want it to be, good or bad?" he teased.
My imagination stirred with what I could say. I was pretty used to groupies throwing themselves at me, so this kind of back and forth was nothing to me. But I bit my tongue, reminding myself that I had to be a gentleman.
"Triumph Tiger?" He asked.
"Yep," I said, surprised a guy like him would notice.
"1200 Explorer, right? 950-watt alternator?" he said, brushing his nails casually as he rattled off the facts.
"Yeah, you know bikes?" A fancy guy who liked bikes? Now that was hot. Add that to those eyes and his attitude, and I was positively chomping at the bit to get more. That wasn’t to mention his long muscular thighs, and as my eyes flicked down to them, I could only wonder where they led.
"I hope so. My dad owned a chain of motorcycle shops," he said. "I like your tattoos."
That was it. What straight guy compliments another about his tattoos? This guy was definitely on the same team.
I made sure to flex my muscles as I set my guitar down in its stand. My arms were wrapped in a series of different designs, covering and snaking their way around my biceps and triceps. I worked out a lot, and it was moments with a guy like this, which made me glad I did.
"You like tattoos?" I asked him, flexing my arm again.
"Yep," he said, blushing a little. It was the first time he looked even remotely vulnerable.
"Got any?" I asked him, eyeing him up and down in a very obvious way.
"Not that you can see," he teased.
"When can I see them?" I asked in a low, sultry voice. The tension in the room was palpable now as there was no doubt in my mind that he knew exactly where this was leading.
"So... lessons?" he asked, changing the subject as he shot me a pair of ‘come get me’ eyes.
I liked this guy. He was strong, sassy, wild, spoke his mind and could more than hold his own. I wanted to tame him, and I would go out of my way to do just that… or at least have fun trying.
I had to stop myself there for a second. I never imagined I'd ever entertain the thought since my ex-girlfriend. This guy really was something special.
I was into both guys and girls. If a girl was hot, I wanted her. If a guy was too, then the same thing. I always figured why limit your options? The way I saw it was that I was getting double the pleasure.
"Piano or guitar?"
"Piano, of course." He flipped on the keyboard.
"It's fifty dollars a lesson," I offered, blocking his view from the keyboard. God, he smelled good; expensive too. I couldn’t name the scent, and that alone indicated that he was way out of my league. But I didn’t care. I was intrigued, to say the least.
"Are you insane? I'll pay you twenty," he bartered, leaping up to challenge me, head-on.
Man, he looks good.
"Forty and we'll grab some burgers," I shot back. I couldn’t help but grin at my own smoothness. I may have to open up those lessons again, just for him.
"Fifteen and I don't do dinner on the first date." He let the word ‘date,’ drip from his lips as he ran the tip of his tongue over them.
"Date?" Suddenly, this had become very real, and I began to get nervous. Could I trust this guy to keep his mouth shut about my interest in men? It wasn’t that I was ashamed or anything. It was the band that I was worried about. How would it affect my image?
But something about him told me I could. Besides, for this guy, it was worth the risk. "No?" I whispered, my voice husky as I stepped over the line into his personal space.
My eyes fought to maintain his stare as all I wanted to do was drink in every inch of his muscular body.
"No. I don't want to get stuck with you longer than necessary."
"Longer than necessary for what?" My eyebrows furrowed feigning confusion as I tried to hide the smile on my lips.
"To know..." he said, letting the word hang in the air as he looked away.
"To know what?"
He suddenly turned his eyes back to me, as if daring me to fill in the blanks.
"Do we get to ride on your bike?" he asked, changing the subject again. It was a constant dance with him, and I had to do my best to keep up.
"Does that mean you'll hang with me?" I asked hopefully, but not trying to sound too excited at the same time.
He pondered my question for a beat, and every second of that beat dragged on like an eternity. He must have known, the way he dragged out. "Fine, only because I want a ride on your bike. Don't get any other ideas."
In a moment of inspiration, I reached up and flicked his nipple which was pointing from out of his shirt. It was a risky thing to do, but I didn’t care. I had him, and he had me. "And what kind of ideas would those be?"
He placed his hands on my chest, nudging me back a step. "I know of a nice little kosher restaurant a few miles away."
"Your wish is my desire."
He smiled. "We'll see about that."
~~~
As I looked at this young man, sitting across from me at some kosher dive place I'd never stepped foot in before, I wondered how I had gotten such a hot, classy guy all to myself, even if it was only for dinner.
Honestly, I'd preferred to have taken him to a better place for dinner. I wanted a chance to show him that I had as much class as he did. But, oddly enough, he insisted we go to Arnold's Deli -- one of Beaverton’s finest establishments… well, not quite.
This guy was a walking irony. He was classy but didn't mind dumps like this. He was feisty, but I sensed there was a softer side that he liked to hide. I also had the sneaking suspicion that it was all carefully conceived and worked out… just the perfect amount of contradiction to keep most guys interested, me in particular.
Having a rock band in such a small town, I had my set of male and female groupies. And though they had their benefits, they were also obsessively clingy. This guy was anything but. The total opposite of what I become accustomed to.
Edward was confident in ways that I’d never really seen before. He didn't miss a beat and wasn’t afraid to call me on my crap. I'd never met anyone quite like him. I’d been through a pretty tough breakup recently and that had managed to keep me on guard for some time. But somehow, he was able to dodge my barriers with ease; dissolving my reservations at every turn.
"You didn't even introduce yourself, you know?" he scolded playfully, interrupting my thoughts. He broke apart a piece of bread, delicately popping it into his mouth. He was careful with his tongue as he did, flicking it around his mouth.
"Neither did you." I scooted the stool closer to him, smelling that minty scent. I had to get closer to him.
"Not my job to introduce myself," he said, slowly chewing the bread as he stared me down.
"And why not?" I had to hear this one.
"Because I'm the guest, silly." He grinned playfully, throwing a piece of the straw wrapper at my forehead.
"And?" I chuckled, throwing a piece back at him.
"And guests don't have to do that sort of thing; it's your job."
"Whatever," I mumbled, rolling my eyes and picking at my salad. It tasted like rabbit food, and I was having a hard time keeping it down.
"Are you always this lovable?" His eyes flicked over the tattoos on my arms, smiling with his eyes as he absorbed them.
"Are you always this beautiful?" I winked, leaning forward and gazing into his ocean blue eyes. Seriously, those things were beyond dreamy.
My heart pounded when I was near him. I could sense the tension between us and I just had to ask, "So, how did you know...?"
"Know what?" he shot back, wiping his mouth with a napkin. It was pretty obvious that he knew exactly what I was talking about. He just wanted to make me say it.
"You know that... I might be interested in... dudes," I stumbled, in the most indelicate of ways, not really sure how to put it.
"I didn't. I just hoped that's all." He gave me that sexy, mischievous smile, then he bit his bottom lip, and I could tell my proximity was affecting him. I just hoped there was a most remote chance that he was as into me as I was him. "You shouldn't pick at your food; it's rude."
He was playing and changing the subject in an attempt to keep me on my toes. I could tell that he was anything but boring. Then, unexpectedly, he reached across the table and placed his soft hand on mine. His smooth skin on my hand sent a pulse of electricity up my arm as I had to stop myself from gasping. It was the first time we touched, and I'll never forget that moment. It was like a missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle, finally being put in place.
The best part was that I knew he felt it too. At that moment, the dynamic in the room completely changed as everything around us became forgotten. He looked at me, and I looked at him; without a care in the world for anything that was happening around us. His hand remained on mine, and his breathing pattern changed dramatically too. It was no longer slow and in control, but erratic and full of passion. Well, that and he couldn't let go of me.
His touch gave me peace that I hadn’t felt in a long time. It was as if I was coming home after a treacherous journey of broken hearts.
"Anything else, sir?" I replied, smiling, despite myself. "How old are you anyway?"
"Well, monsieur. I'm only nineteen."
Surprise lifted my brow. "You know French?"
"I hope so; I studied it for four years. Half my professors at the fashion university are French."
"I hope there are no French guys sniffing around you," I told him. It was a little more forward than I wanted to be, but I needed to know if he had a boyfriend or anything of the equivalent. I was through playing games.
"Maybe, maybe not," he teased, his hand still on top of mine. "One thing about the French, they know how to treat a boy."
"And I don't?"
"That's yet to be seen."
"Oh, and how's that?" I asked, grinning now. This guy didn't have any problem expressing himself, and I loved it.
"You didn't open the door for me when we came in here. You didn't pull out my chair, and you didn't let me order first," he admonished, waving his hand around in an exaggerated fashion as he counted off each accusation.
"Here's the thing, mon chér. This is me, babe. You don't like it, then one of us has a problem and it ain't me."
He arched an eyebrow as if he'd been challenged to a duel. "Oh?"
"And," I went on to say. "If I'm so awful, why are you still here?"
"Because I'm hungry, and you're paying," he declared, crumbling a napkin and tossing it at my head.
"Oh, I'm paying for this date all right," I teased him.
"Date? Who says this is a date?" The way he tried to hide his smile by dipping his head made my heart skip a beat. He was as nervous as I was. I only hoped that he was praying for the same outcome.
"Beautiful man like you, in a fine establishment like this, I'd call it a date," I said with an air of confidence. "Makes me wonder, why hasn't someone snapped you up yet?"
He flashed me a frown, before trying to cover it back up. It was clumsy and the first time I’d really seen his façade slip. It made me wonder if he were thinking about a painful past relationship and something I had said brought back flashes.
In an attempt to hide the obvious moment of vulnerability, he shot me an over-the-top smile and said, "Well, maybe not everyone is as kind, charming and funny as you."
Knowing that I had him, I took his hand in mine and kissed the back of it. It was warm to the touch and tasted the way he smelled. The whole time I never removed my eyes from his. I wanted him to know exactly what I was thinking. "Maybe not everyone sees how amazing you are."
A shade of pink suddenly erupted across his cheeks, and I couldn’t help but smile. I had made him blush. It was that moment when I knew for sure. This incredible being was going to be much more than just another conquest to me; he was special.
He was smart, witty and insatiably clever. How he'd dealt with the waiter earlier, solid eye contact and a polite manner, told me he cared about people; despite his obvious social standing. The waiter had fumbled our order, and Edward had given him the sweetest smile while he corrected him, never looking down his nose or treating him like he was less of a person for it.
But it was more than all that. There was a pain in his eyes that made me want to protect him. I wanted to know where that pain came from and show him that not every guy was going to hurt him. I couldn't help it, that’s just who I was.
My best friend, Aaron, had always joked that I had a bleeding heart. He wasn’t wrong either. It had gotten me in trouble in the past. And I could already tell that it was going to get me in trouble again. I just couldn't help but put my heart on the line for this man. Not only that, but I wanted to desperately.
"Why don't you have anyone?" he asked.
"Did, but... when you don't make a million bucks a year like the guy she was seeing behind my back..."
"Oh, so you're... bi?" he asked, a hint of jealousy in his voice. It made me smile.
"I like whatever looks good," I replied casually. By the look of his expression, it was pretty clear that he wasn't pleased with that answer one little bit.
"Sorry to hear what she did to you. What was her name?"
Even with this perfect guy in front of me, I still had a hard time saying her name. Every time I did, all the feelings of the past rushed forth, exploding out of me like a volcano. I had tried to get past it, but it just wasn’t that simple. "Marie." I managed to say, sighing to myself as I did.
"Marie. Even sounds like a snob."
I laughed.
He tilted his head to the side, studying me for a while. Those eyes of his boring into me. "You know, I can tell things about you."
"Oh? Things?" I arched my eyebrow. It was a line that I had heard many times before. "What kind of things?"
"Like, give you a bath and a haircut, and you're cute enough that you might make a half-decent boyfriend."
"Put you in anything, and you're gorgeous and smart enough, you might make an amazing boyfriend." I shot back, trying to contain my excitement at the mere mention of the word boyfriend.
"Who says I'm interested?" He asked, his smile screaming the opposite of his words.
"Who says you're not?" I had to hand it to him; he didn't hold back. It was then that I realized I didn’t even know his name and him mine. It was just another testament to how wrapped in the moment we both were. "Cody White." I offered.
"Cody... interesting. Is that your real name or your stage name?"
"Real," I told him, extending my hand.
"Fine, I'm Edward Lohan." He slid his hand into mine, and I felt that instant jolt of pleasure I had before; his soft hands offering a simpatico to my hardened, calloused ones.
"What's your middle name?" I asked.
"Curtis."
I smiled. "Nice."
"Yep, Edward Curtis Vizcarra-Lohan."
"Beautiful. Sounds exotic."
"If you call being half Irish, half Latino exotic. What's yours?"
"Oscar."
"Cody Oscar White. C.O.W. Moo...!" He suddenly cracked up at his own joke, as if it were the funniest, most original in the whole world. I had to laugh too. His innocence and enthusiasm were intoxicating. Of course, I'd heard it a million times before. Since I was in preschool, it had been a common joke. But from him, it was nothing short of endearing.
I glanced down at my watch and was surprised to see two hours had already passed since we had arrived. We'd talked, laughed, and joked about everything under the sun. Even still, I wasn't ready to let him go. I felt like we could talk about nothing at all and the time would still fly.
I leaned closer; my eyes flicked to his lips and back to his eyes as I rasped, "Well, mon chér. I wonder if a fancy guy such as yourself is too fancy for me to invite to my gig tonight."
I couldn’t believe that I had actually caught him off guard with that question. It seemed like the next obvious step. But still, he swallowed hard as I asked it; the reality of my lifestyle coming back to the forefront. "So, I can be around all your groupies?" There was a slight edge to his voice.
"I'll give you first dibs," I joked, cracking a smile.
"No thanks, I don't share."
A soft silence settled between us for a moment as the reality of what he said sunk in. There was no doubt now that he had been done wrong by. I needed to make sure to erase any doubt he might have of me.
I nodded at him, forcing his gaze to mine. I needed him to understand how serious I was. I needed him to see it in my eyes as well as hear it in my words. "Neither do I," I told him in a steely tone. "So, are you coming or not?"
"Do I get backstage passes?" He lifted his chin, holding my stare. This guy didn’t miss a beat.
"It's at a bar, and the only backstage pass is the broom closet, babe."
He held his gaze on me for a second longer, tantalizing me with the silence before finally replying, "I'll take it."