The incessant beeping. The smell of bleach and dying flowers and sometimes much worse. Indecipherable codes on the PA. An occasional cackle of pleasant laughter from the nurses’ station, where pain and blood and even death were daily occurrences.

Chris had been awake and by his husband’s side now for more than twenty-four hours.

Raff’s golden-brown complexion was now almost as pale as the white bandage that wrapped around his head and covered one eye. There were still streaks of blood matted in his hair, though the bleeding had been staunched immediately after the accident. His left arm and ribs were wrapped in casts, and both legs were covered in bandages that had to be changed frequently due to road rash. He was breathing on his own though, his heartbeat steady if slightly weak, and there were no symptoms of traumatic brain injury. Those were good signs. But until that very moment, he had been unconscious.

As soon as Chris saw the flutter of his eyelids, he rose from the chair and gripped Raff’s right hand. He mashed the button to call for a nurse, yelled at an orderly who was wheeling a laundry cart past and then began to call Raff’s name over and over again until he opened his eyes, rolled them around a bit, and finally focused on Chris.

“Heeey,” he drawled. He was on a lot of drugs. His sleepy smile faded as he began to notice his surroundings and, when he realized that a good percentage of his body was wrapped up in a hard shell, he whispered, “Not again. What happened?”

Chris had been stewing in his own ambivalent emotions—fear, hope, anger—for far too long. “What happened? Don’t tell me you don’t remember trying to race that silver hatchback down an icy forest road? Or is living dangerously just second nature to you these days?” He didn’t want to scare Raff, or make him feel too bad, so he tried to sound playful. It just came out as bitingly sarcastic. He needed to get a grip.

Raff was too out of it to notice. A nurse came in and spoke to him while checking his responses and his vitals. She told Chris that everything looked good and that she would page the doctor, but to not expect him until the morning. The lack of concern was almost comforting. Surely that was a good sign.

“The silver car? Is he okay?” Raff wanted to know.

“Just a bit of a headache, as far as I can tell.” Chris replied. “He was protected by a few thousand pounds of metal and some airbags.”

“Good.” Raff closed his eyes again, his lips pressed into a peaceful smile, and soon he was breathing deeply.

Chris snorted with amusement, and then sat back down in the uncomfortable molded plastic chair that had been his spot for more than a day. Last night, a nurse offered him a cot, but he turned her down, wanting to stay alert in case Raff awoke and needed him. Tonight, he would take her up on it. He’d gained weight in the past few weeks with the pregnancy, and he felt heavy and stiff and sore. His butt was numb.

Even as Raff slept though, he hung on tightly to Chris’s hand.

The nightmare began yesterday morning with a phone call from Raff’s number. Chris asked him how his day off was going, before an Alaska Highway Patrol Officer announced herself. An icy blast of panic knocked Chris back in his seat, but a minute later he was running out the door, leaving Yolanda to deal with a room full of clients.

He didn’t even call Denise until after he had been sitting in the hospital waiting room for an hour, waiting on news. After the doctor explained Raff’s condition—vitals strong, too soon to tell, and he would likely need surgery on his arm and shoulder (“Not again,” Chris responded, a full day before Raff said the exact same thing)—Chris called Denise to check on Elizabeth and then his folks to break the news. After that, he found Sam’s number in Raff’s contacts and left a message with his wife, then let his assistant at Mountainview Rehab know what was up. Those fifteen minutes were emotionally grueling. Everyone asked questions and Chris realized how very little he knew.

Chris’s mother and sister booked the next available flight. He tried to talk them out of it with a half-hearted “Are you sure?” but was relieved to know that support was on its way. Elizabeth needed to be with family.

When he was allowed back to sit by Raff’s bed, he forced himself to keep his cool by observing what was going on around them. It was amazing how calm it all seemed. Shows like Gray’s Anatomy and ER made it seem like every minute in the emergency room was utter chaos, with doctors and nurses running down halls and hooking up bags of blood on the fly. But instead, people in scrubs were walking by casually, stopping to read charts or ask about someone’s blind date, drinking coffee, tapping on keyboards and generally just being normal and boring.

He heard one nurse tell another about a car wreck patient with whiplash who needed naproxen and to be wheeled up to X-ray, and Chris craned his neck to look for the fellow. That bed was curtained off like the rest of them. The next time the nurse stopped in, Chris explained that Raff needed police protection due to the paparazzi problem and, until a cop showed up to stand lookout, Chris did it himself. When Raff was relocated upstairs, his body now in casts, police officers took shifts sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair just like Chris’s. It ended up being an unnecessary precaution, but Chris was glad they were there.

Chris was grateful for the drugs that were protecting Raff from the pain of broken bones and head wounds and bad memories. Not long ago, when Raff finally told him about that horrible accident sixteen years ago, Chris cried for that little sixteen-year-old boy who was scared and alone and full of shame.

“I was already six-foot tall,” Raff said, when Chris blubbered out his thoughts.

“I mean, you were little on the inside. Still a child.”

Raff nodded then, as if it had never occurred to him that, yes, he had only been a boy.

The situation was different now. Raff wasn’t drunk, no one else was badly injured, and surely the silver-hatchback driver bore some responsibility for chasing his husband down a dangerous road. But there would still be fear and pain. It was good that Raff could avoid that for just a few more hours. Reality would set in soon enough.

“Christopher?” a familiar shrill voice filled the corridor outside the room.

Chris cringed. Oh, God. Mom.

“Christopher Chambers? Where are you?”

He got up from his chair quickly, hoping to stop her before she woke up any patients. By the time he opened Raff’s door, Chris’s mom was having a confrontation with the police officer. The poor young guy looked terrified of Mrs. Chambers. She had long ago perfected Who do you think you are? and Let me speak to your supervisor. She had that look in her eye.

“Mom?”

“Oh, Chris, there you are,” she said pointedly to the cop, as if to say I told you so. She was good at that one too.

Chris’s sister, Caroline, stood behind their mother, rolling her eyes. As the two women walked past the officer and into Raff’s room, Caroline mouthed Sorry to the cop. Her face was red.

“I didn’t realize you guys were coming straight here,” Chris said, as he hugged the women. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

“We knew you might need us, for moral support or just so you could go get a cup of cof—Oh, Raff!” Mrs. Chambers got a good look at the patient and clutched her hands to her heart. “Is he going to be okay?”

Chris hadn’t had a chance to tell them the latest yet, and even Caroline had her hands pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide and wet. He really did look bad.

Raff’s eyes opened. “Oh, hey, Mrs. C.”

“Why!” Mrs. Chambers reached out and slapped Raff’s hand as if scolding him. “You scared me half to death, Rafael. Now, tell me how you are.”

Raff claimed he knew nothing, and closed his eyes again, so Chris went down the laundry list of injuries, their respective treatments and prognoses.

“He’ll be here for a while. But he’ll be okay.”

The women had magazines and candy and small bottles of vodka from the airplane, and settled down to distract and entertain Chris for a while. He pulled out his phone and showed them all of the most recent pictures of Elizabeth. After offering to stay the night at the hospital, and being refused, Mrs. Chambers claimed that she had only come to Alaska to see her precious granddaughter anyway. Aaron was coming at seven PM to bring the women to Stellar Landing, where they would stay with Elizabeth in the condo, and no doubt spoil her rotten. Chris also suspected that his mother would rearrange all the furniture and clean the house with bleach.

“Speaking of adorable niblings,” Caroline said, nodding at Chris’s belly. It had only been about six weeks since he saw his sister last, but he knew that he was beginning to take on that second-pregnancy fullness that he didn’t have the first time. “You’re taking care of yourself, aren’t you? Where did you sleep last night?”

“On a cot,” he lied, wanting to avoid an argument that he wouldn’t win. “The staff are great. And yes, I’m eating.” That part was horrifically true. They brought two lunches earlier, in case Raff woke up, and Chris ate both. Two sandwiches, two soups, two jellos.

She patted Chris’s tummy lightly. “Maybe twins this time? Or triplets?”

She was a merciless tease, always had been, and Chris shot her a dirty look.

“You go wash your mouth out with soap,” he replied.

“She has a point, sweetheart. You’re big as a house. In a good way.”

“Gee, thanks, Mom. How about you tell me what you think about my receding hairline now?”

By the time Aaron showed up to bring the women to Stellar Landing, Chris was ready for a break. He was almost desperate to talk to a dude for a change, but there weren’t any immediately available.

Raff woke up here and there. He was doing well, but the painkillers kept him sleepy and loopy, and sometimes he didn’t make a lot of sense. He seemed to mix up his dreams with reality. He laughed for no apparent reason every once in a while.

A cot was brought in at Chris’s request, and he lay side by side with his husband, close enough to hold hands. Whenever Chris needed to let go, Raff tightened his grip so hard that Chris had to loosen each finger one at a time and, when Chris replaced his hand in Raff’s right palm, he gripped it tightly again.

It feels good to be needed, Chris thought to himself, and then he felt guilty for getting any sort of positive feeling from his husband’s injuries. It was just that, so often, Raff was the strong one. It was nice to return the favor.

The overhead lights were finally dimmed, but the hallway was bright and the nurses and staff spoke in normal tones. The PA went off every few minutes. Chris thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep, but his exhaustion caught up to him.

When the nurse came by for the 11pm check, both men were asleep, still holding hands.

***

“Wake your pussy ass up.”

Chris shot up in alarm and confusion, sleep still cloaking his senses. A bald black guy in a wheelchair was at the foot of Raff’s bed, his arms crossed, with a look of mock derision on his face. The on-duty cop stood behind him, looking uncertain.

No scrubs or coat, not a doctor; never seen him at Stellar Landing; never met him at Mountainview; a patient?

Before Chris could say anything though, Raff spoke up.

“Sam? What the hell are you doing here?” Raff’s words were slow and he struggled but managed to grab the bed-lift and sit upright, all the while smiling like a goon at his visitor. “Chris, it’s Sam!”

Chris indicated to the cop that the man was a friend. The cop looked uncertain but went back to his post.

Sam rolled over to Chris’s cot and shook his hand in both of his, with great enthusiasm. “So good to meet you, Chris. Finally. Our boy promised me it would be sooner rather than later, but I guess something came up.”

Chris laughed. “I guess you could say that.” He stood and ran his hands through his hair, slightly embarrassed to be caught asleep by a total stranger. He wondered if they sold toothbrushes in the gift shop or if a nurse might have an extra at the station.

Sam’s brows rose dramatically when he took in Chris’s form. “And I guess he forgot to tell me that you’re expecting.” He gave Raff a dirty look.

Raff just giggled, closed his eyes, and fell asleep with his mouth open.

“Good drugs?” Sam asked.

“Only the best for my alpha. Want to get some coffee? Breakfast?”

It became clear to Chris very quickly why Raff loved Sam. The guy was loud, almost brutally honest and overly sarcastic, but kindhearted and funny. He was a pretty stark contrast to Raff, who was calm, quiet and sincere, but Chris could see that the two of them would go well together in an opposites-attract way, making each other laugh and calling each other on their bullshit the way that only the best of friends can do.

As they walked past the large windows in the visitor’s waiting area, Chris became aware of the news crews set up outside. Several large vans topped with satellites were parallel parked across the street, and reporters in suits held microphones while their camera crews hovered nearby. They couldn’t come inside, but Chris knew they wouldn’t hesitate to rush to the window for a shot, and they would most certainly be watching the entrances.

“Let’s get to the cafeteria quick,” Chris said, looking over his shoulder to make sure that none of the journalists had spotted him. “They’re dying to talk to me. And they’d probably pee themselves if they knew you were here.”

“Vultures,” spat Sam, shaking his head. “They don’t even care to get to know the man, they just want a sensational story.”

It was post-breakfast rush and the cafeteria was nearly empty. Hospital cafeterias were horrible places, in Chris’s experience. When you excluded the medical professionals and staff, you were left with a handful of people who were stressed and sad, or at very least exhausted. The food was horrible but the coffee was always fresh in the hospital because so many people were practically mainlining it in order to stay by their loved ones’ sides. Chris and Sam chose a table that was hidden by a column so that they had some privacy.

Sam wanted to know the details of Raff’s injuries. His own experiences from weeks in the hospital made him knowledgeable about what Raff and Chris were going through, and what would be required of them in the near future.

“This is all very good news, man,” Sam said, with sincerity. “His legs are fine; his spine is fine; those are the big ones. A little surgery, a little physical therapy, and his body will be good as new.”

“It’s not the body that worries me, Sam.”

“Worry about that later. When’s the CT scan?” Sam was referring to the imaging scan that would show whether there was bleeding or blood clots on Raff’s brain.

“Probably today. They wanted him to be conscious.”

“Worry about that later. But I speak from experience, Chris. That’s one tough motherfucker you’re married to. The things he’s been through would have already killed a lesser man. A motorcycle accident? He was built for it.” Sam threw his head back and laughed out loud. “He was built for it!”

It was surprising how comforting Sam’s confidence was.

“You guys are pretty close. I think some people would find that unusual, considering . . . ”

“Considering he ran me over like a dog in the street?”

Sam’s voice indicated that he was joking—gallows humor—but the words still made Chris wince.

“Yeah. I mean, I know that Raff was sentenced by the judge to spend a year with you. And I know what Raff gets out of his relationship with you . . . besides your friendship, of course—”

“Of course. I’m delightful.”

“But what do you get out of your friendship with him?”

Sam stopped wheeling his chair and gave Chris a weird look. “You are a direct man, aren’t you?”

Coming from Sam, that was unexpected. Chris decided to take it as a compliment.

Sam started wheeling again and Chris followed.

“Raff told you how we met, I guess. The judge. Well, neither of us was happy about it in the beginning. I was angry with the world, naturally. I was an athlete. Not a good one, but I was in track in high school and I’d just graduated college and got a job as a PE teacher. So I’m looking down at my useless legs,” Sam paused to gesture at his body in the chair, “and I’m cursing the goddamn world. And here’s this little shit. Well, he wasn’t little. He was a big kid. Here’s this big kid, sitting by my bed, occasionally bursting into tears out of guilt. And that was the last thing I needed. You know I’m kind of an asshole, but I can’t stand to see a kid or a woman cry. So then I was pissed off at Raff for making me feel sorry for him.”

Sam recounted the tale as if the entire thing were just a humorous anecdote, and not the story about how he became a paraplegic.

“So then I decided I was going to make Raff’s life hell. I was going to run this little white boy ragged. Really make him pay, you know? Sent him to the store for cigarettes, which I didn’t even smoke. Told him he got the wrong kind and sent him back. And made him pay for them. Made him buy me Penthouse Magazines, just to embarrass him. Though I did look at those. Once I told him I needed a butt-cheek massage!” Sam laughed loudly again, and people in the corridor turned to look. His laughter was spectacular. “He turned all pale and looked like he was going to throw up, but he came at me with his hands like this; like he was about to massage my butt. I stopped him just in time.”

Chris compared what he was hearing to the man he knew today. “You did all that to make him feel better.”

“Not at first. But when he was busy, when he thought he was helping, he stopped crying. And then, when I got out of the hospital, I actually did need help. Raff knew how to use a hammer and nails, and he started making my apartment wheelchair-accessible. Built little ramps over all the stoops and rails to help me use the bathroom. He’d go to work all day at the construction site, then hit the library and print out instructions, then come to my place and build stuff. For a solid year, Raff was there for me, but he wasn’t just doing stuff for me, he was helping me become independent. And there’s nothing more important to someone in a wheelchair than independence.”

“Sounds like the Raff I know. He’s always looking for ways to make my life easier.”

“And of course, I had to feed a big kid like that. So we’d make dinner together and tell jokes. Despite hating him in the beginning, despite wanting to hate him, I liked the kid. He was dealt a bad hand, yet somehow, he turned into a great guy. That deserves a lot of respect. And of course, he helped me get my wife. And she is a beautiful woman.”

“So I hear.”

“He convinced me to get a cheap computer and internet connection so we could download plans, and he taught me how to use it. Next thing you know, I’m addicted to the thing, trying to figure out how it works. So I started studying computer shit. Got me to go back to school. Software developers do pretty damn well, and they don’t need legs.” Sam shrugged. “Not a bad life. And Raff helped me build it.”

They were back at Raff’s room, just in time to see him being wheeled to his CT scan. Chris stopped the tech who was pushing him away.

He leaned over his husband and brushed his lips with his own. “I love you, my alpha.”

Raff’s grin was still lopsided. “Love you too, my omega. See you soon.”

“Oh, Sam,” Chris said, when Raff was out of earshot. “I hope he’s okay.”