THIRTY-TWO
Betrayal
CAI WOULDN’T FREAK out. He wasn’t dying; he was healing, getting better.
But he couldn’t help feeling betrayed by his body. He’d done everything right: physicals, shots, vegetables. It reminded him that no matter how much work he did to stay healthy now, he was at a disadvantage. None of those things parents normally did for their children had been done for him, and now, as he sat naked and trembling on a bench in a lukewarm shower, too tired to lean forward and turn up the hot water, he was paying the price.
There was no doubt in his mind his illness was a direct result of his parents’, specifically his father’s, weird, homegrown, charismatic healing practices. The doctor would be in soon, and he wanted to ask her about it.
Scarlet fever! Who got scarlet fever anymore?
Holding tightly to the grab bar, he leaned forward, flipping off the water then reaching for the towel. A knock immediately sounded at the door, and it opened a fraction.
“Need some help?”
“I got it,” he answered. For now.
The nurse left, and another hand, this one pale and long-fingered and holding a pair of sweatpants and a button-down shirt, reached through the crack.
“Thanks,” he told Matisse.
He could count on his friends to know he didn’t want to be in a hospital gown anymore. This way, when he inched back to bed, he didn’t need to show Nora his pale ass. Once he’d pushed himself to stand, he waited for his head to stop spinning before venturing forward. When the door opened, the nurse stepped forward immediately.
“You tough guys,” she chided. Her solid arm went around his waist, giving him a sense that even if she was older and small, he wasn’t going to hit the floor on her watch.
While he’d been in the shower, someone had changed his sheets, adding a number of blankets to the bed, so when he got in and they were piled on top of him, he was warm and snug. It reminded him how much comfort meeting someone’s basic needs could give. Warmth, a bed, a shower, a pair of sweatpants—he was human again.
Dark eyes tracked all of his movement. He could tell Nora was ready to jump in at the slightest sign from him. She was the first to step forward, tucking him in and kissing him. Her hands were cool against his steam-warmed skin, and her brows drew together.
“Is he sick again?”
“Just the shower,” the nurse reassured her.
Before reaching for his hands, Nora cracked her knuckles nervously. “You’re sure?”
“Mr. Josephs?” A man in a white coat stood at the door, and when their attention turned to him, he came inside, sanitizing his hands at the small station next to the door. He rubbed his hands together before reaching for Cai’s hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m the doctor on call. How are you feeling?”
“Better,” he confirmed.
“Good,” the doctor answered. Confidently, he examined Cai, all the while asking questions.
“Lungs are sounding clear,” the doctor announced, stepping away from the bed and wrapping the stethoscope around his neck. “I’ll get an x-ray to be sure.”
“You’re sure it’s nothing else?” Nora asked.
It was the same question Cai had but was struggling to formulate.
“I missed a ton of vaccines when I was a kid,” she went on. “I’m up to date now, but could I have passed something on to him?”
Shaking his head, the doctor opened up a laptop and began to type. “Unlikely. I’m looking at Mr. Josephs’ medical records now.” He glanced up at Cai. “You were late on a number of vacs as well, but this wasn’t something you were going to avoid with a vaccine. Maybe you were a little rundown and were exposed to strep at the wrong time, but it’s not a symptom of some other illness.”
Both he and Nora sighed at the same time. Funny, he hadn’t thought about how her past was similar to his in this way. They’d both been neglected. Leave it to her to find a way to alleviate his fears, knowing what they were without having to ask.
The beeper on the doctor’s belt vibrated. “Excuse me,” he said. “Another doctor will check on you in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Cai said.
Lifting a hand in farewell, the doctor left them.
“I’ll be back to run your stats,” the nurse added. “Just hit the button if you need anything.”
Thanking her as well, the three of them were left alone, and he was suddenly exhausted.
“Close your eyes.” Nora sat on the edge of his bed again, threading her fingers through his damp hair. “Rest.”
Each swipe through his hair brought the pads of her fingers across his forehead. He didn’t realize he held tension in his scalp, but his eyes relaxed and all his muscles unclenched. In a low tone, she began to talk to Matisse. He listened, part of his mind on the feel of her, the other on the soothing melody of her voice. Every so often, a word would pierce the veil of his consciousness, but otherwise he existed in a semi-conscious state of total relief.
When he opened his eyes again, the room was dark and silent except for Nora’s soft snores and the white light of Matisse’s phone.
“Need anything?” The vinyl on the chair creaked as Matisse leaned forward.
Blinking to clear his vision, he took in the scene. Nora was curled on the other bed, a blanket around her shoulders, knees tucked into her chest.
“Water.” Accepting the cup from Matisse, he took a sip. “How’s everyone?” he asked, leaning back and handing the cup to his friend.
Shrugging, Matisse glanced once at the still form on the other bed before speaking again. “Everyone’s worried about you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” His long fingers twirled a dark strand of hair around and around. “Just get better.”
“Working on it.” He reached for the cup again, but Matisse beat him to it, shifting the table closer to the side of the bed. “Did I miss anything?”
There was a slight hitch in Matisse’s movement as he settled himself back on the chair.
“Matisse?”
“I was an ass. Nora forgave me. I think we’re okay now.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t necessarily want to share it with you.”
Ah. Cai cleared his throat. “Do the other guys know?”
“No.” The bed shook when booted feet propped themselves against the rail. “They know I did something and tried to serenade her, but they don’t know why.”
“Serenade?” What in the world had he done to merit a serenade? Matisse may look the part of a dark poet, but it wasn’t in his nature to make romantic gestures. Of all of them, he was most likely to show his caring physically, not with words or deeds. A serenade meant two things: an epic mess-up and he was in deep.
Maybe as deep as Cai.
He couldn’t be in his friends’ brains or hearts. All he had to go on was what he observed, what he saw.
Words could be twisted, manipulated. In the start of their relationship with Nora, they’d asked her to trust them, but his plan was to show her she could trust him. When they’d told her they wanted her, they were being honest. With each passing day, their words held more and more weight. Each action his friends made showed him they were dedicated to her and to this unique relationship.
Now, Matisse had messed up. Messed up big time if he was singing to her. And Cai couldn’t help it, but he loved it. He worried most about Matisse. Impulsive and distractible, it wouldn’t be the first time he fell in and out of love in less time than it took Cai to tie his shoes.
“She loves me.”
Opening eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed, he peered at Matisse. “I know.”
“I love her, too.”
He couldn’t help the smile. His friend’s words were laced with confusion and astonishment. “You’re surprised.”
“She forgave me so easily,” Matisse mused.
Of course she had.
“Not used to forgiveness. I’m not sure how I feel about it,” he went on.
Barking out a laugh, Cai shook his head. None of them knew what to do with her easy understanding and love. “Enjoy it,” Cai answered. “Maybe after all this time, we deserve it.”
A crazy idea, deserving happiness, but there it was. If he could only make himself believe it, he’d be set.
“It’s slow going,” Matisse added. “Look at Ryan.”
Smiling, Cai glanced at Nora. Any hope Ryan had for the future had started with the girl snoring on the bed next to him.
“I don’t want to see him broken again,” Matisse mumbled.
Understanding shot through him. All of them had periods of darkness, times when the past was more real than day-to-day events. It didn’t take much to send any of them into a spiral of recrimination, and it never got easier to watch.
“Have you seen what he’s written?”
“No.” Matisse shook his head. “But I got the sense he put everything in there.”
“The good and the bad,” Cai added.
“Yeah.” His friend gathered his long, dark hair above his head before letting it fall to graze his shoulders. “It would be something…”
“For him to finally recognize the positive,” Cai finished before sighing and turning onto his side to stretch his legs.
“Go to sleep if you need to,” Matisse told him.
“This is kicking my butt.”
“It’s pneumonia and strep, Cai. It’s supposed to.”
“Your clock is still off, huh?” he asked, changing the subject.
Standing, Matisse began to pace around the room. “It is. Worth it though.”
“You tell Nora about the races?”
A hitch in his step brought him to a halt. “Should I? She probably wouldn’t even care. It’s not like I can do it in the snow.”
Yet another example of the genius being relationship-challenged. Rather than point out the flaws in his reasoning, Cai let it go. For now. There was something to be said for experience, and Matisse had always learned lessons best through action, not lecture.
“She said she loves me,” his friend whispered, going back to the window and staring out. “Like it was nothing. So easy.” Yanking his hair out of his face again, he groaned. “I’m going to fuck this up.”
“She won’t let you,” Cai answered, surprising himself. “She gets you. Gets me. I don’t know how; maybe we’re not as deep as we like to think.”
Snorting, Matisse put his hands on the glass, pressing against the window like he was holding back the world. “Yeah. She does.”