Burn (L.A. Untamed #2) (23 page)

I take a sharp breath at his brutally frank words. “Yet, he keeps saying he wants us to try again. What’s going on in that head of his?”

“Being sexually attracted to men, and being okay with being gay, are two different things,” Paul remarks, as he rubs the back of his neck, a heavy sadness in his eyes.

My brother is a compassionate person and I’ve never appreciated that quality in him more than tonight.

Maybe it’s because I’m focused on Joe now, or maybe the passing of time has enabled me to look at things differently, but I can think about Mikey’s confusion with perspective, like from a distance.

I look down at the faint mark of lighter skin from where my wedding band used to be. “I can imagine that coming out wouldn’t have been easy for him. We never talked about it, but his dad was very conservative and probably wouldn’t have accepted him if he was openly gay. Mikey always seemed scared of disappointing him.”

“It was just about a year ago that he passed away, right?”

I nod. “Heart attack. Now that I think of it, there was a shifting in Mikey after his dad’s death. He seemed a little lighter.”

“Maybe all of that led to this.”

I shrug. “Maybe.” I feel a sharp sting at the idea that Mikey may have chosen to be with men much earlier if his dad weren’t in the picture. Was I always just a beard?

“So how’s Joe taking all of this?” Paul asks.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s obvious he’s in love with you, and now here you are, focused on your ex’s well-being. That can’t be easy for him.”

My eyebrows knit together as I try to imagine how I’d feel in Joe’s shoes. I’d feel like an outsider, that’s what. I kind of regret not asking him to stay.

“I hope he can understand why I need to be here.”

Paul gives me a hard look. “I’m going to be straight with you, Trish. You’re dealing with a really complicated situation here considering that Mike is unstable. You and he weren’t even talking before last night, and the divorce had the potential of getting really ugly . . . and now you’re trying to take care of him.”

He shakes his head. “You’re in a new relationship. If this was Elle and her ex I wouldn’t want her here, and I sure as hell wouldn’t want her helping her unstable ex like some friggin’ Florence Nightingale. Take heed, Sis. Pay attention to your future, because Joe’s your future, and Mikey’s your complicated past.”

“I’ll try, Paul. I promise, I’ll try.”

We’ve been sitting for about a couple of hours, nursing our Styrofoam cups of lukewarm coffee laced with Amaretto Coffee Mate and watching some late night show when one of the ER doctors approaches us.

“Mrs. Castallani?”

“Yes,” I say, standing. No point correcting her about my surname at this point.

“Your husband’s conscious. Are you ready to see him?”

I smooth down the wrinkles in my uniform slacks. “Yes, thank you.”

I look over at Paul but he gestures for me to go ahead. “I’ll wait here for you.”

The attendant pulls back the suspended curtain, and I still for a moment adjusting to the image of Mikey, looking frail and defeated, hooked up to a plethora of beeping monitors. He blinks several times as if he can’t believe I’m here.

“Patricia,” he barely whispers, and my breath catches to hear him call me what he did when we first met.

I force a smile on my face, even though I don’t have the energy to smile. “Hey you. What the hell were you doing, scaring us like that?”

His gaze drops down and he tries to lick his parched lips. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” I say with the most gentle tone I can muster.

He tries to clear his voice, but it still sounds like it’s been rubbed with sandpaper. “I’ve just been so sad and I didn’t want to be sad anymore.”

“Well, dude, you know I’m not going to put up with that.” I shake my head at him.

His eyes brighten the tiniest bit. “No, I suppose you won’t.”

“Did you know our station would be the one to respond?”

His eyes cloud with confusion. “Who reported it? I was wondering why I wasn’t dead.”

I feel a surge of everything from acute irritation to relief. “That’s not funny, Mikey. You almost did die. What the hell?”

“Would you have been sorry if I’d died?”

“Would you stop with this shit! Of course I would’ve been sorry . . . gutted. Do you really think I’m that heartless?”

He closes his eyes for a few seconds, and when he opens them he looks exhausted. “No, I just thought that I didn’t matter anymore.”

“You matter, you big lug.”

He gives me a half-smile. He always used to laugh when I called him that. “And you care?”

I narrow my eyes and give him a stern look. “Of course I do.”

He closes his eyes again, this time for about a minute, and just when I think he’s asleep, he opens his eyes half-mast. “I’m so tired, and so damn sore. Everything hurts.” He weakly runs his hand up his neck and tries to swallow.

I walk over by the side of his bed. “I’m tired too, Mikey. I‘m going to go crash now that I know you’re going to be all right. I’ll be back in the morning, okay?” I reach over and smooth out his hair, then rest my hand on his cold forehead.

“Promise?” he whispers.

“Yes. I promise.”

Chapter 19:
The Return of Sasquatch

A really strong woman accepts the war she went through and is ennobled by her scars. ~ Carly Simon

The next morning I feel like shit . . . like a truck ran over me, backed up, ran over me again, and repeated several times more. As I fire up the coffeemaker I wonder what in the hell I’m going to do.

I sit at the table nursing my first cup of java with my heavy head resting in my hands. After pouring myself the second cup I decide to call Jeanine. Like usual I have to go through the receptionist, her secretary, and her legal assistant before I get her.

“Still haven’t heard from him, woman,” she offers, assuming I’m calling for an update on my divorce.

“Yeah, well you won’t hear from him today either. He’s in the hospital on suicide watch.”

She snaps her phone off speaker. “What the hell?”

“He overdosed last night, Jeanine. Pills.” I blink back tears, surprised by my anguish. Why is it hitting me in full force now?

“Mother of Jesus, how did you find out? Why didn’t you call me?”

“It was late. We got the call at the station. I had no idea it was him until the guys had already intubated him.”

“Oh, Trisha, that’s how you found out? On a call? I can’t believe it. What was he thinking?”

“I don’t know. But now we know why he wasn’t responding to our calls.”

“How is he physically?”

“I think we got to him early enough that he’s going to be okay. They still have to test him for liver damage. As for his mindset, I just don’t know.”

“What about Joe? How is he handling this?”

I huff. “What about him? Why is everyone worried about Joe?”

“Oh, don’t be pissed,” she warns me. “I’m worried about the whole lot of you. Well, so much for wrapping this divorce up quickly. If nothing else, he’s going to need your health insurance after this stunt. Emergency room visits and ambulance runs are bank breakers.”

“Right,” I say, resenting having to even think about shit like health insurance.

“You working today?” she asks.

“No, I was at the hospital really late and I’m going to call Chief next. I’m going back to check on him this morning.”

Jeanine doesn’t respond and the air is thick with all the things I’m sure she wants to say to me. I’ve got to give her credit, this is one of the only times I can remember that she’s held her tongue.

“I just have to Jeanine. I’m a firefighter, and what do we do? We save people’s lives.”

“I get it, my friend. I understand your instincts to save him, to fix him. You’re that good of a person. But just remember that you aren’t the one who’s going to fix him.”

“But if not me, who? His mom is afraid to leave her house.”

Jeanine lets out a long-suffering sigh, laced with frustration. “You’re getting a free pass today. But if this keeps going on I’ll be all up in your business, woman. Do we have an understanding?”

I sigh back. “Yes,” I agree, knowing that my understanding something and my following through are two different things.

“Okay good. Then I’m heading to my meeting. I’ll check on you later.”

I don’t set the phone down after we disconnect, but instead dial our captain.

“Captain Handley,” he answers. I feel relieved to hear his gruff voice.

“Chief, it’s McNeill. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier—”

“No worries Trisha. Joe filled me in. I’m damn sorry you’re dealing with this.”

“Thanks. I think I’m still in shock.”

“Of course. I see you’re off the next two days, I’m sure you’ll need that time. Just give me a call if you need more time after that.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And is there anything else we can do? I called my friend who oversees the ER at Saint Jo’s to keep an eye out for him.”

My heart swells. “I really appreciate that. I’m going to the hospital now. He needs help, and I want make sure the right decisions are being made. The thing is, I understand him better than anyone.”

Or at least I thought I did.

“Of course. Please let us know if you need anything, Trisha.”

“Thank you, I will.”

After I set the phone down my head feels so heavy, crammed full of thoughts and feelings, and I lean over and rest my cheek on the cool wood of the tabletop. I let out a long sigh. Things had been going good for me—better than good, thanks to Joe. And now Mikey’s cry for help has turned everything upside down again. I sigh once more knowing I have no idea what I’ll face when I return to the hospital.

Maybe Mikey woke up with regret and a humble determination to get back on his feet. Maybe he’s gone off the edge and they’ve already transferred him to the psych ward to be monitored. As well as I thought I knew him, it’s weird realizing that I’m just not sure what to expect.

I place both of my palms firmly on the table, on either side of my resting head, and then push up with more strength than necessary. Just moments later I’m standing tall and stepping away from the table. It’s time to be strong and face this head on. Somehow I need to get things moving back in the right direction.

As I approach the hospital room I was directed to for Mikey, I hear a woman giggling. I almost turn back, convinced they gave me the wrong room number, but I peek inside just in case.

Sure enough some bubbly redhead is blathering on about something as Mikey is boosted up with pillows in his bed, a weak smile on his face.
What the hell?
I may not have been sure what to expect, but I sure as hell didn’t expect this.

When Mikey sees me standing in the doorway he gestures for me to come inside. “Trish, come meet my friend, Carmella. She works here.”

I narrow my eyes, and it feels like heat is rising off my pupils. He should be resting not taking random visitors. I want to let the snarky out, unleash it in a big way, but I bite my tongue and count to three. Whomever this woman is doesn’t change the fact that Mikey almost ended his life last night and he needs to be handled delicately.

Stepping into the room, I extend my hand. “Carmella? Sorry to say I’ve never heard of you. How do you and Mikey know each other?”

She dabs the corner of her lips with her index finger and smiles before shaking my hand. Her fingernails are long and the tips are painted pale ivory with tiny rhinestones on them. She has showy rings on several fingers. I can only imagine what she thinks of jewelry free, make-up-less, me.

“I’m the Facilities Director here. Our office orders all the flowers for the hospital public areas, and I was the one who brought in charming Michael and his gorgeous work. Bloomsbury Gardens is my go-to floral shop now.”

“Tell Trish about the last florist you used,” Mikey says.

I study him. He may be weak but his coloring is definitely much better than it was last night.

“Oh my goodness, they were leftover from my predecessor, positively tacky . . . carnations and baby’s breath for days. Their stuff looked like those arrangements you pick up in gas station parking lots on holidays.

Mikey smiles. He was always such a charmer. “Thank you for lifting my spirits, Carmella.”

Her expression suddenly turns somber, and she glances over at me and then back at him. “Of course. We’re friends, Michael. I’m glad I could help today, but I don’t want to ever see you in here again as a patient—only as our floral designer, okay?”

He suddenly looks somber too, and he nods.

“And you promise to keep your appointments?”

“I will. Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome.” She turns to me. “And nice to meet you, Trisha.”

“Likewise. Thanks.”

I wait until she’s halfway down the hall before I turn to Mikey. “What was that all about?”

“They wanted to lock me up at the psych ward at UCLA, Trish, and I can’t bear the thought of that. I know it would only make my depression worse.”

Just the idea of a psych ward sounds creepy, like Stephen King kind of creepy. Honestly, if it were me, I’d refuse, too. And knowing how sensitive Mikey is, I think it could do him more harm than good.

“So is this an optional thing? I thought they just went ahead and committed you if they thought you needed it.”

“Well, after I met with the ER doctor I called Carmella since I was freaked out and I knew she had relationships with everyone in this place.”

“Why have I never heard of this woman before?” I ask.

“I’m friends with a lot of my clients but I don’t like to talk about work at home, so you don’t hear about them.”

I take a sharp breath. Just another thing to add to the list of things I didn’t know about Mikey, the secret keeper.

“Anyway, she stopped in after I was evaluated and she convinced the doctor that I wouldn’t handle hospitalization well, that regular sessions and family supervision would be the better plan.”

“Family supervision?” I ask, my stomach tightening into a little ball. I hope he’s not thinking . . .

“I told her I’d be with you, that you’d look out for me.”