Zipper Fall (22 page)

I glanced at Jack, and he gave me a wry smile, took my cup, and topped it off again. Then he took a sip from the place marked by the lip balm the nurse gave me earlier that morning, and gave it back to me.

“See you after work.”

Still holding his gaze, I lifted the cup of water to my lips and took another sip as I accepted his indirect kiss.

M
Y
FATHER
left soon after that. The realization that I had missed him hit me like a ton of bricks. The old argument still hung in the air, but we chose to ignore it for now, presumably waiting until some point in the future when I would feel well enough to handle his temper tantrums and ear-shattering tirades.

But he had come. Showing up counts—it counts more than anything.

I reclined my bed all the way down and turned onto my stomach again. I did that whenever I was alone; my butt hurt, and it would be many days before I felt comfortable sitting on it.

“Hey, Gaudens.” Paul came in just as soon as I managed to settle down. “No, no… don’t flip over. You had visitors for too long as it is.” He settled down on the doctor’s stool. “I’m here to check your dressings.” He pulled the sheet down and lifted my hospital gown, then stripped the tape off my skin to peek underneath the gauze.

“How is it?”

“Looks clean,” he said, his interest purely professional. “The wound is closing up, no signs of infection. I’ll give you some of these high-tech, nonstick wound dressings. You’ll need to put a fresh one on after you shower, or every third day. The sutures are self-absorbing, so you won’t need to come back for that, but I’ll want to see you in a week. Who will be changing your wound dressings—Jack?”

“I’ll do it myself,” I grumbled. “Jack and I are kind of new together. Just a few weeks.”

“You won’t be able to reach,” he explained patiently, as though to a child. “You’ll have to come here every third day and have it done.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’ll cost too much. Without insurance, this alone will cost thousands.”

“You’re not insured?” There was a touch of alarm in his otherwise calm voice.

“Lost my job few weeks ago. The COBRA payments were half as much as my rent. I just simply couldn’t afford it.”

I felt his cool hands put on some fresh tape and cover me back up. “I’ll have one of the administrators give you forms to fill out. That will cut your bill down a great deal. Oh, speaking of forms, there’s a detective you need to call about that drive-by shooting.”

Drive-by shooting?

“Oh?” I said, not volunteering anything.

“Your boyfriend brought a printout of an article about a shooting in a shopping mall parking lot. Happened last night. Too bad you got caught up in it.” His voice was level, not betraying any emotion, but when I turned my head to look at him, his eyes told me a lot more.

“Thanks, Paul. I owe you.” I accepted the printout from his hand and propped myself on my elbows so I could read what the hell happened to me and where I was supposed to have been at the time.

“Wyatt.”

I looked up at him again.

“You need to find a better hobby.”

“You know…?”

“I’ve always known.” He leaned over; I felt his lips brush the top of my hair. “Susan will stop by at your place and bring you some food.”

I couldn’t swear by it, but I think his expression was positively wicked right after he said that.

M
Y
BROTHER
, Carl, and sister, DeeDee, came over in the afternoon since they had no classes on Saturday. They brought me flowers, balloons, and milk chocolates, and fussed over me until Dr. Hinge shooed them out. It occurred to me that it was actually Saturday, and Jack had shown up in a suit. If he had to go into the office, why not wear casuals?

And speak of the devil, there he was. He sauntered into my room, his sexy suit gone. He wore tan chinos and a black polo shirt and looked drop-dead gorgeous.

“You changed.”

“Yeah.”

“Why did you wear a suit today?”

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I knew your father would be here. Your brother, Carl, he said he’d let him know and warned me he’d come first thing in the morning.”

“They just left.” My butt was on fire again. “Sorry, but I have to turn over. I stay facing up only for show.” I tried to flip over, but the actual process took a while as I tried to avoid agitating my injury.

“You got shot in the ass, Wyatt.” There was a thinly disguised thread of humor in Jack’s voice.”

“No! No, I got shot in the upper leg.”

“Care to tell me what happened?”

“How ’bout he tells me what happened first,” a voice said from the door. I lifted my head and looked over my shoulder. A tall guy with mocha skin and close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair stood there, his police badge hanging from the chest pocket of his blazer. “Jubal Lupine, detective. We’re working on that Pine Creek Mall shooting. That’s where Mr. Azurri said you were last night, anyway.” He sounded skeptical. “Can you sit up so I can take your statement, Mr. Gaudens?”

“I can’t. I just flipped over. My butt’s killing me. Push that stool around to where I can see you.”

He did and sat next to Jack.

I thought hard about the contents of the article Paul gave me. There had been some kind of a gang dispute in the mall parking lot just when it was about to close. Several weapons were fired, and two of the gangbangers killed one another. Some vehicles got shot up. Obviously I wasn’t going to tell the good detective the truth.

“Yeah. I went to the mall.”

“What for?”

“I needed to buy some software, except by the time I got there, the mall was about to close and I didn’t have enough time to, you know, look at it carefully. So I decided to come back another day, and as I walked to my car, I heard some yelling and shooting. I guess I should have been more alarmed, but it sounded like kids with firecrackers. It was a row or two over, I guess.”

“Did you see any of the shooters?” Detective Lupine asked.

I thought about that. Would I have seen them? Hopefully not.

“No. I was thinking of something else anyway.”

“So what happened next?”

“I felt something sting my butt. I didn’t realize I’d been shot, but it started to hurt on my way home. I didn’t see a good place to stop and get help, so I drove home and almost passed out. Then I called my friend, and the rest is history.”

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

You’ve gotta be kidding.

“Well… I guess I wasn’t thinkin’ straight anymore. Once I realized it was my butt, I was just… um… embarrassed, y’know? How many people do you know that have been shot in the rear like this?”

Lupine grinned. “Not many. The guys in the squad room are gonna love hearing about this.”

“See? I wanted to avoid just that. An injured guy has no dignity these days.”

Lupine’s jaw muscles worked some as he fought to keep a straight face. He pulled a business card out of his shirt pocket; I caught a glimpse of his service weapon in a shoulder holster under his arm. “If you think of anything to add, Mr. Gaudens, here’s my number.”

“Okay,” I said, unable to nod.

“Hope your derriere gets well. Hope you have someone to kiss it all better.”

I could have sworn he chuckled. What an asshole.

“S
O
CAN
I go yet? It’s been two days!” I looked at Dr. Brungo with despair in my eyes. I needed to sleep, and sleep was hard to come by in a hospital. Especially when the ever-mounting costs of a hospital stay haunted me every time I closed my eyes.

“Not yet,” the little man said, smiling. “We want to make sure there is no occurrence of ballistic intra-abdominal trauma. That happens fairly often in the case of posterior gluteal penetrative wounds.”

My jaw dropped and I felt like an idiot. The good doctor wasn’t speaking English anymore.

“Your ultrasound looked pretty good yesterday,” he said. “We’ll do another one later and then we’ll see. You were very lucky, Mr. Gaudens. The weapon was only 9mm, and the round must have had a low-velocity load intended for practice only. There was a bit of a yaw to the projectile, causing some additional damage within your gluteus. On the other hand, the rotation of the projectile probably saved your pelvic bone from being compromised. A few more days here, and you’ll be ready for release.”

I panicked and tried to sit up. A shot of pain in my rear made me hiss and lie down again.

He looked at me, his big, dark eyes smiling, cajoling. Obviously I wasn’t being a patient patient.

“But I’m not insured, Doc. I can’t afford a hospital stay. You said it’s just soft tissue damage and I’m looking fine—isn’t that what you said?” I shot a look of desperate plea toward Paul, who stood behind Dr. Brungo, taking copious notes.

Dr. Brungo glanced at his watch. “Dr. Hinge will explain it to you in laymen’s terms, Mr. Gaudens.”

I
NEVER
knew a simple shot in my ass could have caused abdominal injury and hemorrhaging and sepsis and all that kind of stuff. I was lying on my stomach, pissed off and worried. I was supposed to be in the hospital to get better, but it was hard to get better when my mind wouldn’t stop fretting. I hate to belabor the obvious, but really, there wasn’t much else on my mind. My butt would heal on its own. My bank account, not so much.

“I’d suggest you stay the night, Gaudens,” Paul said. “If you get a blood clot wandering through your system, it will cost even more. And that ultrasound is just an extra few hundred bucks—and if you get an all clear on that again, Dr. Brungo will likely let you go.”

“You think?” I had my doubts.

“They can’t hold you against your will, and I can stop by and help out some. As long as you don’t tell on me.”

“Tell who? Jack?”

“No. My bosses. I’m just a lowly med student, dude. I don’t get to practice medicine yet. If I see anything at all suspicious, I’m driving you back here myself.”

I turned my head; he sat on the doctor’s stool, a clipboard with notes in his hands. “Okay. Thanks.” He was about to leave when I spoke up again. “Paul… how’s Susan and the baby?”

“Great. Susan and Michelle are doing great. You’ll get to see them later.” He pulled a picture of a one-year-old cherub out of his wallet and put it in front of my face. She had a big smile, dark eyes, and fuzzy, golden hair.

My heart just about stopped. “Um… Paul, I hate to bring this up, but did you guys ever do a paternity test?”

He gave me an odd look. “As a matter of fact, yes we did. She is mine, and I can show you the paperwork, if you want….” A thread of cold fear threatened to escape his iron control—I could tell from his voice.

I smiled. She could have been mine, had our three-way Russian Roulette worked out differently. “No, it’s all good. The blonde hair threw me for a bit. Your hair is black, and Susan is a blonde, but still, you know?”

“If she were yours, what would you do?” Paul asked, not meeting my eyes.

“Uh, panic, I guess? I’d be a little excited, but you two really work well together, and I’d never want to rock your boat, man.”

One hundred percent.

My mind drifted to Jack. I smiled at the picture and then I turned to smile at my old friend and former lover, who had relief written all over his face. “She’s beautiful, Paul.”

At that moment a huge realization dawned upon me: I was so very, very grateful little Michelle was Paul’s and not mine. There were no outstanding obligations out there—other than my medical bill. I was with Jack now, and I was with him all the way.

T
HE
tedium of my hospital routine was broken by a welcome voice.

“Hey… I brought you some real dinner,” I heard Jack say from the door, and I had to look over my shoulder to see him. “Dr. Hinge already told me you’ll be staying ’til tomorrow.”

Never in my life had I been more grateful for the stimulating, delectable fragrance of take-out Indian food. There was chicken korma and rice biryani and naan. Jack set out aluminum containers on my little food table and uncovered the lids. The scent of good nourishment wafted out, dulling the pervasive odor of hospital disinfectant and bland cafeteria cooking.

“Jack, you’re the best,” I moaned from my unfortunate position.

“And don’t you forget it.” He helped me turn on to my right hip, tore up some of the buttery flatbread and loaded up the pieces with rice and chicken and creamy yogurt sauce.

“You want me to feed you?” He gave me a lascivious look.

I only grinned, undecided, when his fingers drifted under my nose, bearing a morsel of real food. I shrugged and opened up.

Heaven….

Somebody moaned; I guess it must have been me. It felt decidedly odd to be serviced in such a way. I felt so spoiled and taken care of—all I needed was a bottle of good beer. It would have been too much to ask, of course. My eyes drifted toward the cup of water.

“Thirsty?” Jack asked, and when I nodded, he reached inside his leather jacket and pulled out a glass bottle. He twisted the top open, then got one for himself.

“It’s nonalcoholic. Sorry, but I didn’t want to mess with your painkillers.”

That’s how the head nurse found us: eating fragrant Indian food and sipping beer. She raised a god-awful fuss over the whole thing, ranting on about how the odor spoiled the appetites of other patients, who realized their own dinners were hopelessly bland. She almost poured my beer out, until I literally begged her to inspect the label, after which she grudgingly allowed it. “Just as well you’re so eager to go home, Mr. Gaudens. You are not what I would call a calm influence on my ward.”

Once she left and closed our door—to limit the other patients’ exposure to the fragrant top notes of ginger and cardamom—Jack leaned over and asked, “Did the police detective want to know anything else?”

“No, just what you already know.”

“How did it go, you think?”

“Went okay, I guess. Shopping malls can be dangerous places nowadays.” I smiled at him.