Brad's Bachelor Party
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgment
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
Loose Id Titles by River Jaymes
River Jaymes
BRAD’S BACHELOR PARTY
River Jaymes
www.loose-id.com
Brad’s Bachelor Party
Copyright © June 2013 by River Jaymes
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
eISBN 9781623003524
Editor: G. G. Royale
Cover Artist: Kalen O’Donnell
Published in the United States of America
Loose Id LLC
PO Box 809
San Francisco CA 94104-0809
www.loose-id.com
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning
This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
* * * *
DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our BDSM/fetish titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither Loose Id LLC nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.
Acknowledgment
To my family.
Prologue
The
whoosh
of the automatic doors as they opened muffled the call of code blue overhead, and Cole Winston swallowed against the lump in his chest, praying Danny’s condition hadn’t triggered the call to action. The scent of stale coffee overwhelmed the antiseptic smell, the utilitarian furniture in the waiting room empty save one occupant. When Cole spied Brad, the knot of nerves grew tighter. The years hadn’t changed him much, the muscular frame encased in the same well-worn leather jacket, golden brown hair closely cropped, the ends softly spiked up in front.
The one-hour flight from San Francisco to Los Angeles hadn’t been long enough to prepare Cole for the sight of his best friend. Former best friend?
Whatever.
In truth, a cross-country trek wouldn’t be long enough.
Brad’s green gaze met Cole’s before landing on Cole’s shoes. “Dude,
clogs
?”
Cole bit back the grin. Despite the five-year absence from his life, Brad picked up right where they’d left off, resuming the familiar banter that had marked their roommate years. Brad teasing Cole good-naturedly about his clothes. Cole steadfastly ignoring him. And Brad pretending Cole’s indifference drove him nuts.
Thank God some things never changed.
“Are you saying I shouldn’t wear them outside the OR?” Cole said.
Brad let out an amused grunt. “I’m saying they shouldn’t be worn outside Vermont or Berkeley city limits.”
“They’re comfortable.”
“They’re fugly.”
Cole’s smile finally won out. “Perhaps fugly will become the new attractive.”
Brad shook his head, sitting back, paper cup in hand. “I knew the first time I met you that you were a hopeless geek.”
“And I knew you were a terminal asshole,” Cole said easily.
Despite the fatigue and strain in his face, Brad tipped back his head and laughed, and Cole ignored the clean line of Brad’s throat.
“Well, at least we were both right,” Brad said.
“Remember, geek can be overcome, but asshole is forever.”
The light of humor in Brad’s eyes grew brighter. “Fine, but just because you’re a surgeon doesn’t mean you can get away with wearing scrubs all the time.” Brad nodded dubiously at Cole’s pale blue outfit. “You’re the worst gay guy ever. Where the hell are your street clothes, man?”
“After you phoned this morning, there wasn’t time to change.”
The reminder of the frantic four a.m. call and Cole’s scramble to catch the first flight out subdued Brad, all pretense of teasing gone. Cole dropped into the seat beside him, and silence engulfed the room, the reason for his last-minute dash down to Los Angeles gaping like a chasm too wide to cross without fatal injury.
Cole had hoped they’d left the waiting-room vigils behind them years ago. And as much as he’d missed his friend, he would have given anything to be here under different circumstances.
Brad’s voice was unusually low. “I didn’t know who else to call.”
“I’m glad you chose me.” Cole eyed Brad. The bold, brash charmer with the easy attitude was uncharacteristically serious. Only Danny, Brad’s brother, could bring about such a miserable look on his friend’s face. Well…that and the spectacular ending to Brad and Cole’s best-friend status.
Cole’s muscles tensed, and he forced himself into the role he was most comfortable with: trauma surgeon. “What’s Danny’s condition?”
“They took him to surgery three hours ago, and I haven’t heard a fucking thing since.” The anger and strain tightened across Brad’s jaw, green eyes flashing as he attempted to camouflage his fear. His panic.
Cole laid a steady hand on his friend’s shoulder. “No news is good news.”
Which wasn’t entirely true. But since Brad had phoned, Cole knew his role in the current scenario, that of a steadying presence. God knew they’d been here with Danny before. In college, Cole had lost count of the number of times he’d sat with Brad in hospital waiting rooms, expecting bad news about his brother. Suffering through Danny’s car accidents. His drug overdoses. Rehab.
And relapses.
Brad stared down at his cup, the contents resembling burned motor oil. “Why can’t they make decent coffee at hospitals?”
Cole forced himself to release Brad’s shoulder. “For the same reason we wake patients up every four hours to take their vitals. We don’t want people getting too comfortable or no one would ever want to leave.”
Brad leaned his elbows on his knees, closing his eyes and rubbing his face in fatigue.
“Fuck, I hate hospitals.” Brad’s voice was barely audible. The surge of pain on his friend’s behalf was sharp, but Cole kept quiet as Brad went on. “I hate being in hospitals. But I
really
hate Danny being in hospitals.”
Cole resisted the urge to touch him again. “I know you do.”
The waiting doors whooshed open, and a gray-haired man clad in red scrubs entered.
Brad shot to his feet. “How is he, Doc?”
“His injuries are consistent with flipping his car three times.”
Cole sighed. No more hoping it was a simple accident.
After a quick glance at Brad, the doctor met Cole’s gaze. “He sustained pulmonary and renal contusions, but it was the liver lac that nearly killed him.”
Brad shot Cole a frustrated look.
“He bruised his lungs and his kidneys,” Cole translated for Brad, “and he was bleeding from his liver.” He addressed the surgeon. “How is he now?”
“He’s lost a lot of blood, but he’s stable. He’ll recover.” The older man lifted a somber brow in Brad’s direction. “But I suggest you get comfortable, because he’s going to be here a while.”
The surgeon exited, and Brad stared after him. The silence returned, and for a moment Cole wished the room contained a few more people, anything to cover the fact that, other than Cole, Brad was the only one waiting to see Danny.
“We should look into the local home health agencies,” Cole said. Defaulting into planning mode was what Cole did best. The need to fill the gap, to ease the look on his friend’s face, was disturbing. After their parents died, Brad had been left to care for Danny. And he’d nearly killed himself trying.
Cole’s job was to look after Brad.
“A home health nurse might get him out of the hospital quicker,” Cole added.
Brad raked a defeated hand through his hair, leaving the ends spiked higher. “He’ll need another round of drug rehab too.”
Cole took in the angular lines of Brad’s face. He’d missed his company. For the four years they’d been roommates, they’d practically been attached at the hip. His hell-on-wheels friend could talk him into anything. Cole got into, and out of, more trouble with Brad than during the previous twenty-one years of his life.
Which meant med school had been better than his high school and undergraduate years combined, times a thousand. And Brad had been the first
real
friend Cole had ever had.
Despite the fatigue and strain, Brad’s eyes were still a startling green. His bow-shaped mouth made most women weep with envy. He’d been captain of his high school football team and attended college on a baseball scholarship, but if the former athlete hadn’t been a whiz at computers, he could have easily made a living doing commercials instead of working for a security consulting company. In college Brad had hated being called gorgeous, and Cole suspected the ever-present stubble on his face was an attempt to cut down on the
you should be a model
comments.
Cole pulled his mind away from the dead-end thoughts.
“So we’ll start looking at nearby rehab facilities,” Cole said matter-of-factly. “We’ve done it before. We can do it again.”
Brad shot Cole a grateful smile. And just like that, they were back to their former relationship, their last meeting and the ensuing argument long forgotten. And forgiven.
Years ago Cole had walked away to save his sanity. But Brad was going to need his help, just like he had during Danny’s previous screwups. And Cole was older now. Wiser.
He could handle being Brad’s best friend again.
Chapter One
Three Years Later
Cole called out, “Fore!” as the path his golf ball took through the trees lining the green of Kauai Palms Country Club went horribly wrong. The hideous shot—and the outraged “Hey!” belted out by the golfer a hole ahead—made Brad wince.
“Dude, no killing the other players. And you’re a doctor,” Brad said, returning his three iron to the bag attached to their cart. “Why do you suck so much at golf? Didn’t you take a Hippocratic oath to play every Wednesday or somethin’?”