Everything Changes (10 page)

C
HAPTER
7

T
HE
NEXT
morning Carey slept late after a fitful night, and by the time he finally emerged from the guest room, Jase was nowhere to be found. He fixed himself a cup of coffee and sliced up an apple, taking both out onto the little balcony to enjoy the balmy weather. Even though he didn’t mind Colorado winters all that much, he couldn’t deny Southern California’s weather was infinitely more appealing. As he sipped his coffee, he wondered idly where Jase was.

Before he’d even completed the thought, his eye was caught by a figure some distance away, jogging along the Strand. As the figure grew closer, Carey could tell that it was Jase, shirtless in some brief running shorts. He stopped to wait for the light to change so he could cross the busy highway toward home, jogging in place to keep warmed up.

Carey watched as Jase was finally able to cross the street, running with a loose, easy stride, his lean muscles rippling under his sweat, his skin burnished golden by the San Diego sun. He was beautiful, and Carey once again felt the low hum of arousal start low in his belly, along with its accompanying feelings of confusion. What the ever-loving fuck was going on with him?

This morning he didn’t have the excuse of an alcohol buzz or a hot girl rubbing up against him to justify it, and those two things really didn’t explain why he and Jase had groped each other the night before on the dance floor either. No, “groped” was such a sordid word, and what had happened hadn’t felt sordid, it had felt… right. Jase’s hands on him had felt right. Carey shivered as he remembered the way his skin had tingled under Jase’s fingers, how his breath had quickened at his friend’s nearness, how he’d wanted for Jase to—Jesus, to kiss him.

When Carey had fled from those feelings out into the cool night air, for those first few minutes until Jase came out too, Carey was terrified he was inside nailing that girl against the wall, or even worse, would bring her outside and disappear into a cab to spend the night with her. Jealousy and anger had been starting to overwhelm him, and when Jase appeared alone almost immediately, the relief made Carey go weak.

Carey wasn’t stupid, and he knew Jase well enough to know he was disappointed when Carey seized on the out Jase gave him and brushed off what had happened on that dance floor. It was obvious Jase wanted him too, and that scared Carey to death.

Was Jase so willing to risk their friendship like that? Carey couldn’t do casual sex, and nothing was worth losing Jase over—his best friend, the only person on the face of the earth Carey trusted with his life. No, the only solution Carey could come up with was for him to leave as soon as possible and go back home to Colorado, to the familiar, to where he was needed and where he made a difference. Jase could go back to his groupies, his casual hookups, and their friendship could go back to normal and would be safe. It was the smart, prudent thing to do. So why did Carey feel so hollow inside?

“Hey!”

Carey shook himself out of his thoughts and peered over the railing to see Jase grinning up at him from the sidewalk below, his hands on his hips, his chest heaving with his exertions. Sweat was running in rivulets down his bare torso, his damp running shorts clinging to his thighs and what was between them, and just like that, Carey’s cock was at full mast, pressing painfully against the zipper of his cargo shorts. Jesus, it was time for him to leave.

“Hey.” Carey was grateful for the railing he was able to hide behind as he stood up and propped his elbows on it, looking down at Jase.

“Gonna grab a shower, and then do you want to take a ride with me up the coast? The instrument shop here is out of the drumsticks that Quinn uses, and there’s a shop in San Clemente that has some. I thought maybe you’d like the drive, so I offered to run up and get them.”

“Sure, that sounds great.” Carey gratefully seized on the idea, an activity that would take them out and about, keep them busy. And maybe there would be an opportunity during the drive to break the news about his decision to head home early.

He hid on the balcony with his coffee as Jase let himself into the apartment, and shortly thereafter the shower came on, the faint sound of Jase whistling cheerfully reaching Carey’s ears. He tried not to think about how Jase would look naked, soap and water running over that incredible body, his slick hands washing every crack and crevice—Jesus. Carey’s balls felt tight and heavy, and his cock would have a permanent zipper mark imprinted onto it before long.

He couldn’t go the entire day with a boner, and he needed some relief, so he snuck into the half bath off the hallway and leaned against the door, yanking his shorts and underwear down and hissing in relief as his stone-hard cock was released from its fabric prison. He spit into his palm and started a leisurely stroking, listening to the sounds of Jase in the shower a few doors down, picturing how Jase’s dick had looked jutting out of his jeans that day so long ago, how it had felt, so hot and hard against Carey’s slick abs, the way Jase had looked and sounded when he came.

Carey’s back arched against the wall as he jetted hotly into his hand, biting his lip against the whimpers that threatened to escape as his orgasm wracked him. He felt weak and shaky when it was over, but a hell of a lot better. Maybe now he could keep some perspective, and some goddamn control.

A
N
HOUR
or so later, Jase and Carey were in Jase’s Jeep, barreling north along Highway 5 toward San Clemente. It wasn’t a particularly pretty drive, but the traffic wasn’t too heavy and they made good time. After picking up Quinn’s drumsticks, Jase suggested they drive down to the beach and have lunch, then walk along the pier.

Carey had been awfully quiet all morning, and Jase could see there was something on his friend’s mind. He didn’t want to push it, and he figured he knew what it was, anyway. Carey wasn’t what anyone would call an open book, but Jase knew him well enough by now to know what had happened at the club had freaked him out. Jase was kicking himself for getting carried away, for getting caught up in the moment and letting his emotions and desires run away with him.

They were driving up a two-lane windy road that hugged the coast, and Jase glanced over at Carey. It wouldn’t be long before they merged onto the interstate that would take them south back to Coronado, and Jase hoped Carey would open up and share what he was thinking so they could deal with it and move on.

Suddenly a car roared around them on the left, passing and pulling in front of them with just inches to spare before an oncoming car would have smashed into them. Horns blared, and Jase clenched the wheel hard.

“Son of a
bitch
, that was close! Fuckers!”

“Some teenage kid driving like a lunatic,” Carey said, shaking his head.

“He’s gonna kill someone!”

Just as the words left Jase’s mouth, there was a grating screech up ahead and the sound of grinding metal. His heart dropped to his toes, and he reflexively slowed down. Carey already had his phone out and ready, and they rounded the curve.

“Oh my God,” Carey breathed. Jase took in the scene at a glance, pulling up as close as he dared, and was out of his door in a flash, rummaging in the back of the Jeep.

“Got some emergency flares back here, Carey,” Jase instructed tersely, pulling his medical kit out from behind the seat where it was always wedged. “Set them out to warn oncoming cars. And fuck’s sake, be careful.” He saw Carey nod, then start speaking to the dispatcher who had answered his 911 call.

Jase took off in a run toward the wreck, his mind switching into caregiver mode as he assessed the scene. The car full of teenagers had obviously tried to pass again, skid marks showing where the driver had had to avoid an oncoming car and then overcorrected, rolling his vehicle. The small car lay on its side, and bodies were strewn haphazardly around where they’d been thrown clear, broken as rag dolls. Several other cars were stopped in the road and off to the side, their occupants emerging, some with hands over their mouths in horror, others hurrying to help.

Jase ran up and knelt by the first boy. He was clearly dead, his head a pulpy mess from hitting the pavement. Still, Jase gloved up quickly and checked for signs of life, not surprised when he found none.

There was a man a few feet away on his hands and knees, vomiting, the usual civilian’s response to the horror of a scene such as this. When he finished heaving, the man wiped his mouth shakily, then pushed up and headed toward Jase.

“What can I do?” he asked. “Are you a doctor?”

“I’m an EMT,” Jase answered, admiration for the man’s courage sweeping through him. “How many of them are there, do you know?”

“Three, I think. I saw the whole thing.” The man shuddered.

“Okay, this one is gone,” Jase said, tilting his head toward the boy on the ground. “If you have any blankets in your car….” The man seemed to understand instantly and nodded, seeming grateful to be given a task, and took off in a sprint toward his vehicle.

Jase stood up and ran to the next body on the ground, only to feel sorrow cramp his gut as he made the same assessment… dead, head injuries too severe.
What a fucking waste,
he thought sadly.

The helpful man ran up with an armload of large beach towels, and Jase stood, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder and murmuring, “Cover their faces, okay?” The man swallowed hard and nodded.

“This one’s alive! Oh God, somebody help!” Adrenaline surging through him, Jase grabbed his medical kit and sprinted toward the voice, which came from right next to the smashed vehicle. He reached the scene, then skidded to a stop and froze in horror. A young man with black hair, probably the driver, was sprawled right next to the car, obviously having not been thrown clear with as much violent impact as the others. He was unconscious.

A brown-haired woman with terrified eyes looked up at him from where she knelt next to the boy, her fingers pressed into his neck as if feeling for a pulse.

“He’s still alive! Can you help him? His leg!”

Jase’s eyes fell to the boy’s lower body, and he was suddenly trapped in a pit of molasses, unable to move, feeling like a million spiders were crawling over his skin. His breathing constricted, and he felt like he was sucking every breath through the narrowest straw.

“Help him! He’ll bleed to death, Mister!”

With supreme effort, Jase forced himself to kneel next to the boy and look at him, making his clinical assessment in seconds. The boy’s left leg was mangled below the knee, crushed by the shearing forces of the rolling car against unforgiving pavement. Bones, muscles, and tendons hung out of the torn flesh, the boy’s foot facing almost backward. His clothes were tattered, road rash showing through the torn fabric, blood pooling everywhere.

This isn’t Carey. Carey is alive. Carey is safe.

The bleeding was the biggest danger, and it had to be stopped.

Jase opened his medical bag and pulled on fresh gloves and then tore open a tourniquet kit. He handed the woman a pair of surgical shears, hoping she couldn’t see how much his fingers were shaking.

“Cut his shorts off, quickly.”

While she did that, Jase applied a blood pressure cuff to the boy’s arm and assessed his pulse and breathing, trying not to focus on the spill of black hair against the ground, the skin pale with increasing blood loss.

Shouts, gunfire as a small car ran the Marine checkpoint outside the firebase and barreled for the fence line. Carey had been helping to man the checkpoint, and Jase ran out of his medical hooch in time to see Carey step in front of the vehicle and fire directly into the windshield. The windshield shattered, and the car veered off at the last second, weaving erratically, the driver slumped over the steering wheel.

The woman finished cutting the boy’s shorts off, and Jase quickly applied the tourniquet to the pressure point in the boy’s upper thigh, twisting it down until the blood flow slowed from a steady gush to a trickle.

“Won’t that cause him to lose his whole leg?” the woman asked, her voice high with barely suppressed panic.

“No,” Jase said, taking the boy’s blood pressure again. It was dangerously low. He reached into his bag and brought out a saline IV kit, swiftly inserting the needle into the back of the boy’s hand and taping it down. He handed the bag over to the woman. “Squeeze that, get that fluid into him.”

“But what about his leg?”

“If I don’t stop the bleeding, he’ll bleed to death in only a few more minutes,” Jase said tersely. “I don’t have any other choice. And as long as he’s treated by a trauma unit within the next couple of hours, the tissue in his leg won’t die.”

Jase forced himself to look at the boy’s lower leg, knowing it was beyond saving, the bones and tendons splintered and mangled beyond recognition.

The insurgent car drifted almost to a stop. “Get away!” Jase screamed, and before his shout had even died away, the car exploded into flames and shrapnel, cutting down the men closest to it. Carey was in the back of the group, and Jase watched helplessly as his friend was thrown into the air and tossed to the ground like a rag doll to lie crumpled, unmoving.

Jase continued to monitor the boy’s vitals, and the fluid being pushed into him caused him to rouse briefly, his eyes fluttering open, his gaze unfocused.

“Easy, buddy,” Jase murmured. “You’ll be okay.”

Jase grabbed his medical kit and raced to the scene of the carnage, a horrific scene of body parts and burned flesh. Carey had been shielded from the brunt of the blast by the other men in front of him, but vicious shrapnel had shredded his lower right leg and it was hanging by the merest thread. Blood was pumping everywhere from wounds in both legs, and Jase had mere seconds to act. A tourniquet and clamps, hemostatic gauze, all of it as Jase frantically tried to save his best friend’s life.