Restoration 01 - Getting It Right (9 page)

A little after five in the morning, a doctor walked into the waiting room and zeroed in on Carey. James stalked over to the pair. He wasn’t being left out of this.

“This is Dr. James Taggert,” Carey said. “He’s family.”

“Doctor,” the too-young-to-be-a-surgeon said. “I’m Dr. Abraham, and I operated on Mr.

Wolf.”

“How is he?” James asked.

“Stable for now. We were able to repair his carotid artery, as well as several of the other lacerations and penetrating wounds to his face.”

“So he’ll be okay?”

“I’m optimistic he’ll recover physically. He’ll need to consult with a plastic surgeon in order to minimize scarring, but at the moment I’m more concerned with the blows he took to the head. There is evidence of cerebral contusions, and I want to monitor him for the rest of the day and watch for an increase in intracranial pressure.”

James wasn’t an internist, but he knew the dangers of intracranial pressure. “Has he been conscious at all?”

“Not as far as I’m aware. His chart indicates he was briefly conscious at the scene, then slipped back into unconsciousness in the ambulance.”

“How about his other injuries?” Carey asked.

“Four broken ribs, six cracked. A lot of bruising to his torso and abdomen. He’ll need to take it very, very easy for a while.”

James had bruised his ribs in a car accident about six years ago, and simple things like combing his hair had hurt like hell. He couldn’t imagine the agony of multiple broken ribs. If taking it easy for a while meant James did everything from washing Nathan’s hair to cutting his meat, he’d do it. And more. He needed Nathan to get better.

“When will our people be able to see him?” Carey asked. “We need to check for

whatever forensic evidence might have been left behind.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“When can I see him?” James asked.

“Not for a few hours yet,” Dr. Abraham said. A little bit of sympathy peeked out from beneath his calm exterior. “Go home. Get some rest. I’ll have someone call you when Mr. Wolf is allowed visitors.”

James nodded, not committing to the action. Not yet. Leaving was abandoning Nathan, and he couldn’t do that. He’d lied, hurt Nathan’s feelings and sent him out working late on a Saturday when they could have spent the time together. His actions had landed Nathan here. He didn’t deserve a nap and a shower.

He wanted a cigarette or ten.

In the end, Kate walked him out to his car with firm orders to go home and not march back into the hospital. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Sure,” he said.

He did drive home, numb, the ball of ice in his stomach growing heavier the farther he got from Nathan. He fell face-first into his bed. An insistent buzzing against his hip woke him later, when the sun was up and glaring brightly through his bedroom windows. The call went to voice mail by the time he figured out it was his phone.

After ten. Missed call from Elliott.

Fuck, does he know?

Instead of a message, Elliott sent over a text:
Call me.

James did. “Hey, Ell, how are you?”

“I’m all right, I guess.” Elliott’s voice was hoarse, probably from long bouts of crying.

“Haven’t slept much.”

Join the club.
“I bet not. You at home?”

“Yeah. It’s weird knowing for sure now that Doug’s never coming home.” His voice broke. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t call to sob in your ear.”

“It’s fine. You know I’m here, whatever you need.”

“I guess I was calling to check in. I kind of thought you’d be around last night.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to flake out on you.”

“It’s okay. Not your job to hold my hand.”

“No, but I’m your friend, Ell. I got caught up in my own stuff.”
And then my best friend
got stabbed in the face.

“Okay, what’s wrong? You sound weird.”

James didn’t want to throw anything else at his grieving friend, but he needed someone, damn it. He couldn’t stop the words from rolling off his tongue. “Nate’s in the hospital.”

“He’s what? What happened? Is he okay?” Elliott’s voice pitched too high, almost painfully shrill.

“He’s in ICU. He was out working, or something, and someone jumped him. Beat the shit out of him. Stabbed him in the neck and face.”

“Oh my God. Have you seen him? Do they know who did it?”

“I haven’t been able to see him all night. They sent me home. I don’t know anything except that he’s alive.”

“I’m coming over.”

“Ell—”

“No, don’t fight me on this, please. I need to do something. I can do this. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Arguing with Elliott when he got a notion in his head was like trying to block the wind with a mosquito net. “Don’t speed. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay.”

James wandered into the kitchen, aware he needed to shower, maybe shave, but those things took too much energy. The hospital could call while he was occupied, and he couldn’t miss that call. He rummaged through his cupboards for coffee, put the can on the counter next to the coffeepot, then opened the fridge. Not much in there. He needed to go shopping.

“Jay?”

He blinked and jerked his head up. Elliott was watching him from the kitchen doorway with sad, puffy eyes. “Hey, you got here fast.”

“Not that fast. I called you fifteen minutes ago.”

James let the fridge door fall closed. “Oh.”

“Honey.” Elliott didn’t ask. He tugged James into a hug, and he nearly crushed Elliott to him. “He’s going to be fine, Jay. He’ll be fine, because that’s our Nate.”

My Nate, not ours.
“Why would anyone hurt him like that?”

“People are fucking psychos.” Elliott’s hands smoothed up and down his back, a gentle petting motion that calmed some of his racing nerves. “What happened?”

“They think he went out to chase leads on a murder case. Asking the working boys if they knew a victim. Someone found him in an alley.” The mental image of his Nathan, beaten and stabbed, laying in a dirty alley all alone, made bile surge into the back of his throat. James swallowed hard, desperate not to be sick in front of Elliott.

“But he’s doing okay now?”

“I guess. Doctor said he’s stable, but they won’t let me see him. I need to see him for myself.”

“I know you do, honey. We’ll go see him soon, I promise.” Elliott pulled back and cupped his cheeks. “First, you need a shower because you kind of smell.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Anytime. And when was the last time you ate? No. Never mind. Shower. I’ll forage for sustenance in your cupboards.”

“What if the hospital calls?”

“Give me your phone. I’ll tell you right away if they do, I promise.”

For the first time since Kate’s call twelve hours ago, James felt as though he could breathe a little bit. He wasn’t alone to deal with this. Elliott had his back, and James had never been more grateful for his friend. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, now shoo!”

He shooed.

True to his word, Elliott had concocted some sort of meal out of the bare threads of James’s cupboards. Elliott called the lumpy bowl of stuff “deconstructed tuna casserole.” It tasted good—

canned tuna, peas, pasta and some kind of sauce that might have been cream of potato soup—and it helped settle his stomach. While he ate, James picked up his phone every thirty seconds or so, just to make sure it was on. That the battery hadn’t died.

Why hasn’t anyone called me?

After his second bowl of the tuna stuff, Elliott snatched his phone away. He took out his own and dialed. “Yes, hi, I want to inquire about a patient,” Elliott said. “Is Nathan Wolf up to receiving visitors yet? He’s in ICU.” After a few beats of silence, his eyebrows drew together.

“Okay, thank you.”

“What?”

“He can have visitors now.”

“Why the hell didn’t someone call? His doctor said someone would call.” Anger and disappointment clashed inside him. He could have been by Nathan’s side hours ago.

“I don’t know, honey, but let’s clean up and get over there.”

James didn’t care about cleaning up. He dumped everything into the sink, ran some water over it, then grabbed his phone and keys. Elliott didn’t protest him driving, and he was inside the parking garage seeking a space before he noticed Elliott white-knuckling the passenger side door.

“You didn’t have to come with me,” James said, giving Elliott’s thigh a gentle squeeze.

“But I’m glad you’re here.”

Elliott cast him a tearful smile. “After practically living here the past few weeks, I didn’t expect to be back so soon.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He rubbed at his eyes with both hands. “Nate needs us.”

He had to park on the top level, which felt a lot like fate giving him the middle finger.

Right up here, less than twenty-four hours ago, he’d flung Nathan’s
feelings
back in his face and then let him walk away. He’d fix it, though. He’d apologize. He’d grovel. Most importantly, this time he would tell Nathan the truth.

I want you.

James followed a familiar path to the ICU waiting room. Nathan’s parents, Cathy and Howard Wolf, were huddled together on one of the sofas, holding hands and talking quietly.

Nathan had the same black hair and tan complexion as his father, but he’d inherited Cathy’s striking good looks. Even in her late fifties, her barely gray hair and smooth skin did nothing to hint at her age.

Cathy noticed him first. “James, sweetheart.”

She practically threw herself into his arms, weeping, and he held her. He loved the Wolfs like a second family. He’d spent countless vacations and holidays with them over the years, usually because he’d needed something less dreary than another Easter dinner with his mother.

They’d never looked at him askance for being gay, and he often envied Nathan’s easy relationship with his parents.

“I’m so sorry,” James said.

“It’s not your fault, son,” Howard said as he stood. He was exhausted, his face carrying more creases than the last time he’d seen the man. “Only person to be sorry here is the sick bastard who hurt my boy.”

I hurt him. I hurt him and he went to work, and then someone else hurt him.

“I’m Elliott Quinn.” Elliott shook Howard’s hand. “We’ve never met, but I’m a friend of Nathan and James.”

“Howard Wolf. My wife, Cathy.”

Cathy calmed enough to step away from James, back to her husband. They listed into each other, each needing the other simply to stand.

“The hospital said they’d call when Nate could have visitors, but no one did,” James said.

“Is there any news on his condition?”

Howard and Cathy shared a look he couldn’t decipher. “We managed to get here for the eleven o’clock visitation time,” Howard said. “Nathan was pretty groggy, but he was awake most of it.”

James’s heart nearly burst out of his chest with joy. “He was? How is he?”

“Can’t talk for the tubes in his throat, but he blinked yes or no to some of the doctor’s questions. A detective came in to try to question him after we left, but he didn’t really say much to us.”

“Which detective?”

“Man named Parsons. He said he’d come back with a tablet Nathan could write on, later when he’s rested a bit more.”

A small part of James was irritated with the cops for questioning Nathan so soon after the attack, because he needed to rest, damn it. But the professional in him who’d seen too many assault victims come through his office knew that the longer they waited, the harder it would be to find the person who did this. They needed an event timeline, physical evidence and everything Nathan remembered about his assailant’s appearance.

The next visitation window was three o’clock, which was still about two hours away.

Two interminable hours.

“Can I get either of you something from the cafeteria?” Elliott asked. “Coffee? A sandwich? A magazine?”

“Thank you, son,” Howard said. “But we were just discussing going down for a quick lunch. I feel better about it knowing you’re both here watching over our boy.” He frowned. “That must sound daft, when you’re so far away from him.”

“It makes perfect sense,” James said. “I just wish I could tell him I’m here.”

After the Wolfs left the waiting room, James and Elliott sat down in a corner, away from a handful of others. “You don’t have to stay,” James said. “They may not let you in. Hell, they may not let me in.”

“I’m sure the Wolfs will make sure you’re allowed in for a little while. You’re family, even if not by blood.” A sad smile creased Elliott’s lips. “Besides, if I know any of the nurses inside, it won’t be an issue.”

James squeezed Elliott’s knee. Doug had been in ICU for the first few days, before being moved to a long-term care ward. Ever the social butterfly, even while facing a personal crisis, Elliott had probably made it his mission to befriend every single person who came into contact with Doug.

Elliott’s hand covered James’s, and they sat awhile in silence. James tried to pay attention to the television, which seemed to be stuck on reruns of old western TV shows from the ‘60s.

Detectives Parsons and Carey arrived a little after one-thirty. James introduced Elliott to them both. “His parents told us Nathan was awake earlier,” James said.

“Awake but having trouble talking,” Carey said. “We brought a tablet with a stylus so he can write out everything we need to know. Drugs or not, he seemed pretty determined this morning.”

“That sounds like Nate.”

“It’s not pretty, Doc, what that bastard did to his face. Just…prepare for it to be bad so you don’t react like it’s that bad.”

Cold fingers raked down his spine. “Of course. Will you tell him that Elliott and I are here?”

“Sure.”

The Wolfs came back not long after the detectives went inside the ICU, and James let them know. They seemed relieved that information was going where it needed to be. So was James. One thing he’d learned well over the years was that the identification and imprisonment of the perpetrator was vital to the well-being of the victim. Knowing the person who assaulted them was behind bars didn’t magically heal anything, but it helped create a foundation of safety.