“I was so fucking scared. All I could think was, please don't let anything happen to him.

...I love you.

I love you.”

*****

The third time Brian Kinney’s life was turned upside down, it all started with a phone call.

Really, it had all started with another phone call two weeks before that one -- a phone call from Lindsay, telling Justin that he was going to be featured on a show at the Sidney Bloom Gallery in Pittsburgh over the holidays. The show was going to be comprised entirely of artists who had called Pittsburgh home. Brian was so proud of Justin in that moment, and thrilled that everyone back in the Pitts was going to have a chance to see just what a tremendous artist Justin had become since he moved to New York to chase his dream. How he’d spent the last ten years shaping and honing his talent even further, to the point where he was now making his living exclusively doing his own art. It was exactly what Brian had always wanted for Justin.

They’d celebrated Justin’s show as they did most things -- with sex. That was another thing Justin seemed to have become an expert at in the past ten years. The sex they had now was so different from what it had been a decade before, when Brian had thought his body -- which he’d seen at the time as broken -- was no longer capable of experiencing the pure, primal pleasure of sexual intimacy. At least, not in the way he wanted to. What they’d tried at first had been nice, and had given him hope that maybe he could feel like himself again someday, but something was missing. Brian remembered being embarrassed at how he felt like his body was out of his control. How afraid he’d been that Justin would be comparing “past Brian” to “present Brian” in the bedroom. But in the end, it hadn’t been Brian’s body that was the real stumbling block at all. It had been his mind.

It was a difficult process -- letting go of all of the judgment and comparison -- but eventually, Brian had managed to open his mind to what sex could be now. And what he’d found once he’d done that, was just as mind-blowing as he could ever remember it being. It turned out, the human brain was a very powerful thing. He’d just needed to find another way to experience intimacy -- another way to listen to his body. It still talked to him, just using different words.

There were parts of Brian’s body -- what he could feel, anyway -- that had become so much more sensitive than they ever were before. He could never recall the feeling of Justin’s warm, wet tongue on his neck or his shoulder or his chest producing quite the sensation that it did now, before. His nipples were incredibly sensitive now, and he knew Justin took full advantage of that. Brian certainly wasn’t complaining, although he’d never imagined that actions that had previously been mostly a part of foreplay could still be so, so good for him, even when he was inside Justin.

But Brian wasn't the same person he had been before.

His “transitional zone” as his neurologist referred to it -- the band around his hips at the level of his injury where sensation gave way into silence -- was even an erogenous zone sometimes. That area felt so strange all the time, even in day-to-day life -- sort of like something was squeezing it or like he had on a piece of clothing that was too tight. Sometimes it hurt, and he didn’t like having it touched then, because it was almost like being burned or experiencing a minor electric shock. But if the timing and the touch were just right, it could feel incredible, because that section of his skin was so sensitive. He had a hard time describing what the sensation felt like when it was good, because it was so different from how it felt before. Like the signals were a little mixed up.

No longer did Brian draw his pleasure from the feeling of himself inside Justin -- the sensation of warmth and tightness. Now, his pleasure came from watching how much Justin enjoyed having Brian inside him, imagining from memory how it would have felt to Brian’s own body, and from leaning in to the tingle he got now purely from the touch of Justin’s supple fingers.

He’d even found that, once he opened his mind, he was able to experience what he would now call an orgasm, even if it didn’t feel exactly the same way it did before. There would be no tightening down below as he approached climax, and no physical release, but he still felt the mental release. The moment when his brain felt wiped blank, and all he could feel or think of was pleasure, and getting more of what he was feeling in that moment. How he didn’t want it to ever end, and how he wished he could stretch that feeling out forever. The moment that would leave him breathless.

The night Justin found out about the show, they’d had what Brian thought was some of the best sex he’d had in his “new” body.

But even as far as he’d come in accepting himself and who he was now as a person in this world, there were still times when Brian wondered why Justin stayed with him. Particularly now, as Brian was getting older, and Justin was only getting to the years when Brian had felt he was in his prime. For some reason, their age gap felt larger to Brian now than it had when he was in his early 30s and Justin was in college. Brian guessed that it was because somewhere in the back of his mind, he was afraid that he was holding Justin back or tying him down somehow. Sometimes he thought Justin deserved to be with someone whose whole body worked as intended. He knew those thoughts were ridiculous, and that Justin would vehemently disagree with them, but they were still there.

Brian didn’t have those sort of thoughts very often, but when he did, it could be hard to get past them. That night, he’d said something to Justin about how he should be out clubbing, like he was at Justin’s age. And Justin had reminded him that he wasn’t Brian -- kissing his hand and telling him that he’d much rather be at home with him than out having meaningless sex or getting blow jobs from strangers.

And he believed Justin when he said that. But when you’ve had a lifetime of self-doubt in the back of your mind when it comes to love and whether or not you deserve it, that was difficult to let go of completely.

Brian would look at Justin -- his beautiful blue eyes, the face that gave the appearance of still being in his early-to-mid-20s even though he was approaching his mid-30s -- and think of how lucky he was that this kid had stayed with him through so much. Justin was still so sexy, with his ample, round ass and smooth, alabaster skin. Sure, his middle was a little softer than it used to be, but so was Brian’s. That was just something that happened as you aged, he supposed -- as you got comfortable with your life. But Justin was so beautiful that it occasionally made it hard for Brian to believe that the younger man’s beauty was all his to appreciate, forever.

They’d been married now for nearly nine years, which felt like quite a feat when you were Brian Kinney. The man who once didn’t believe in love, much less marriage. Maybe Justin had turned Brian’s life a little bit upside down in that way as well. But that was a good kind of upside down.

Everything seemed so good. So perfect.

How could it all suddenly go so wrong?

Brian had been in Rochester when he received the phone call that upended everything and sent him into a whirlwind of travel and panic and frustration.

He was in Rochester because he’d spent the day talking to people who were just beginning to deal with the type of devastating injury he’d sustained a decade earlier. Answering their questions, talking to their families, allaying fears as best he could, and generally trying to be a good resource for how all of this could end up if you played your cards right. But it had also reminded him of how he’d nearly played his own cards very, very wrong.

Brian could see himself in the eyes of the people he’d talked to that day -- their fear, their curiosity, their anger. He hadn’t been in a rehab center since he’d left after his own stint of relearning how to take care of his body and how to just get through the day. And going through those doors had immediately taken him back there, to a place where his memories weren’t exactly positive. When his frame of mind had been so very different from what it was now. When everything had seemed so dark and bleak. So questionable. So uncertain.

He hoped he’d been able to accomplish what he’d been asked there to do -- give people an accurate picture of what life could be like after spinal cord injury. But when he’d gotten back to his hotel room and called Justin, he was feeling unusually sullen and introspective. He’d needed to hear Justin’s voice and imagine his smile on the other end of the line.

Justin had been on his way to Pittsburgh in Brian’s car, driving because it seemed to be the safest way to transport his artwork the nearly 400 miles between their hometown and the city they now called home. He said it was snowing, but that the road conditions weren’t bad. It had sounded like the sidewalks in Rochester were slicker than the highway in rural Pennsylvania, and Brian had been glad for that. He was already worried about Justin driving all that distance by himself, even though Justin had told him not to, and he definitely didn't want Justin driving in poor conditions on top of it.

The entire day, he’d had an uneasy feeling in his gut that he couldn’t explain. At first, he’d thought it was just a simple case of nerves, given what his scheduled activities were for the morning and afternoon, but it didn’t go away even after he’d gone back to the hotel. He’d thought maybe talking to Justin on the phone might help. That was a big part of why he’d called.

Now, he was so glad that he had, because it meant he’d had the chance to hear Justin’s voice.

Even if he’d forgotten to say “I love you” before they disconnected, because he’d been so distracted by the idea of engaging in some hot phone sex later that evening, once Justin had arrived safely in the Pitts.

After hanging up the phone, he’d grabbed his wallet and his room key and left the hotel room to go down the street to a cafe. He hoped that getting some food in his stomach might help alleviate the gnawing feeling he couldn’t seem to shake. But he’d barely managed to eat half a bowl of soup and a sandwich before he started feeling queasy.

So he’d gone back to the hotel and decided to lie down for a while, in hopes that he could calm the rolling in his gut. He’d started to wonder if perhaps he’d caught some kind of a virus on the airplane, or gotten food poisoning from something he’d eaten at the airport, where he felt the food quality was almost always questionable at best.

He tried to read a book for a while, played games on his phone for a while, and watched some truly awful reality television, just trying to kill some time until he felt Justin should have arrived in Pittsburgh and gotten checked into the hotel. He really wanted Justin to be alone when he called, so they could have a little fun before bed.

But the odd, sinking feeling in his stomach never went away. It only got worse as the night went on.

Around 8 p.m., he took care of everything he needed to take care of in the bathroom, took a shower, and settled back into bed, then picked up his phone to call Justin. But Justin didn’t answer.

Brian thought that was odd, but he chalked it up to Justin being busy reuniting with his mother or his sister, or maybe having left his phone in the car and not realized it yet. He’d try back later, he thought. Justin was expecting his call, so he’d eventually realize he didn’t have his phone with him, hopefully sooner rather than later.

So Brian killed another hour playing one of the many games he’d once sworn he’d never let take up space in his phone or his brain, then he tried to call Justin again. But there was still no answer.

Maybe Justin had fallen asleep, Brian remembered telling himself. He recalled how exhausting the trip from Pittsburgh to New York had been the last time they’d made it by car, when he’d moved to the city to be with Justin and escape from his old life. It made sense that Justin would have been tired. Maybe he’d settled in to watch some television and unwind, and had dozed off.

By that time, Brian’s own eyelids were getting heavy, because his day had been physically as well as emotionally exhausting. So he laid his phone on the table, making sure it wasn’t in do-not-disturb mode so Justin’s call would ring through and wake him up. Then he turned out the light and rolled over onto his stomach to settle into slumber himself.

But the gnawing ache was still there.

The phone call came just a few minutes past midnight.

Brian startled awake and tried to focus his eyes on the clock to figure out what time it was, then picked up his phone and tried to make sense out of what he saw on the screen. He didn’t recognize the number -- only the area code. The call was from Pittsburgh. Maybe it was Justin, using the hotel phone for whatever reason.

Brian turned the bedside lamp on and squinted in the suddenly bright light as he slid his thumb across the screen to answer the call.

But it wasn’t Justin at all. It was a woman calling from the same hospital where he’d once spent three days waiting to find out if Justin was going to live or die. She was calling to tell Brian that his husband had been involved in a serious accident, and he’d been flown into their trauma center by helicopter. This story was hauntingly familiar, even though it was one Brian didn’t remember -- one he’d only been told, like a story that happened to somebody else.

The second time his life had been turned upside down.

Brian felt like the woman’s words were swirling around in his head, echoing over and over, separating and coming back together and not quite making sense. He didn’t remember what he’d said to her, or most of what she’d said to him beyond her first couple of sentences. But he did remember the prevailing thought he’d had in that moment -- he had to get to Pittsburgh, now.

His hands were shaking so much that he could barely pull up his pants or get them buttoned, and he ended up giving up on his shirt entirely, just leaving it open and exposing the white t-shirt he had on underneath. He felt weak and dizzy and sick. He couldn’t make sense of his thoughts, and he couldn’t figure out what to do next. His mind was racing, but at the same time he felt like he was operating in slow motion.

He threw all of his belongings haphazardly into his suitcase, then zipped it up and set it on his lap.

Jennifer, he thought suddenly. He needed to call Jennifer.

So he did, waking her up and sending her into a similar state of panic to what he was feeling. He hated to do that, but she needed to know. And he needed someone who could be there for Justin when he couldn’t. Who the fuck knew how long it was going to take him to get from fucking Rochester to Pittsburgh in the middle of the night? Or if he’d even be able to.

When he hung up with Jennifer, she was in her car, on the way to the hospital. Brian left his hotel room and started down to the lobby to check out. But the hotel shuttle to the airport wasn’t running at this hour, the desk clerk told him. And the airport would be closed anyhow, she added. The shuttle would start running again at 5 a.m. She was calling him sir and speaking to him gently, in a voice like she was afraid if she spoke too loudly he might fall apart or start raging at her. He had a fleeting thought of how he must have looked. How he was sure that the panic and frustration he was feeling inside were written all over his face. He had to get to Justin, but this goddamn town was keeping him from doing that. He wanted to scream, but he didn’t.

Not knowing what else to do, Brian went back up to his room. He sat in his wheelchair, moving it back and forth just slightly, fidgeting to rid himself of some of the nervous energy, staring at the wall and the door and at his phone, wondering if Jennifer was at the hospital yet. If she knew anything. If she would call him, or if he should call her.

He felt the familiar tightness in his lower abdomen that indicated he needed to piss, so he took off his coat and threw it on the bed, tossing his phone down on top of it before he headed into the bathroom. He washed his hands and dug a catheter out of the bag he kept attached to the underside of his chair, and was about halfway through emptying his bladder when he heard his phone start to ring in the other room. Fuck. It was probably Jennifer. He wanted to talk to her right fucking now, but he also had to finish what he was doing. He willed his body to hurry the process along as the ringtone continued and then abruptly stopped when the call was sent automatically to voicemail. After what seemed like an eternity, the flow finally stopped and he was able to finish up, pulling his pants back up and washing his hands before returning to his phone to see who had called.

He’d been right, it was Jennifer. He called her back, and when she answered, she was crying.

Justin had been placed in a medically-induced coma, because he had swelling in his brain. Justin had hit his head in the accident. They were monitoring him to see if he’d need surgery to open his skull and relieve the pressure. They didn’t yet know how things would turn out. This story felt all too familiar as well to Brian. He felt like he was being thrown back into a nightmare -- like a ghost from his past had come back to haunt him.

The first time his life had been turned upside down.

Brian told Jennifer that the airport was closed, and he wouldn’t be able to fly out until morning at the earliest. He ended up apologizing to her, and feeling so guilty that he wasn’t fucking there. He should have been there. He was supposed to be there.

Justin was his husband. He was supposed to be there.

Brian was on the edge of tears himself when he hung up the phone.

He still didn’t know what to do, so he transferred back to the bed, leaving all of his clothes on. The only thing he took off was his shoes, and he only did that because he was paranoid about pressure sores. He’d never had one, knock on wood, but he knew he couldn’t afford to start now. He laid back on the pillows and tried to relax, but his heart was pounding. He pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes, and tried to slow down his breath. He felt like he was on the verge of a panic attack, which wasn’t going to do Justin any good either. He remembered what he’d done for Justin when crowds would overwhelm him, and tried to walk himself through the same exercise -- breathing, counting, focusing on one thing he could physically feel in the present moment to ground himself.

He didn’t remember exactly when the tears had started to fall. Or when his rapid breathing turned to choked sobs.

All he knew was that he was so fucking scared.

He tried to close his eyes and will himself to rest, but his mind was racing and wouldn’t allow it.

The rest of the night crawled by. Brian kept looking at the clock, staring at it as one minute turned to another ever-so-slowly. When it finally read 4:40 a.m., Brian put his shoes back on, dragged himself into his chair, splashed some water on his face and used the bathroom again, then put his suitcase back in his lap and went downstairs to catch the shuttle to the airport.

He called Jennifer from the hotel van, but there wasn’t anything new to report. No bad news, but no good news either.

His frustrating battle continued at the airport, where Brian tried to trade in the ticket to New York he already had for a ticket to Pittsburgh, but the person at the ticketing counter told him that he would be better off to keep his current ticket and go on to New York and catch a flight to Pittsburgh from there. So he went through security, trying to appear less on-edge than he felt, hoping to not raise the suspicions of any TSA agents who might mistake his panic for nervousness and suspect that he was up to no good.

He made it through security after the usual feel-up and pat-down, which he barely even noticed because his mind was so far away. His mind was back in Pittsburgh, with Justin.

A couple of hours later, he was back in New York, desperately trying to get himself a ticket to Pittsburgh, and finding that every fight was fucking full because of the holiday travel rush. He agreed to go standby for the earliest flight, and by some miracle managed to get a seat on it, all the way in the goddamned back of the plane. But he didn’t care this time about the fucking process that getting on the plane entailed -- all he wanted was to get to Pittsburgh, and to Justin. He would have spent the entire flight in the goddamn bathroom if that was what it took.

He called Michael while he waited for everyone else to board the airplane, and told him what was going on. He had to repeat himself twice before Michael seemed to comprehend what he’d said. Brian wondered if he was even making any sense anymore. He was fucking exhausted, but he still had hours to go. And his thoughts were running all over the place, so there was no way he'd be able to sleep on the flight. Michael said he’d pick him up at the airport and take him to the hospital. Michael told Brian he loved him. Brian said it back.

Why hadn’t he told Justin that?

Three simple words, that would have taken only a second. Words that weren’t so hard for him to say as they once had been, although they still didn’t roll off his tongue as naturally as they rolled off of Justin’s.

Justin hadn’t said it either.

Brian guessed they’d both figured they would have a chance to say it later.

But now Brian was wondering if he was ever going to get the chance to say it again. He prayed that he would. He didn’t even fucking believe in God, but he prayed anyway.

Michael met him just outside the security checkpoint at the airport in Pittsburgh -- as close as he could get to the secure zone. Michael immediately wrapped his arms around Brian, and Brian let himself instinctively melt into his friend’s familiar embrace for a brief moment before realizing that he didn’t have time for comfort. He needed to get to the hospital.

“We have to go,” he’d mumbled into Michael’s shoulder, his voice breaking. He hated sounding that desperate. “I need to go.”

Michael let Brian go, nodded understandingly, and took his keys out of his coat pocket.

Brian forced himself to propel his wheelchair forward, trailing behind Michael. God, he was so, so tired. But he didn’t have time to sleep.

He was sure his exhaustion clearly showed in the sloppy way he transferred himself into Ben and Michael’s SUV. He grabbed the handle above the door with one hand and leaned out so he could disengage the wheels from his chair, but Michael stopped him.

“I’ve got it,” Michael said.

Normally, Brian would have fought him on that. But today, he let him. He was too weary to fight. Too focused on Justin to care about anything else.

Michael loaded the chair along with Brian’s suitcase into the back of the SUV, then climbed into the driver’s seat. He paused for a moment and laid his hand on Brian’s arm, his dark brown eyes shining with tears as they met Brian’s gaze. Brian had seen that look before, a decade and a half ago as they sat together in a hospital corridor, waiting for news on Justin. Michael moved his hand, put the car in gear and backed out of the parking space, and they were on their way to the hospital.

Neither of them said a word the whole way there. But they didn’t really need to. That was the benefit of having been friends for more than thirty years. They understood each other completely, and they didn’t need words to do so.

When they got to the hospital, Brian found himself back in panic mode. Michael was speaking for him, but Brian didn’t even care, because he was having trouble finding words and making sense. They finally got the information they needed, after an agonizing few minutes of confusion over which Justin Taylor they were looking for. Apparently there was more than one Justin Taylor in the hospital that day. But there was only one that Brian was concerned about -- his husband.

As they made their way through the winding maze of corridors, Brian was hit with an overwhelming sense of deja vu. He fucking hated this place. The only thing good that had ever happened here was Gus being born. The rest of his memories of this hospital were things he’d rather not remember.

Michael and Brian rode the elevator up to the third floor in silence. By this point, Brian was just trying to keep ahold of himself and control the emotions that were threatening to spill over. He was hanging on by a thread. Michael had his hand on Brian’s shoulder, offering solidarity, although the action was of little comfort to Brian at this point.

When they arrived at the start of the hallway of patient rooms in the ICU, Brian abruptly stopped. He remembered walking this hall before, on his own two feet, fifteen years prior. How scared out of his mind he’d been back then, not only by the situation Justin was in, but also by the feelings he was struggling with at the time. Feelings that he was having for Justin, that he’d never had for anyone else. Feelings that ran much deeper and touched his soul in a way that was uncomfortable for him back then. Sitting at the end of that hallway brought all of those feelings flooding back -- how it had felt to stand outside of Justin’s door, feeling responsible for the fact that Justin was lying in that hospital bed, unconscious. Feeling like there was nothing he could do to make any of it better or atone for his sins.

Was it his fault this time, too? He didn’t know. He didn’t know any of the details. No one had told him yet. When had it happened? Had it happened shortly after they’d gotten off the phone? Had Justin been distracted? Was it a combination of distraction and deteriorating road conditions?

Brian felt Michael’s hand on his shoulder once more, checking in. Trying once again to provide comfort in a situation for which there was no comfort to be found. At least, not until Brian could see Justin’s blue eyes and know that he was in there and fully present.

“I’m okay,” Brian whispered, answering Michael’s unasked question. “I just need a minute.”

He closed his eyes right there in the middle of the hallway and concentrated on breathing. He couldn’t fall apart. Not right now. Justin needed him, and he needed to hold it together for Justin.

Eventually, Brian opened his eyes and started down the hallway, with Michael alongside him. When they got to Justin’s room, Brian could see Debbie sitting alongside Jennifer, who was holding her son’s hand. The scene was, again, far too familiar. Justin was connected to all manner of machinery by a vast network of tubes and wires. There was a machine breathing for him. He had a bandage around his head, and Brian could see cuts and bruises across Justin’s exposed skin on his face and his arms.

Debbie made eye contact with Brian, patted Jennifer on the shoulder and said a couple of words to her that Brian couldn’t hear, then got up and came toward the door. Brian was sitting just outside. As she passed him, she paused and cupped her hand around his cheek, giving him a sad smile. He could see something else in her eyes, though -- that she knew what this was like for him. That he was reliving his worst nightmare. She knew. She understood. He didn’t know what to say to her, so he didn’t say anything at all.

“Go on, honey,” she said gently. “You should be with him. He needs you right now.”

Feeling numb and a little bit lost, Brian entered the room. Michael stayed outside with his mother. Brian approached Jennifer hesitantly. She looked up at him and offered the same sad smile Debbie had, then pushed the chair Debbie had been sitting in back against the wall, making room for Brian to be closer to the bed.

“There’s no change,” Jennifer said. “We’re just watching and waiting. That’s all we can do.”

She released Justin’s hand back to the mattress and gave it a gentle pat, then wrapped her arms around Brian. The feel of her touch and her closeness compromised the tenuous grip Brian had on his emotions, and soon he was crying on her shoulder. Letting go of everything that had been building up. She rubbed his back and he clung to her and they cried together for a long time.

When she let him go, he felt the loss. He didn’t want to let go. But he knew why she was doing it.

“I’m sure you want some time alone with him,” she said as she wiped her eyes with a tissue and got up to leave the room.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure he did. But before he could find his voice, she was gone. She closed the door behind her and disappeared down the hallway.

He was alone with Justin. Alone with the sounds that confirmed that Justin was alive -- the steady beep of the heart monitor and the rhythmic hiss of the respirator. He moved closer and took Justin’s hand in his own, feeling the warmth of his husband’s skin against his -- another confirmation of the life that was still flowing through Justin’s body. He reached his other hand out and laid it on Justin’s chest, feeling his heartbeat, keeping time with the beep being emitted by the machine. Each pump creating a flow of life, of energy, inside Justin. Life and energy that he hoped was still happening in Justin’s head. In his brain.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he said. He was surprised at how his voice sounded. Weak. Hoarse. Broken.

Brian didn’t know what to say next. The knowledge that coma patients could hear what was going on around them was less of a comfort to Brian than it should have been at that moment. Instead, it made him feel pressured to be sure he was saying and doing the right thing. He didn’t want to fall apart -- he'd already done that with Jennifer. He wanted to be strong for Justin, but he didn’t know where to start.

And he didn’t feel very strong right now.

Justin’s heartbeat continued thumping softly under Brian’s hand, and his chest rose and fell softly with each breath. Breaths that were being forced by external means.

Brian could feel his mind drifting back and forth from the present moment to the last time he’d seen Justin lying there like this -- totally helpless, hanging somewhere between life and death. He’d tried so hard for the past fifteen years to push those images out of his mind because he didn’t like to think about them and all of the feelings that had come along with them -- guilt, uncertainty, and fear. But mostly guilt. Now, all of those feelings were coming back, further complicated by the fact that he’d spent most of the last decade and a half in a relationship with Justin. In love with Justin. It wasn’t like it was before, when he was just beginning to uncover and acknowledge what he felt for the kid. When it had almost ended right as it started. Now, they had history together. They were married, for Christ’s sake.

And Brian couldn’t fathom the idea of having to let Justin go. Not now. Not ever.

He was older; he was supposed to go first. Not Justin.

He didn’t even want to think about it.

So he pushed the thoughts aside again and refocused his attention on Justin’s heartbeat. The steady rhythm of his breath. Reminding himself that Justin was still here. He wasn’t gone. And Brian needed to keep his mind from going too far with a worst-case scenario.

He had to be the strong one here. He didn’t have a choice.

“You’ve got to stop scaring us like this, Sunshine,” he said. His voice didn’t sound any stronger than it had earlier. “I hope you can hear me right now. Listen to me… Are you listening? You’ve got to fight, okay? You’re strong. I know you are. You can come back from this. You will. You have to.” He paused for a moment and took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. When he spoke again, his voice was so quiet he could barely hear it himself.

“I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t.”

He hated how his voice broke when he said those words. He wasn’t even sure why he’d said them at all, even though he knew they were true. The last thing he wanted to be doing right now was putting guilt on Justin when he was lying there unconscious. Shit.

“I knew I should have gone with you,” he said. He knew he was starting to sound desperate, but there wasn’t anything he could do to change that. He was desperate. “I shouldn’t have let you go by yourself. I should have been there with you. I don’t know if that would have changed anything, but I should have been there.”

He wondered if Justin had felt any pain. If he’d been knocked unconscious immediately, or if he’d been lying there in pain, waiting for help to arrive. Had he been scared? Was he alone? Or had there been a good samaritan there to hold his hand?

How much was Justin comprehending of his situation and what was going on around him at the moment, in this hospital room? Was he scared right now?

Brian didn’t know. He’d never been in a coma. He didn’t know what that felt like. His only point of reference was waking up from anesthesia with a strange feeling in your body, more pain than you’ve ever felt in your life or even thought was possible, and absolutely no memory of what happened. And that had been really fucking scary.

So yeah, Justin was probably scared.

“It’s okay,” Brian said. “I’m not mad. I just… I need you to come back to me. To us. I need you to be okay. We need you here.”

Slowly and carefully, he picked up Justin’s hand and brought it to his lips, being mindful of the network of wiring that surrounded his husband’s form, which seemed so slight and small right now, lying in that bed. He kissed the back of Justin’s hand and held it there for a moment before laying it back down.

“I love you,” he said. “I should have said that last night. I should have said it so much more.”

Shit. He could feel the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. The lump in his throat. He swallowed to try to get rid of it, but it wouldn’t go away.

Brian heard a light knock on the door just before the knob turned and the door opened, and a person he assumed was Justin’s doctor walked in. She was barely over five feet tall, with auburn hair cut into a short bob, and large, blue eyes that reminded Brian of Justin’s. She approached him, stuck out her right hand and introduced herself as Dr. Helton, a neurologist.

Christ, Brian was more familiar with neurologists now than he’d ever wanted to be in his entire life. And her chosen profession probably explained why she wasn’t the slightest bit thrown off by the wheelchair, the way most people were when they first met him. Even if they tried not to be, they always were. He’d learned to ignore it, even though it drove him crazy when people wouldn’t look him in the eye, like they somehow thought if they did, they were staring. She looked him right in the eye, though, and spoke to him just like she would have if he were standing in front of her.

Even as familiar with neurologists as Brian was, he certainly wasn’t a doctor, and he wasn’t an expert in brain injury. That, coupled with the fact that he’d been up most of the previous night and was completely spent, mentally and physically, made it very difficult to even begin to comprehend what she was saying. What he did manage to gather was that they were still in “wait and see” mode, but as time passed, it was getting less and less likely that Justin would need surgical intervention. So that was some good news. A small bit of relief in an incredibly fucked-up situation.

Brian stayed in Justin’s room for the rest of the day, while other people floated in and out. Most of the time, though, it was just him and Jennifer in the room. Silently sharing each other’s pain and fear. Wondering what they could have done differently. Playing the what-if game. Not that it was doing either of them any good. And it definitely wasn’t helping Justin.

Nothing was helping Justin except time.

A nurse came by just as the sun was setting outside the window, gently forcing them out of the room since visiting hours were over, and Justin needed his rest, she said.

Fuck, he was in a goddamn coma. What else was he doing except resting?

But Brian and Jennifer left the room, with an unspoken vow between them that they’d both return in the morning as soon as they could, resuming their bedside vigil. Brian didn’t know if it was helping Justin or not to have both of them there, but he also didn’t know what else to do. There really wasn’t anything else he could do.

And Brian hated that. He was a fixer -- a doer. A man of action. Just sitting and waiting to see how the chips would fall wasn’t his style. He wished he could do more. But the simple fact was, there was nothing.

And all of the what-ifs in the world wouldn’t change the situation at all.

Fuck if that wasn’t familiar. The last time he’d been confronted with this many what-ifs was ten years before, during his recovery from his own accident. And even though he’d nearly driven himself insane with them, in the end, they didn’t change a goddamn thing.

He was paralyzed, and he always would be. He’d had to realize that, and accept it. Learn to be okay with it.

And now, he was.

For Justin, he realized he’d have to do the same. He might not know how things would turn out, but he had to accept that there was nothing he could do to change what was happening right now. Whatever happened, he’d have to accept it and learn to be okay with it.

And for Justin, he knew he could.

He’d help Justin through it, exactly as Justin had helped him.

There was no one left at the hospital except him and Jennifer. The waiting room was empty, and everyone else had gone home. Michael had been the last one to leave. He’d stopped by the room to let Brian know he was leaving his suitcase in Jennifer’s car, and they’d shared a long hug that had taken Brian straight back to the three nights he and Michael had spent sleeping in the waiting room, not knowing if Justin was going to live or die.

Brian was tempted to stay the night this time, because he didn’t want to leave Justin alone. But he also knew that he probably shouldn't. He’d been up all day. He was completely drained, and he was hurting physically as much as he was hurting emotionally. He knew he needed to at least try to get some rest, as much as he hated to leave.

“Where are you staying?” Jennifer asked as they waited outside the elevators.

Shit. He’d forgotten that Justin had never checked into the hotel because he hadn’t fucking made it to Pittsburgh. At least not under his own power.

“I, uh… I don’t know,” he said. “Justin was supposed to check in last night…” He let his voice trail off. He should probably call the hotel. Hopefully they still had an accessible room available, or he didn’t know what he was going to do. He could sleep on Michael’s couch, or Debbie’s, but bathing and using the bathroom would be a problem. It was times like these when he was reminded of just how much his life had changed and just how inconvenient this shit could be.

Jennifer waited with him as he called the hotel, and after a lot of explaining and somewhat-intrusive questions and an agonizingly long five minutes on hold, they managed to come up with a solution for him. It wasn’t one of the fully accessible rooms, but it had a shower that already had a seat built into it, so he could make it work. They promised they’d move him to a fully accessible room as soon as one became available. He agreed and hung up, but he wasn’t sure he’d be spending enough time there for it to matter anyhow. He intended on spending every waking moment he could with Justin.

Fifteen minutes later, Jennifer was dropping Brian off at the hotel, with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” she said. “If you need anything, call me.”

Brian was reminded in that moment that he was her son too, even if not by blood. And she was treating him like a mother would. Even at 45 years old, sometimes he cursed what he’d missed out on during his childhood. Wondered what life would have been like with parents who gave a shit about him. Debbie had tried so hard to make up for it, but there was no way she could have -- not completely. By the time he’d met Michael, he was too far gone. Too jaded. Too mistrusting.

Justin had cracked Brian open farther than one else ever had.

And now, it hurt. It hurt so much.

Brian checked into the hotel and went up to his room, which was a little small and hard to move around in, but whatever. He was probably only going to be sleeping and showering here anyhow. He opened his suitcase, suddenly remembering that he only had enough clothes for two days -- plus the extra set he’d thrown in, just in case. He wasn’t packed for a week -- or an indefinite time -- in Pittsburgh. He didn’t have enough of anything -- not of his medications, not of his other supplies, nothing. Fuck. He was going to have to figure all of that out, and fast.

But tonight, he was bone tired. It would all have to wait until tomorrow.

A tomorrow that would hopefully bring positive news.

In the meantime, Brian didn’t want to think anymore.

He ordered a room service dinner that he really only picked at, while trying to distract himself with bad television. He had dozens of unanswered text messages on his phone, but he didn’t have the mental energy to reply to any of them. He showered and brushed his teeth, downed his handful of pills, along with an extra painkiller that would hopefully knock his ass out, then slid into bed wearing only his underwear.

Alone.

He hadn’t realized until last night just how much he hated sleeping alone. He used to do it all the time, and thought nothing of it. But that was before Justin.

It was strange how everything in Brian’s life could be divided into “before Justin” and “after Justin.” But that was just how much that persistent kid had changed Brian’s entire life.

He really didn’t want to find out what life would be like if he suddenly had to add a third category: “without Justin.”

He prayed he wouldn’t have to. And he hoped God would listen to someone like him.