“The night Justin was bashed, I called you and you were about to get on a plane, and you came here and you sat with me for three days, waiting to see if he was going to live or die. If it hadn't been for you, I never would have made it. It was because of you. You’re strong enough for both of us.”
*****
Michael was sitting at the dining room table in the house he’d shared with his husband for the past 12 years, drinking coffee and catching up on social media just like he did every morning, when his phone rang. It was Brian.
He knew Brian and Justin would be coming into town in a couple of days for the holidays, so he really didn’t think anything of the fact that Brian was calling him. He figured his oldest and dearest friend was just calling to iron out the details for when they’d be getting together.
He had no reason at all to suspect that when he answered the phone, the Brian he’d be talking to would barely be able to put together a coherent sentence, and that the few words he uttered would indicate that Justin had been seriously hurt and was in critical condition at a Pittsburgh hospital with a traumatic brain injury.
But that was exactly what happened.
Michael felt bad for making Brian repeat himself, but he felt like he must have misheard. There was no way that what Brian was saying was right. Why was Justin driving to Pittsburgh? Why hadn’t Brian been with him?
What the hell was going on?
Michael hadn’t heard Brian sounding that upset -- that out-of-sorts -- since the night Justin was bashed. The night Brian called him just before was supposed to be getting on a plane to Portland, to start his new life as the doctor’s “wife.”
“I’m on the plane now,” Brian had said. “I’ll be there in a little over an hour. Can you pick me up at the airport?”
“Uh, yeah… Sure.” Michael felt numb. How was this happening again?
He couldn’t imagine how helpless Brian had been feeling. How would he have felt if Ben ended up in the hospital, and he was hundreds of miles away?
Michael didn’t want to think about it.
Brian had already known about the accident for eight hours at that point, Michael found out later.
He really didn’t want to think about that. What torture that would have been. Just sitting and waiting, with your hands tied.
Less than two hours later, Michael was standing in the airport, waiting for Brian. When he saw his friend, he was immediately struck by how absolutely destroyed Brian looked. His clothes were wrinkled, as if he’d slept in them, only Michael could tell he hadn’t slept. He probably hadn’t eaten. Hell, who could eat or sleep when your husband was lying in a hospital bed, unconscious?
Michael had been there before, and Ben hadn’t even been his husband yet back then. But he knew how awful it was to feel so helpless. And he knew how much it had helped when Brian came and held him and told him it was going to be okay and just let him cry.
Michael wanted to hug Brian and never let go. He tried, but Brian had to get to Justin. Michael understood.
Bringing their SUV probably hadn’t been the best idea, Michael thought in hindsight. It was higher off the ground, and gave Brian a complicated transfer to make, which took him a couple of tries to get. But he got it, thank goodness. And one benefit of the SUV was that he could put Brian’s wheelchair in the back without taking it apart. He’d never picked it up like that before -- he’d never had a reason to -- but it was much lighter than he figured it would be.
Michael was surprised that Brian let him help like that, without any sort of a fight. But Brian was clearly distracted -- his mind was elsewhere. Michael was sure he would have felt the same way if it were Ben.
Michael still had a hard time seeing his best friend in pain, because he’d always viewed Brian as kind of a superhero. That was what had inspired him to create Rage. Brian had always seemed larger than life. Invincible. Even when Brian had come away from his own accident with a permanent disability and a new mobility accessory, Michael had still been impressed with how well Brian had dealt with it, all things considered. Certainly better than Michael felt he would have, himself. He knew it hadn’t been easy, but after some time, Brian had accepted it and started using it to find a purpose in his life. Michael didn’t think he would have been able to do that.
He and Brian rode to the hospital in silence. Michael didn’t know what to say, and Brian seemed to be completely lost inside his head. There was nothing Michael could say, really. What he wanted was to not have his best friend sitting in the passenger seat of his car, visibly trembling, breathing a little too fast, staring blankly out the window, in a vast amount of emotional pain that Michael could do absolutely nothing about. But there was no way he could have that. He couldn’t fix this. This was happening. It sucked, and it was scary, but it was reality.
Michael was feeling his way through this one blind.
When they got to the hospital, Michael stood close by -- probably a little too close -- as Brian got out of the car and into his chair. But the last thing Brian needed right now was to fall and hurt himself, and the last thing Michael needed was for it to be his fault because he hadn’t made the trip to Carnegie-Mellon to swap vehicles with Ben. Ben’s Prius would have been much better suited to Brian’s needs of getting in and out of the car. He made a mental note to tell Ben to take the SUV to work tomorrow, just to make things easier.
They’d made their way together to the information desk in the hospital lobby to get Justin’s room number, but there was confusion there as well. First of all, Brian wasn’t making much sense -- he was gripping the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles were white and asking the poor girl to tell him where his husband was, without even giving Justin’s name. So Michael gave her Justin’s name, and then it turned out there were two Justin Taylors in the hospital that night, and they had to try to figure out which one was the right one, by giving her more of Justin’s personal details, which Brian did manage to give her, thank god.
Eventually, she found the Justin Taylor that Michael and Brian were actually looking for, and sent them up to the third floor -- the ICU.
Michael remembered all too well the last time he and Brian had been there. It was the night Justin was bashed. He’d spent three nights sleeping in the waiting room with Brian, not knowing if Justin was going to make it or not. Brian had been absolutely destroyed then, too. It had been a harrowing three days, but Justin had pulled through. Michael hoped that he would pull through this time, too.
The elevator brought them to the third floor, and they continued on down the familiar pathway to the patient rooms. It hadn’t changed much in 15 years. After they turned the corner that would lead them to Justin’s room, Brian stopped so suddenly that Michael almost ran into him. Brian was staring down the hallway, his eyes wide and glazed over, not moving at all. Michael didn’t know what else to do besides lay his hand on Brian’s shoulder, just to let him know he was there. He knew there wasn’t really any comfort he could possibly provide to his friend right now, even as badly as he wanted there to be. All he could do was be there. So he would.
Brian said he was okay, that he just needed a minute. So they took a minute, right there in the hallway, while Brian closed his eyes and breathed deeply, like he was trying to calm himself down. Michael didn’t blame him for being anxious -- again, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what a basket case he would have been if it were Ben who was injured. Not only was Brian dealing with the fact that his husband was severely hurt, but he was also having to face a very similar situation to one that had affected him deeply 15 years before.
Michael knew full well exactly how much Brian had been affected by what happened to Justin in that parking garage after the prom. Maybe even more so than Brian had been willing to admit to himself. Brian had all but forced Michael to go to Portland right after they found out Justin was going to live and he wouldn’t be a vegetable for the rest of his life. Brian had insisted he’d be alright, just like he always did, but Michael knew him well enough to recognize when something was off. He hadn’t fought Brian on it, though, because he also knew there would be no point in that. Brian would get what he wanted one way or another, at any cost. And apparently what he’d wanted was to be left alone. It was better to just shut up and go to Portland and preserve their friendship, than to have Brian do something to push him away.
After he and David had their falling out, Michael had returned to Pittsburgh to find Brian in a state he’d never seen him in before -- practically fall-down drunk all the time, snorting random substances up his nose at every turn, tricking in the back room at Babylon with this strange, dead look in his eyes. It had been painfully obvious to Michael exactly what Brian was doing -- trying to not have to think about or have feelings about what had happened to Justin. He didn’t even know why he’d bothered to suggest that Brian get some help -- talk to someone about what had happened, so he could process it instead of trying to run from it. He’d known Brian would refuse and make some sarcastic comment, and that was exactly what he’d done. But then Justin had shown up at Woody’s, and Brian had been forced to confront his demons head-on.
Michael would never get the look that had been on Brian’s face in that moment at Woody’s out of his head. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. The way he looked as he sat at the end of that hospital hallway, a decade and a half later, was nearly identical.
After a few minutes, Brian seemed to find his resolve and started moving again, and they were soon outside of Justin’s hospital room, where Michael’s mother, Debbie, was sitting with Justin’s mother, Jennifer. The two of them had been close for a long time -- essentially since Justin had entered their lives. Debbie had supported Jennifer through Justin’s coming out and Jennifer’s divorce, and they’d remained good friends over the years.
Debbie looked up just as they approached the doorway, and Michael saw her make eye contact with Brian. She turned and said something to Jennifer, then got up and came to them. She paused and talked to Brian, trying to offer comfort just as Michael had, then stayed in the hallway with Michael as Brian went into the room. Not wanting to intrude or eavesdrop, they walked back down the hallway toward the waiting room.
“How is he?” she asked. Her voice echoed a little in the empty hallway, even though she was speaking fairly quietly, at least for her.
Michael shrugged. “About as well as could be expected, I guess,” he said. “I know I’d be fucking beside myself if it were Ben lying there in that bed. But, you know Brian… I’m sure he’s not showing us half of what he’s feeling.”
Debbie nodded as they turned the corner and walked through the doorway of the lounge. She sank heavily into a chair in the corner, closed her eyes, and exhaled.
“Poor kid,” she said.
Michael wasn’t sure if she meant Justin or Brian. Or both. He sat down next to his mother, leaned his head back, and closed his own eyes briefly.
“I haven’t seen Brian like that in a long time. Not since…” Michael couldn’t bring himself to finish that sentence. But he knew he didn’t need to.
His mother nodded in understanding and pulled him into her arms.
“I love you, don’t you ever forget that,” she said, directly into his ear. “We probably don’t say it often enough.”
She was right, Michael thought. Most people don’t say it enough. They assume that people know how much they love them, but how often do they say it out loud? This whole chain of events was a sobering reminder of just how important it was to tell people how you feel, so you don’t end up with regrets later.
Michael wondered if that wasn’t part of what was eating at Brian. Wondering if he could have done more to show Justin how much he loved him. Michael was sure Justin knew, but whether or not Brian believed that was another story.
Debbie and Michael sat in the waiting room until it was almost dinner time, sort of playing defacto “hosts” as other people drifted in and out during the day, checking on Justin. Michael didn’t see Brian for a long time -- he stayed in the hospital room. As he should. Eventually, things settled down, visitor-wise, and Debbie wanted to head home to get started on the metric ton of food Michael was sure she was about to prepare for Jennifer and Brian.
Michael, tired of feeling helpless, decided to go home with her and help her. Maybe he could at least convince her to make something Brian would actually eat, since her usual repertoire of carb-heavy, cheese-and-cream-laden lasagnas and casseroles wouldn’t be something he’d want to eat on a daily basis. Before they left, Michael stopped by the room again.
Since visiting hours would be over soon, Jennifer and Brian had already made plans -- Jennifer would take Brian to his hotel, and hopefully they’d all be able to get some rest. With as exhausted as Brian was looking, Michael really hoped that his friend would take that to heart.
Before he left, Michael gave Brian another hug. The way his best friend clung to him, his fingers digging into his back, brought back more memories of the last time he and Brian had been there in that hallway. Michael wondered if this feeling of history repeating itself was ever going to go away. Probably not. The whole situation was so eerily similar. The only real difference was that, back then, Justin and Brian were only getting started. Now, they’d been married for close to a decade. But it was apparent from what Michael had seen today that Brian’s feelings were pretty much the same now as they had been back then, giving Michael even more of an appreciation for just how deeply Brian had already loved Justin all those years ago.
The biggest difference was that, this time, Michael hadn’t seen Brian cry.
Michael and Debbie spent the rest of the evening in her kitchen, and Ben came over to help after he finished teaching his last class for the day. None of them really said much. No one wanted to talk about the elephant in the room.
Michael was scared to death for Brian. Even more scared than he had been all those years ago. He could already see what this was doing to his best friend, and he didn’t want to think about what was going to happen if Justin didn’t pull through. Particularly now that Brian had been in New York for ten years. Fifteen years ago, Brian would have had his Pittsburgh family to rally around him, even though he’d surely have tried to act like he didn’t need them or their support. But did Brian have the same kind of support system in New York? Or would he be essentially all alone? Michael had heard the names of a few different people on a consistent basis, and he'd met a couple of them during one of his visits to the city, but he wasn't sure how close they were. That wasn’t really something he and Brian talked about. It wasn’t something he thought they’d ever need to talk about, honestly. And the fact that he was even thinking about it now -- and the reason why he was thinking about it -- was making him uncomfortable.
He sent Brian a couple of text messages that evening, just to check in on him and see if he needed anything, but he never heard back. He really didn’t like the idea that Brian was staying in a hotel room by himself. He wished Brian could stay with him and Ben, but he knew that their house wasn’t exactly wheelchair friendly. It worked just fine for a short visit during the day, but for overnight, there was just no way to make it work. Michael wanted to be able to check in on Brian and make sure he was okay, since he knew Brian would probably never reach out. He was sure he could find out where Brian was staying, but Michael also didn't want to just show up unannounced. It would be a little easier if Brian was in the same house, to check in without being intrusive.
When Carl came home from work, he had a copy of the accident report that he’d managed to get from the state police. Basically, a vehicle had cut off a tractor-trailer, causing the driver to brake and lose traction on a slick overpass. When the tractor-trailer came to a stop, it was blocking the road, and Justin had plowed into it. The driver of the car that started the chain reaction had fled the scene. Just reading the account of it in black-and-white type on paper, Michael couldn’t begin to imagine how scared Justin must have been. And how awful it must be for Brian to know that Justin had been alone.
Just as Michael was sending his second text message to Brian, Ben walked up behind him and wrapped his arms around him, planting a kiss on his cheek.
“You’re a good friend, you know that?” Ben said.
“I’m trying,” Michael sighed as he let himself relax into Ben’s arms. “I just wish there was something I could do. I don’t like that there isn’t anything I can do. There wasn’t last time either. I hate feeling like this.”
“Sometimes all you can do is just be there. And that’s enough. Just be there for him.”
And as much as Michael wanted to do more, he knew Ben was right.
As they went home that night, climbed into bed together and turned out the light, Michael couldn’t help but think of Brian, who was sleeping alone, not knowing if he was ever going to be able to share a bed with his husband again. And that thought made Michael’s heart hurt for his friend. He snuggled himself against Ben, closed his eyes, and tried not to think about the possibility.
In the morning, Michael called his daytime cashier at the comic book store to let him know that he wouldn’t be coming in today, or for the next few days, but that he’d be available by phone if needed. Then, he drank his coffee and caught up on his social media just as he’d done the day before, only this time he also kept checking his phone for text messages from Brian.
After Ben left around 9 a.m., Michael decided he couldn’t stand it anymore and called Brian, because he needed to know that his friend was okay.
When Brian answered, he sounded half asleep.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” Michael said. “Did I wake you up?”
“S’okay,” Brian mumbled on the other end of the line. “What time is it?”
“It’s almost nine. I’m sorry, I’ll let you go back to sleep.”
“No, no.” Suddenly Brian sounded a lot more awake. “Shit, I’ve got to get to the hospital. I didn’t mean to sleep that long. Fuck, how the hell am I going to get there? Are you at the store?”
“No, I took the day off. I’ll take you. Just tell me where to go and when to show up.”
Brian gave Michael the address of the hotel, and when they hung up the phone, he could tell he was on speakerphone and could also hear Brian moving around, trying to hurry and get ready. He at first told Michael to show up in an hour and a half, then shortened that to an hour and said he’d figure it out. Michael had no idea what he was referring to there, but it made him think of how different it must be now for Brian to get ready for the day -- something he hadn’t really given much thought to before.
When Michael showed up at the hotel an hour later and knocked on Brian’s door, he answered it with his toothbrush in his mouth, then went back into the bathroom to finish up before coming back out and starting to gather up the rest of the things he’d need for the day. Brian looked quite a bit better than he had the day before, although he still had an unsettled, worried, anxious look about him. But that was to be expected, given the situation.
Brian picked up a small stack of clothing and set it down in his lap.
“I know this is weird, but would you mind washing these for me?” he asked. “I was packed for two days in Rochester, so I don’t have enough clothes. And I don’t know when I’m going to find time to get more.”
“It’s not weird at all. And yes, I’ll do it. I don’t mind. I’ll do whatever you need me to do...just tell me and consider it done.” It really was the least he could do for his friend. But Michael needed that. He needed some way to feel useful.
“Thanks.” Brian nodded once as he continued tossing things into a small backpack. “And I need to run some errands this morning… Fuck, it’s going to be lunch by the time I can get to the hospital. Dammit, I didn’t mean to sleep that long.”
“You needed the rest,” Michael said gently. “I talked to Ma a little bit ago. She’s with Jennifer. She said there’s no change. He’s just holding his own. Take care of whatever you need to take care of. He’s okay.”
Those words felt so empty and meaningless -- he’s okay. They weren’t really true. Justin wasn’t okay. They didn’t know if he ever would be again. But Michael also knew that Brian needed to take care of himself. He wasn’t going to be able to just set all of his own needs aside like he had the last time Justin was lying in bed in a coma. And Michael really didn’t want him to try. So he was going to do everything he could to try to assure Brian that it was okay to take the time he needed to take care of whatever he needed to take care of. Because he needed to stay healthy for Justin.
Brian zipped up the backpack and hung it over the back of his wheelchair.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Brian directed Michael to stop at a pharmacy close by the hospital, where they went inside and Brian picked up several different prescriptions and racked up quite a bill, then they went on their way to the hospital.
Michael noticed Brian’s right leg shaking against the door just as they pulled into a parking space in the hospital parking garage. Brian put his hand on his knee like he was trying to stop it, but his leg paid that no mind and kept right on doing what it was doing. Michael hadn’t seen that happen in a long, long time. It reminded him of the way fidgety people bounce their legs up and down, only this was completely out of Brian’s control.
“Dammit,” Brian said under his breath. “This shit only happens when I’m stressed, and it fucking makes me more stressed.”
“Do you have something you can--”
“I fucking take something for it every goddamn day,” Brian said, cutting Michael off. “I need to get in there. I need it to stop so I can.”
“Okay,” Michael said, trying to keep his voice even and calm, as Brian was getting more agitated. “Just relax, maybe that’ll help.”
“It’s not going to fucking help.”
“Well, I don’t think getting upset is helping either.”
“Shut the fuck up, Michael,” Brian spat. Then he stopped, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. When he spoke again, his tone had completely changed. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m just…”
“I know. You don’t have to apologize.”
Michael could tell that there were all sorts of emotions running just below the surface in his friend right now, fighting with one another, threatening to break free. He’d seen the fear, the despondence, the anxiety, and now the anger and frustration. But he still hadn’t seen Brian cry.
He didn’t know if Brian had broken down when he was alone with Justin or not, or maybe when he was with Jennifer, or if he was just holding it all inside, the way he usually did. Trying to pretend that he didn’t have feelings. Locking them up inside the Kinney Fortress. He was impressed with how effectively Brian could still do that, even without the illicit drugs and the copious amounts of alcohol and anonymous sex -- all the ways in which Brian had managed his emotional pain since they were teenagers, all the way up until his life changed in an instant ten years before.
Regardless, Michael could tell there was something building inside Brian that needed to be released. But he also knew there was nothing he could do to make Brian let it go -- he’d do it in his own time, if he did it at all.
It didn’t take much longer before Brian’s leg stopped shaking and they were able to go into the hospital. From there, the day went a lot like the previous one -- with Michael and Debbie spending a lot of time in the waiting room, and Jennifer and Brian in the room with Justin.
“Jennifer said Daphne is coming in from Cincinnati today,” Debbie said, breaking the comfortable silence they’d fallen into.
Michael had wondered where Daphne had ended up. He’d known she was a pre-med major back when Justin still lived in Pittsburgh, but after Justin went to New York, Michael had no reason to know or means to find out any other details about Daphne’s life. He assumed she’d finished medical school and was probably working somewhere as a doctor now. Cincinnati probably wasn’t that different from the Pitts.
“That’s good,” he said, not really knowing what else to say.
Again, they fell into that comfortable silence.
After an hour or so had passed, Jennifer came into the waiting room and said she was going to get some lunch. Debbie agreed to go with her, and Michael said he would go sit with Brian.
It was the first time he’d seen Brian and Justin together in the hospital room. At least, this time around.
It looked a lot like the last time, though. Brian was holding Justin’s hand, and talking to him, although Michael couldn’t hear what he was saying as he approached the door and slowly pushed it open. Brian looked up at him and offered a half-smile. Not a happy one, just an acknowledgment and nothing more.
“Thought I’d come and keep you company for a while,” Michael said. “If you want me to, that is.”
Brian nodded slightly. Michael assumed that was an “okay.” If not an “I want you to.”
Michael hesitantly approached the bed and took a seat in the chair that sat alongside Brian’s. Neither of them said anything for a while. It felt awkward for Michael -- like he was imposing somehow. Intruding on a private moment shared between only Justin and Brian. He was just about to make some excuse to leave Brian alone so he could talk to Justin again, when Brian reached out his other hand and suddenly took Michael’s, so that he was holding Justin’s hand with one and Michael’s with the other. Maybe Brian did want him here, after all.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Brian said softly. Michael was glad for the confirmation. Ben’s words from the night before kept running through his head: sometimes all you can do is just be there.
The three men’s hands were linked together in an odd sort of chain of comfort and presence. Michael and Brian sat there together for a long time without saying a word. Michael was starting to get used to that. Maybe they didn’t need to say anything at all. Maybe they needed to just be.
Brian was the one who broke the silence this time.
“What if he doesn't wake up this time?” Brian whispered, his voice so quiet that Michael barely heard him. Perhaps that was by design, born of fear that if he said it too loudly, it might come true.
Michael squeezed Brian’s hand.
“He will,” Michael said. “They’re just keeping him under and letting him heal right now.”
“But what if he doesn’t? What if he’s not…”
Brian didn’t finish that sentence. Michael didn’t really want him to. Hell, he didn’t need him to. He knew how it ended.
“Don’t think like that, okay?” Michael said. God, he remembered the last time he’d said those words to Brian, right here in this same goddamn hospital. Michael wanted nothing more than for this recurring nightmare to end, but he knew they were all a long way from waking up and finding that everything was going to be alright.
Brian nodded, closed his eyes, and swallowed. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.”
“He’s strong. He’s going to make it through this.” Truthfully, Michael didn’t know if those last words were true, but he needed them to be. Maybe speaking them out loud would make them so. At the very least, he needed Brian to believe that they were true.
The ringing of Brian’s phone in his pocket interrupted their exchange. He let go of Michael’s hand so he could answer it. Michael could see that it was a local number, but he had no idea who it was, and it was clear from Brian’s confused expression that he didn’t know either, but he answered it anyhow.
“Kinney,” he said -- his typical way of answering the phone when he didn’t know who was on the other end of the line. Maybe it was a business call. Someone who hadn’t gotten the memo that the CEO of Kinnetik was dealing with a serious family crisis at the moment.
“Yes, that’s me. … Yes. … Oh.” Brian’s expression suddenly changed into an odd mixture of surprise and realization and…was that fear Michael could see in his eyes? “Yes, I’ll come down there as soon as I can. … Thank you.”
As he hung up the phone and slid it back into the pocket on his shirt, Brian looked a little confused and somehow even more unsettled than he already had been.
“That was the state police post,” Brian said, his voice sounding numb. “They said they have some of my ‘personal articles’ from my vehicle that were recovered from the scene of the accident. It has to be the paintings. It has to be the fucking paintings.” He was slowly getting louder and louder. “I forgot about the goddamn paintings. How the fuck did I forget about the goddamn reason he was driving my fucking car all the way out here by himself?!”
By the time Brian was finished, he was nearly shouting, and Michael was worried that someone was going to come in to warn them that they were disturbing other patients.
“Shh,” Michael said as he put his arm around Brian’s shoulders. “Brian, it’s okay. You’re worried about Justin. It’s understandable that you weren’t thinking about anything else except him.”
“I’m sorry, Justin,” Brian said desperately, still far too loud, although he wasn’t quite shouting anymore. Michael could tell Brian was starting to crack. “I’m so sorry I forgot about the fucking paintings.”
“Shh,” Michael said again. “We’ll go get them.”
“They were important,” Brian said, much more quietly. “They were important. That’s why he was driving them here. He didn’t want them to get lost or damaged.”
“Then I’ll take you over there. Let’s go get them, okay?”
Brian shook his head. “Not until Jen gets back. I don’t want him to be alone.”
“Sure,” Michael said gently. “When you’re ready, we’ll go.”
It wasn’t too long after that, that Michael and Brian were back in Ben’s Prius, heading to the outskirts of town. It took them thirty minutes to get to the state police post that was the closest to where Justin’s accident had occurred. The closer they got, the more agitated Brian got. By the time they actually arrived, Michael was fairly sure Brian was about to come out of his skin.
It was almost like a repeat of what had happened at the hospital the day before, where Brian wasn’t making much sense, because he was so anxious to get to where he needed to go and see what he so desperately needed to see. Michael tried to fill in the gaps as best he could, and eventually they found themselves in a room that seemed to be mostly abandoned save for being utilized as some kind of random storage area. In one corner, sat a pile of canvases in various states of disrepair.
Even from a distance, Michael could tell that several of them were broken and torn, and the one on top looked like it had been very, very wet. But even with as damaged as they were, Michael could tell they were clearly Justin’s work.
Brian made a noise Michael couldn’t identify as he quickly moved into the corner and started frantically pawing through the wreckage, like he was desperately searching for something. Michael wasn’t sure what. Or if Brian even knew, really.
Just as Michael was taking a step toward Brian to help him try to make sense out of what remained of Justin’s artwork, Brian turned suddenly and glared at the officer that had escorted them to the room.
“You!” Brian shouted. “How could you do this? Just toss them away in the corner like they’re trash? Like they didn’t even matter? Like the blood, sweat, and tears my husband put into these didn’t even matter?”
Michael could hear Brian’s voice starting to break as his volume sank lower, and he knew what was coming.
“Like he doesn’t even matter? His existence just...doesn’t matter. He’s just some guy you scraped off the highway. Well, he was my husband.”
Now, the tears were starting to come. Michael could see them.
“He is my husband. And he fucking matters,” Brian whispered thickly. “He fucking matters.”
Michael glanced up at the officer, who was still standing in the doorway, looking confused and awkward. Michael held up his hand as if to silently say, “It’s okay, I’ve got it,” just as Brian collapsed in on himself with silent sobs.
He grabbed his best friend and wrapped him in the tightest hug he could, rubbing Brian’s back while he cried on his shoulder. Michael wanted to tell him it was okay, but he knew that would be a lie. Nothing about this situation was okay. Not in the slightest. All he could do was hold Brian and let him cry. It was his turn to be the strong one again.
It took a while before Brian’s breathing calmed and the tears slowed and eventually stopped. Neither of them said anything about it. They didn’t have to. When you’d been friends for three-plus decades, you didn’t have to. You just knew.
After he let Brian go, he turned back to the haphazard pile of canvases in the corner. Pieces of Justin that had been destroyed by the same tragedy that had landed him in that goddamn hospital bed. One by one, Michael picked them up and started making a more orderly stack on a nearby table, as best he could. Some of them weren’t too bad and could probably be easily salvaged. Others, he wasn’t so sure.
“We can let Lindsay look at them when she gets in tomorrow,” Michael said. “She’ll know more about what we can do to try to save them.” He was trying to be optimistic for Brian’s sake, because he could tell that’s what his best friend needed right now.
Brian was scrutinizing the canvases carefully as Michael laid each one on the table. Just as Michael was picking up the last one out of the corner, Brian said, “That’s not all of them.”
“Huh?”
“That’s not all of them. There were ten. This is eight. Where are the other two?”
“I don’t know, Brian. Maybe they’re still in the car.”
“The car, the fucking car… Of course, the fucking car.”
As if on cue, the officer who had brought them into the room in the first place suddenly reappeared in the doorway, just in time for Brian to bark at him, “Where’s my fucking car?”
Seemingly unbothered by Brian’s language or his tone, the officer said, “I have some paperwork I need you to sign, then you’re free to get whatever you like out of the car in the impound lot. After that, you’ll need to contact your insurance company to see what they want to do with it.”
Fuck. Michael was sure the last thing Brian needed right now was the stress of dealing with the insurance company. That wasn’t fun on a good day, much less when your husband was in a coma and you didn’t know when or if he was going to wake up.
Brian followed the officer to a desk and signed the paperwork, while Michael made two trips to load the paintings into the car. Then, they headed off to the impound lot. And that was where things got even worse for Brian.
It didn’t take them long to find the car. Seeing it nearly took Michael’s breath away. He didn’t see how Justin had survived, much less come through with no other injuries besides the one very serious one he was suffering from. There was blood everywhere. Michael had never seen that much blood in his entire life.
The one thing he didn’t see as he looked through the car was any evidence of two more paintings. Not in the back seat, not in the still-open trunk. Nothing. Wherever they were, they were gone, and there was probably no getting them back.
Michael was so taken aback by the sheer gruesomeness of the scene that it took him a moment to notice how Brian’s breathing had changed, and was now coming in shallow, rapid gasps. He was shaking, and he appeared to be frozen on the spot, his eyes wide and staring blankly at the large, red stains that marred nearly every light colored surface in that car. The physical evidence of the life having bled out of Justin on the side of that highway.
Michael knew he had to get Brian out of there.
“Brian?” he asked, knowing full well that he probably wasn’t going to get a response out of Brian. He was right.
“Brian?” he tried again. Still nothing. He didn’t get a response out of Brian until he physically touched Brian’s arm, and he flinched. “Let’s just go,” Michael said softly. “I don’t see anything else. I don’t know what happened to them.”
Michael started back toward his own car, and gestured for Brian to come with him, but Brian stayed right where he was. Not moving at all.
“Brian,” Michael said gently. “Come on. Let’s go. They’re not here.”
But Brian still didn’t come.
Michael thought about how easy it would be to physically make Brian move, just pushing him along. Removing him from the situation. But he quickly thought better of that. Brian was an adult, and Michael shouldn’t take advantage of the fact that he was in a wheelchair to treat him like a child.
He went back around so that he was standing between Brian and the car, basically forcing Brian to look at him.
“Please, Brian,” he said, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt. “Let’s go. We need to get you back to Justin.”
Those seemed to be the magic words that broke Brian out of his trance. He blinked up at Michael like he was trying to clear his vision, then nodded slowly.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Justin. I need to get back to Justin.”
They drove the half hour back into the city in silence, although this one was more tense than comfortable. Michael was afraid for Brian’s mental state now. He had absolutely no idea what was going on inside his best friend’s head, but he knew it wasn’t good.
He couldn’t even begin to imagine what Brian was thinking when he saw all of that blood. The memories it must have brought back for him. Baseball bats and white silk scarves and parking garages.
Brian had calmed down considerably by the time they arrived back at the hospital, but he still seemed on-edge. Michael could tell he was trying to hold it together, probably for Justin.
Brian hadn’t mentioned what he wanted to do with the paintings that were in the back of the car, and Michael didn’t want to bring it up again, so he decided to just take them home. He’d do what he’d promised earlier and have Lindsay take a look at them once she got into town. They were important to Brian, and Michael would do anything that was within his power to return them to what they had been before tragedy had struck.
Because, after all, they were pieces of Justin.
Michael just hoped they wouldn’t end up being all Brian had left to hold onto.