Chapter 3

You can dance every dance with the guy
Who gives you the eye, let him hold you tight
You can smile every smile for the man
Who held your hand neath the pale moonlight
But don't forget who's takin' you home
And in whose arms you're gonna be
So darlin' save the last dance for me

"JUSTIN! No, no, no, no..." His heart pounds like it's going to burst out of his chest as Brian witnesses the horrifying scene before him.

"BRIAN! Come on, Brian, wake up!" I tell him, shaking him roughly. Opening his eyes, Brian lets out a long, shuddery sigh as he realizes where he is before scrubbing his face with his hands.

"Jesus, Vic! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to doze off." Brian glances around their stark surroundings as he slowly gets his bearings. "Is there any news yet? Have you been able to get a hold of Mikey?"

"Nothing on Sunshine, yet; sorry, Kiddo. But I did speak with David; I caught him just before the plane was getting ready to take off, and I told him what had happened. I'm not sure why I couldn't get that nephew of mine on the phone, but David did ask for an update to be sent to his phone when we know anything, and he said he would check his messages when the plane lands. I'm sure by now he's told Michael, so I imagine he will call then. I'm sorry you're stuck with an old man as your company; I'm sure you'd much rather have Michael here right now."

Brian gives me a half-smile. "Vic, don't be so ridiculous. You chased the she-wolves away earlier. Mikey couldn't have done that. Besides, I'm grateful you're here. You have a calmness about you that Mikey doesn't."

"Yeah, my sister did kind of go off on that cop. And don't even get me started on Jennifer..."

~ ¤ ~

VIC:

Flashback

"Excuse me, I'm Detective Horvath. Can anyone tell us what happened to Justin Taylor this evening?"

"Yeah, some homophobic asshole took a goddamn baseball bat to Sunshine's head! Why aren't you out looking for that would-be killer? And when you find him, lock him up and throw away the key!" Debbie rants.

"Officer Horvath, did you say? The detective nods. "Well, that man"... Jen sneers, pointing towards Brian, "showed up at my son's prom and got my son attacked!"

"Hey, just a goddamn minute here!" Daphne interrupts. "Mrs. Taylor, Brian was only giving your son what he wanted. Justin asked Brian to the prom. Brian didn't just show up! So, lay off him. You've been sitting here muttering for the last half an hour and I, for one, am tired of hearing it!"

Jennifer purses her lips tightly together, obviously agitated. "Well, he should have stayed home. No man his age should have been at a high school prom."

"Jennifer, that's enough!" I interject loudly, startling both her and Daphne. "You seem to forget that your son wouldn't have even been there tonight if it hadn't been for you. So, don't you go blaming Brian!"

"What are you talking about?" Jennifer sputtered. "This is Brian's fault!"

"No, it's not. As Daphne said, Justin asked him there. You should be happy Brian thought enough of your son to give him the one thing he wanted. You and my sister were the ones that told him he had to go. He wasn't going to go. Remember the 'rites of passage' talk earlier this week at our house? Justin went to make you happy. So, don't you sit here and blame Brian!"

Suddenly a shrill whistle interrupts us. All heads look towards the cop who has his thumb and middle finger in his mouth demanding quiet.

"All this arguing is getting us nowhere. Now, you... Lady Redhead. Who's Sunshine?"

"Sunshine is what I call Justin Taylor. When he smiled..."

"You mean ‘smiles', Sis," I chide my sister gently.

My sister takes a deep breath and nods before continuing. "When Sunshine smiles, the whole room lights up. So, do you have a problem with me calling him Sunshine? Because if you do... well, you can just shove your ass where the sun don't shine." Jennifer gasps and I hold my breath, hoping this guy doesn't haul my outspoken sister down to the pokey for that charming little speech, but to my relief, he simply shakes his head.

"No, no problem. But I need to know what exactly happened. Can we find that out without everyone arguing?"

Daphne speaks up then and relays the details from the prom, and then Brian manages to make it through the events in the garage, breaking down when he is done. It must be enough to change Jennifer Taylor's mind, because she walks over to Brian and gives him a slight hug, reaching up with her thumbs and wiping away the tears that had leaked out of the corner of his eyes.

About that time, an Officer Barone arrives to advise us about the saliva and blood samples found in the garage.

"Well, there you have it, Detective! Go find that monster, arrest him, and get the son of a bitch off the streets! We want him crucified! Trying to kill Sunshine...the man doesn't deserve to live!" Deb starts her rant again, her eyes ablaze with fury.

Present Time

"Well, at least Sis has calmed down again. And Jennifer came around. I guess that's something," I tell him, squeezing his shoulder gently.

Brian nods before I give his shoulder one more squeeze before letting go. "Thanks, Vic. I can't thank you enough for being here with me, for me," Brian says, grasping my wrist briefly in gratitude.

"Excuse me... who's here for Justin Taylor?" We all look up as we hear the solemn voice of the doctor, and the importance of this moment seeps into our beings. I notice Ted and Emmett get up and walk over to Brian, Emmett taking Brian's other hand to offer him support before we hear the outcome of Justin's surgery.

~ ¤ ~

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we will be landing..."

DAVID:

My eyes fly open at the announcement. After the boarding from hell and two double bourbons, I lay back and closed my eyes for the hour flight. We had a last-minute arrival who apparently got the last remaining seat in first class. Unfortunately, it was right across the aisle from Michael, and when the man put his carry-on in the overhead bin, he took a step back and bumped into Michael's knee, causing him to practically jump out of his seat with a very loud, "You fucking bastard! Watch where you're going!" I closed my eyes momentarily, before catching the man's eyes and mouthing my apologies. He nodded at me but didn't offer up an apology to Michael.

Even though they have a wheelchair right by the plane, it's almost impossible to get Michael off the plane. Once he's sitting, I tell him what's going to happen.

"Michael, we have a three-hour layover, and I've decided you are going to see a specialist. There is absolutely no way that I am getting back on a flight with you in this condition until we know what's going on with your knee."

Despite his injury, I can almost envision Michael stamping his foot like a child as he tells me, "I'm not going to some damn doctor. And that's final! You can't tell me what to do!" he snarls in the most belligerent tone I have ever heard, his arms crossed with a pout on his face. And this man is supposed to be thirty years old? I give an involuntary shudder.

"Right now, you are in no condition to argue with me, and I'm through dealing with you acting like a spoiled two-year-old. You are going to a doctor and that's final!" I tell him, already looking for a knee specialist on my phone, hoping against hope we can get in.

I find a Dr. Samuel Cromley and instruct the taxi driver to go to that address. During the forty-five minute drive, I find myself wondering why that name sounds kind of familiar. But it's not until we arrive inside the lobby and a nurse comes out to usher us into his office that I understand why.

"David? I was wondering if that was you. When my nurse said there was a Dr. David Cameron here to see me along with an injured man, I thought to myself, there just can't be two Dr. David Camerons in this world, right?" Sam says to me, getting up and giving me a warm hug.

"Who's this, David?" I can't catch a break from the whining, complaining tone of my lover.

"Sam, it's so nice to see you," I say, returning the hug. "On the way over here from the airport, I was trying to place the name. My, it's been, what? It has to be over twenty years."

"Senior year in college, if I recall right. What are you doing here in DC?"

"I was actually..."

"WE were actually," Michael interrupts rudely.

I let out an exasperated sigh before explaining, "We were on our way to Portland, but my flying companion here, Michael Novotny, took a fall down some stairs before boarding. Since we had a three-hour layover, I wanted him to be seen by someone, so we can know the extent of his injuries; right now, he can hardly move and can't walk."

Sam takes that moment to look down at Michael's knee and gives out a low, prolonged whistle. Yeah, my sentiments exactly.

"Mr. Novotny?" Sam says, extending his hand, but Michael ignores it, sitting there with his arms crossed.

"Well, Mr. Novotny, first we are going to get some X-rays in order to determine just what is wrong with your knee. Then we will see where to go from there."

Twenty minutes later, Sam comes back in and points to a chart on the wall.

"I have to say, Mr. Novotny, I didn't take you for the sports type."

Michael glares at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, as shown in the diagram, you have a torn MCL, which is a medial collateral ligament tear. The MCL is a thick band of tissue on the inside of your knee; it connects your thighbone to the bone of your lower leg. A tear to the medial collateral ligament can cause severe pain, swelling, and a lack of stability in your knee. It's frequently a severe injury, because it splits the ligament in two. Also, when the MCL tears, it may not hold your knee in place securely. The reason why I mentioned you playing sports is that an MCL injury usually only happens during repeatedly playing contact sports, such as football hits and tackles, which causes it to overstretch and tear."

"Well, Michael has never played that sport or any other that I'm aware of. Can an injury like this occur from falling down some stairs?" I just have to ask.

"I really can't envision that happening, because to suffer an MCL without playing sports, it would have had to have been hit extremely hard on the outside of the knee. Do you see where Michael's knee is extended too far inward? Your medial collateral ligament's main function is to prevent the leg from doing that, but it also helps keep the knee stable and allows it to rotate. As I said, for this to happen without playing contact sports, it would need to have been a hard, blunt hit to the outside of the knee."

Michael huffs loudly beside me. "So, what are you trying to say, Doc? I told you I fell down some stairs. I probably hit it on a few stairs going down," Michael adds with a sneer.

"Well, Mr. Novotny, since you are so medically textbook smart, would you like to explain how your knee is extended inward from a fall down the stairs? If you want to explain how you really hurt your knee, I will maybe treat it for you. I don't approve of patients lying to me. In the meantime, I will put a brace on it. You will need to keep your leg elevated, and you will definitely need physical therapy. Left untreated, you could possibly need surgery and might possibly never walk right again. You will have trouble doing simple things like walking or dancing for the rest of your life. Now, I do believe I have another patient. Good luck, Mr. Novotny. And be sure to contact your regular physician as soon as possible. David, it was so nice seeing you again. Am I understanding that you finally figured out in life that Lorie wasn't your correct choice?"

"Yes, I did. I have a son now, Hank. He's eleven. Great kid."

A loud snort erupts from Michael. "If you two would quit eye-fucking each other and reliving your past trysts, maybe we can go? We have a plane to catch."

"Yes, yes, you do, Michael," I decide, having heard enough. "Right back to Pittsburgh." I hold my hands up in a warning for him not to speak as I tell him, "I'm not taking you with me. I don't trust you. And I don't want you, your attitude, and your constant whine around my son. So, I will take you back to the airport, buy you a return ticket to Pittsburgh, and hope you have a good life."

"Wh... what are you talking about? You can't leave me! I uprooted my whole damn LIFE for you! I quit my job! What am I supposed to do? I can't walk, for God's sake!"

"Well, I'm not your nurse, and I'm choosing to not take care of you. You can return home. I'm sure Deb would love to take care of her little boy." I can't help smirking as hatred flares in my now former boyfriend's eyes.

"I hate you! I hate everything you stand for!" Michael screams out. I wince at the volume of his voice, convinced everyone on the entire floor must have heard him.

"Sam, it was so good to... oh, excuse me, I need to check this message." I glance down at the text message displayed on my phone:

Vic: David, Justin came out of surgery just fine. He's even regained consciousness. He appears highly confused, though. He just asked us what Michael was doing at his prom.

"Damn," I murmur to myself. Ignoring a seething Michael, I choose to not even mention to him what's happening in Pittsburgh. I peer over at my friend and smile. "Sam, I think I'll stay in town for a few days. Are you free for dinner this evening?"

TBC