Chapter 4 - Dear Old Dad.

The recovery room was just a long, extra-wide hallway area with beds lining one wall, separated from each other by curtains but open on the front.  Nurses were moving constantly from bed to bed, monitoring each patient, most of whom were still unconscious, pushing buttons on machines and writing stuff on patient charts.  The few patients who were awake were being fussed over, poked and prodded by a variety of nurses, doctors, interns and sundry other official looking people.  The atmosphere was far more intimidating than a normal hospital room, thought Brian, who considered regular hospital rooms to be bad enough.

The nurse led Brian to the fourth curtained area and then quickly brought over a straight backed wooden chair for him.  He sat gingerly on the chair, intent on the face of the unconscious young man in the bed.  

-He’s fucking beautiful.

The lesbionic thought escaped his psyche without permission. Brian tried hard to cram it back down into the recesses of his brain but couldn’t quite do it. The boy’s creamy complexion was no longer obscured by streaks of blood and he looked so peaceful lying there. The wads of bandages swathing his head were worrisome, but if you disregarded those and just admired the beautiful planes of Justin’s face, his strong square jaw, his long blond eyelashes brushing against his cheeks, his slightly turned up nose and those full, full, perfectly shaped lips, the youth’s inherent beauty was almost overwhelming. The handsome brunet thought that, even considering all the men he’d known - and there had been a lot of them - he’d never seen even one that he would describe as ‘beautiful’ other than this boy.  

Brian reached over and took the boy’s smaller hand in his own. He was glad to feel the warmth radiating from the skin - the last time he’d held that hand it had been so cold. Holding that soft, warm hand and watching the steady regular breaths of the young man, he finally felt some of the tension and fear that had been weighing on his shoulders evaporate. He gently brought the hand up to his face, rubbing the back lightly across his cheek and tenderly kissing it before lowering it to rest on the hospital blanket. He didn’t let go of the hand though - for some inexplicable reason, he didn’t think he ever wanted to let it go.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Craig Taylor hurtled up to the nurses station outside the OR and rapped his knuckles loudly against the laminated counter top to get someone’s attention. The crusty, older OR head nurse, looked over her ample shoulder at the arrogant man and rolled her eyes - she knew the type, pushy, demanding and incapable of listening to anything you told them. It was too early in the morning for this, she thought.

“Can I help you, Sir?” she said with a slightly demeaning emphasis on the word ‘Sir’.

“I’m Craig Taylor,” the man stated, as if that name alone should get him some special attention - which it didn’t, so he continued. “My son is supposed to be here - Justin Taylor. I want to know where he is and exactly what his condition is.”

“Honey, you’d best be adding a ‘Please’ to the end of that sentence if you’re planning on getting me to assist you,” the surly nurse drawled, her face not more than a foot away from Craig’s.  

The man pulled his body back slightly, but still glared at the woman. When she didn’t back down even a hairsbreadth, he relented slightly, coughing out a “Please”, clearly against his will.

“That’s better. Now, tell me agin who you lookin for.”

“Justin Taylor - T-A-Y-L-O-R.”

“Sorry, sugar. We don’t got no Justin Taylor, according to my records," she said as she scanned the computer monitor at her station. “We do have a Justin Kinney, though. Is that who you’re looking for?”

Craig was confused by the error with the name, but he was sure the guy who’d called him had said this hospital and that he should go to the OR waiting room. He decided to disregard the discrepancy and just plow on to find out what had happened to his son.

“Whatever. Just take me to see my son, right now.” Then, seeing the stern look on the woman’s face he remembered to add, “Please”.

“Carla,” the woman called to a passing red-haired woman. “Take this gentleman to curtain four, would you? Have a great day, Sir," she added in Craig’s direction as she turned her ample hips and bundled away from the unpleasant man.

Carla, the younger nurse, escorted Craig through the OR doors and down to the right, then through the doors into the Recovery Room. Once they were through the door, she pointed to the fourth bed down and left Craig to find his own way from there. Craig strode over to the indicated bed and was just about to round the curtain when he heard a voice coming out of the curtained-off space, and halted briefly, looking around the curtain edge to determine who was with his son.  

What he saw was a dark haired, thirtyish man sitting next to the hospital bed, holding the hand of the patient, who he noted was definitely his son, Justin. As he watched, the man lifted up the hand he was holding and brought it to his lips, kissing the back affectionately before laying it back beside the sleeping figure. The brunet then reached his right hand up, brushing it lightly against the boy’s cheek, letting out a sigh as he stared at the young man.

“You’re going to be okay, Justin. I’m here. Just rest for now. You will be okay.” the man was saying in a hushed voice as he caressed the downy soft cheek.  

Craig felt the acid in his stomach bubbling at the disgusting sight in front of him. He stood up with his back ramrod straight, his mouth puckering into an angry frown and his eyes blazing out his disapproval. He couldn’t believe the boy had disobeyed him like this. He was so furious that he knew if he didn’t get out of that room immediately and away from the offensive sight, he was going to lose it completely. He turned on his heel directly and practically ran back through the Recovery Room doors, back to the OR waiting room.

The infuriated, red-faced man was pounding back and forth in the waiting room, trying to bring his temper under control and contemplating how he would confront the pervert trying to corrupt his son, when he overheard someone mention the name ‘Justin’, again accompanied by the incorrect last name ‘Kinney’. He looked over towards the entryway to the waiting area, seeing two middle-aged men in bad suits conversing as they looked at matching notepads. Craig stopped his pacing, trying to listen in on the conversation, without being obvious to the men.  

“So, you think this is another ‘gay bashing’, Carl,” said the younger of the two men.

“Looks that way. Two guys dancing together at a high school Prom. One of the boy’s classmates takes offense and decides to teach the fags a lesson. Typical. Unfortunately, we have no real leads on the perp. No cameras in that part of the garage and only the one witness who didn’t know the kid. Plus, you know how the Chief feels about these kind of cases. It’ll get thrown right into the cold case stack. I feel bad not putting more effort into following up on these kinds of cases, but knowing how the higher ups are gonna handle it, well, it’s not really worth it for us to spend much more time on this, I’m afraid,” the older police detective added, resignedly.  

“Yeah. The chief isn’t a big fan of the gays, is he?” commented the younger man as they both started to put their notebooks back into pockets and turn towards the exit.

“Detectives,” the head nurse came trundling over to the two right at that moment. “That boy that was attacked, his father finally showed up. He’s right over there,” she said and the woman pointed directly at Craig.

Craig watched as the two police detectives turned in his direction and started towards him.  His rage at the deviant behavior of his son and that man in the Recovery Room had flared up again at hearing the words he’d overheard the two detectives speaking - ‘Gay Bashing’.

-God damn that boy - I’ve already told him that I will NOT stand for any more of that deviant behavior in my house. It’s disgusting just thinking about that . . . that . . . man with his hands all over Justin. I feel like I’m going to hurl. I will not have him back in my house, not around his sister, not if he’s turned into some fucking faggot. Craig’s internal ranting continued, repeating the hateful words he’d already uttered to his son on previous occasions.

“Excuse me, Sir. Are you Justin Kinney’s father?” asked the older detective, moving in Craig’s direction.

“No. That is NOT my son,” Craig spat out venomously as he rushed past the two detectives and down the hall towards the elevators leading to the lobby, leaving the confused detectives staring at his retreating back.

++++++++++++++++++++

Nurse Clarisse Barton was finishing up her final rounds before leaving for the day. This was the fourth night this week she’d pulled the night shift and she was exhausted. She only had one more patient to monitor though and then she was outta here, thank God. She checked the chart in the plastic tray outside the patient’s door, noting his name, Justin Kinney, his diagnosis and treatment protocols before heading into the spacious private room.  

The early morning light streaming through the east facing windows of the room, lit up a touching scene inside. Clarisse smiled at the picture of the attractive older man, his head cradled on his bent arm resting on the edge of the patient’s bed while the fingers of his other hand lay entwined with the patient’s delicate, lighter toned fingers. They were both sound asleep, the brunet snoring quietly. The nurse hated to wake the man - she’d been told he’d been there all night with his partner - but she needed to get the young man’s vitals and then she could head home.  

Flipping through the chart to find the man’s name, she located the information and then laid a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder, squeezing lightly trying to wake him as gently as possible.  

“Mr. Kinney,” Clarisse said in a low voice. “Mr. Kinney, I’m sorry to wake you, but I need to get Justin’s vitals.”

The groggy man lifted his head, wiping at the small puddle of drool that had accumulated on his cheek as he slept, and slowly got up from his chair, moving so the nurse could get to her patient.  

Brian watched as the nurse read various numbers off the machines attached to Justin, felt his wrist counting the pulse, and checking the levels of the unknown liquids in the I.V. bags slowly dripping into the boy’s arm. He checked his watch noting that it was just past 7:00 am. He couldn’t tell by looking at the nurse’s face if the numbers she was writing in that chart were good news or bad, and he sighed, thinking that once again he would get the blow off if he asked for any information about the youth’s condition.  But, nothing ventured, nothing gained. . . . .

“How is he? Please, nobody’s told me anything concrete all night. Just tell me if he’s going to be okay or not. Please,” Brian begged as soon as he thought the nurse was almost through with her chart notes.

Clarisse looked sympathetically at the tired, yet handsome man, earnestly pleading with her for information about his loved one. Normally she would have given a family member the standard hospital line that he would have to wait and talk to the doctor who would be by later in the morning. This charming man looked so wretched, she just didn’t have the heart to give him such bullshit.

“The doctor would be able to tell you better than me, but . . . I really think he’s going to be all right. He doesn’t show any signs of fever or other distress and his other vitals are strong. And see, this readout here,” Clarisse pointed at one of the monitors, “this shows brain activity. See the gradual increase here. This means his brain is becoming more and more active. Barring any complications, he should be waking up fairly soon.” She reassured the relieved man, patting his shoulder and smiling. “Just stick in there a little longer and hopefully it will be alright,” she added as she backed out the door, happy to see the soothing of the worry lines on the man’s forehead.  

It had been a long and very tiring night for Brian Kinney. Justin was in Recovery for about an hour and a half, then was moved up to the critical care ward, briefly. But, after the doctor had confirmed that the young man was breathing on his own without any trouble and that his vitals had returned to near normal levels, he authorized transfer to a regular patient room. Brian had doggedly trailed along from place to place as the hospital played an expensive version of ‘hot potato’ with the still unconscious boy. Finally, they had moved Justin into this private room, at Brian’s insistence, about 4:00 am. That meant that Brian had gotten three hours of sleep, at best. If he had to be up all night, he thought, he would have rather been doing something much more amusing than the hospital tango.  

Slowly his brain began to function more reliably and Brian started to think over what his plans for the day encompassed. Glancing over at the peacefully slumbering youth in the hospital bed, he suddenly remembered that the boy’s father was supposed to have shown up last night. Where the fuck was he? Brian didn’t want to leave the boy alone in a hospital, especially if he was likely to wake up soon - he imagined that waking up all alone in a strange room and having no idea what happened or how you got there would be pretty shitty. But, if the kid's goddamned parents would just get here already, Brian could leave, go home, get a shower and some food and maybe even make it in to work before the whole day was shot.  

Kinney reached into his back pocket and pulled out the boy’s cell phone. He flipped it open and redialed the last number - Craig Taylor’s cell. After five or six rings, a gruff voice answered, “Justin?”

“No. It’s Brian Kinney again. I’m still here at the hospital with YOUR son. What happened to you last night?” Brian was trying to be diplomatic with the man, although he was more than a little angry that Mr. Taylor had just blown off coming to the hospital to see about his son’s well being.

“He’s NOT my son, anymore. If he wants to parade around with all you other fucking faggots, then he can damn well do it someplace else - he won’t be doing it here,” Craig yelled into the phone, hanging up and then angrily tossing the cell phone across the room and into the wall of his bedroom.

“What the fuck!” Brian stared at the phone in his hand, not sure if he should be more confused or insulted. “Where the hell did that come from? Homophobic prick.”

Looking over at the angelic looking young man in the nearby bed, Brian shook his head dejectedly, and gave up completely on the idea of getting Justin’s parents here to take care of the boy. From what he’d just learned about Craig Taylor, the boy was better off without the asshole. Brian knew what it was like growing up in a house full of hate. He hadn’t had any choice though - he didn’t have anywhere else to go, at least not until he’d met Mikey. But, fuck if he would knowingly send this boy, or anyone else for that matter, back to that type of environment.

It wasn’t the first time he’d come to the conclusion that some people just shouldn’t be allowed to breed - if they couldn’t be decent parents, providing for and loving their children unconditionally, why the fuck were they allowed to have kids at all. You needed a license to drive a fucking car, to sell food out of a cart on the sidewalk, hell, you even needed a license to own a dog, but ANY fucking breeder with a dick was allowed to make babies. Even completely incompetent asses like Craig Taylor and his own father, Jack Kinney.

-Fuck them all! Brian internally shouted out his personal motto.

He moved back towards the chair next to the hospital bed and let himself fall into it. Compelled to touch the boy again, to make sure he was still there, alive and warm, he grabbed and squeezed the youth’s hand. What could this happy, fun, beautiful boy have done to make his father hate him so much, Brian wondered again. Leaning forward to get a closer look at the lovely face, now glowing in the clear morning light, he was again amazed at the exquisite young man.  

Those coral pink lips looked so soft in this light - Brian simply could not resist - he had to steal just one kiss. Cautiously leaning forward, he let his lips lightly touch those lovely lips, leaving the most feather light kiss there on the warm, smooth, pliant mouth. He was just sitting back in the chair, still touching the boy’s right hand where it lay on the hospital blanket, still relishing that stolen kiss, when he suddenly felt the smaller hand move against his.  

“Justin. Are you awake?” Brian asked, not sure if he’d only imagined the movement.  

The hushed tones of Brian’s voice had done something though, because right then, Brian felt the youth’s hand contract, squeezing his hand very weakly.  

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Time to open your eyes,” Brian coaxed. “The handsome prince already did the kiss thing so now you have to wake up. Justin? Come on, Justin.”

-Jesus, what the fuck am I saying. I’d better check and make sure my dick hasn’t fallen off cause that pile of lesbionic crap I just spouted should not have come from my lips. Get it together, Kinney.

Brian internally berated himself for the silly sentimental nonsense he was prattling off, but he didn’t stop quietly talking to the young man. He was sure that the boy was finally regaining consciousness, and thought if he kept talking it might help. Sure enough, a few moments later, he noted the boy’s eyelids beginning to flutter and felt another squeeze of his fingers.  

“That’s my boy. Come on, Justin. Open those gorgeous baby blues of yours so I know you’re gonna be alright,” the man doggedly continued for who knew how long.

When Brian was almost ready to give up, the fluttering eyes finally opened just a crack. Brian smiled down at the beauty, waiting to see if the boy was completely awake. The eyes fell closed once again. But as Brian reached up and gently ran his index finger down the boy’s cheek, those big blue eyes popped open all the way and a tentative smile lit up the younger man’s face.

“Welcome back!” Brian laughed as he continued to stroke the soft cheek. Justin gazed up at the magnificently handsome man standing next to his bed and instantly knew he was in love.