“Not many.” Try none. Trevor’s very empty stomach clenched hard. Jalen probably knew way more about diabetic nutrition than he did. “The student health doctor gave me a pamphlet. Said my case wasn’t very severe, and I just needed the pills and the monitor and to eat right.”
The doctor’s sigh could carve entire valleys out of granite.
“No offense to who I’m sure are well-meaning providers, but yours is anything but a simple case. I’m surprised they didn’t send you to a specialist.”
“My parents don’t believe in health insurance. I only had the school plan.”
“How can you not . . .” The doctor gave another mighty sigh. “I see. Well, you need to be under the regular care of an endocrinologist. We need to make sure you were correctly diagnosed.”
“You mean I don’t have diabetes?”
“Oh, you definitely have diabetes. I wanted to rule out any pathological causes—”
“You mean like cancer?” Terror replaced the guilt in Trevor’s gut.
She nodded. “But the MRI was all clear. I think given your family history—” She clicked around again, probably unearthing the information Trevor had provided Nurse Wendy in the middle of the night. “You most likely have Maturity-Onset Diabetes, but I want to run some genetic tests. Those take time—”
“I can’t stay here!”
“The show must go on?” Her smile wasn’t at all unkind. “You know, I was a Radcliffe Pitch back in the day. I saw you last year on Perfect Harmony. You’ve got a nice voice.”
“Thanks.”
“And I’m looking forward to this new show. With you alive. Now, luckily, there are plenty of endocrinologists in Vancouver. I’m having my assistant help us get you a referral for monitoring up there—”
“That sounds expensive.” Trevor cut her off. “The show doesn’t pay that much. And I’m broke.” God, that hurt to admit, especially to someone kind and funny who probably wanted to believe that reality TV paid big bucks and offered health care to all its employees. Not so much.
More frantic clicking on her tablet. Her mouth quirked. “Well, the hospital bill appears to have a payer. So that’s good. I’ll make sure you have a good supply of new meds and insulin and—”
“Insulin?” He groaned. Last nine months, all he’d wanted to avoid was that word. “I hate shots.”
“Tough. You like being alive?”
He nodded. He thought of Jalen’s smile when he won a round of play wrestling, how he grinned down at Trevor, all sass and light. “Yeah. I do.”
“Then at least for the short-term, until you can get a regular relationship with a specialist, you need insulin, a different oral medication, and ketone monitoring to avoid a repeat of last night. The nurse will educate you on all of that. I want several meals of good readings before we talk discharge, show or no show.”
“If they want me back.” He picked at the edge of the IV tape.
“You’re kidding right? You’re their biggest story. Of course they want you back.”
That wasn’t exactly reassuring.
“But I’m not messing around—you have a serious condition that’s not going to go away just because you want it to. Maybe you haven’t quite grieved—”
“Grieved?” Now who was being dramatic?
“You got big, life-altering news. Did you ever really allow yourself to process that?”
“I took the meds. And stopped dessert.” He stuck his chin out. He got what she was saying, but hell, his last year had been full of so much suck it was hard to say what he hadn’t been moping over.
“Fair enough. But you have to make your health your number-one priority—and that means being honest with the people around you. You wouldn’t be the first diabetic I suspected of having it in for himself by not seeking care soon enough—”
“I want to live!” Trevor was more emphatic this time as he realized what she was saying. “I wasn’t trying to die. I promise.”
“Good. Because you’re worth a lot more than you’ve been giving yourself. Voice like yours, you’ve got to take care of your whole body to protect the gift, okay? No more playing hero and not getting care or help.”
“I promise.” God, anything so he could go home.
Wait. When had Vancouver become that? When had Jalen’s face become the thing that flashed in his mind as soon as he thought of home?
“And if you love your boyfriend, you won’t put him through this again.”
“I won’t.” Trevor answered automatically, because he did. He loved Jalen. And he hoped it wasn’t too late to tell him that.
Jalen didn’t have to look hard to find Dawn. She was in the waiting area closest to Trevor’s new room. She was flanked by one of the camerapeople with a camera in her lap—a nice older woman who had never been anything other than pleasant to Jalen, but he was not amused to see her there. Also not amusing: the lack of Carter and Carson. Not that he could guarantee they’d be on his side, but a united front would be more likely to hold weight with the show.
“Hey.” Dawn gave him a weary wave. “Kaitlyn’s getting coffee with Carter and Carson.”
“What’s she doing here?” Jalen didn’t bother hiding his disgust, flopping down in a chair across from Dawn.
“We’re hoping that Trevor’s up to visitors—”
“He’s not.”
“He was moved to a regular room. You’re out here, not in there. I’ve heard rumblings he may be discharged today. I think he could probably do a little update with Kaitlyn and you and the guys for his fans. Let them know last night was scary, but he’s on the mend.”
“I’m not doing it.”
“Jalen. This isn’t optional. Trevor’s incident is blowing up all over social media. It made the local news and some national celebrity blogs, too. You guys can’t buy this kind of exposure.”
Jalen shook his head. Who are you and what did you do with my nice, theater-obsessed big sister?
“I can’t wait to see our ratings next week—the show is getting lots of mentions. And as long as we spin it right—”
“Spin?”
“You know. Make sure everyone knows that it wasn’t drugs or alcohol, maybe have Trevor do some PSA-type things for diabetic awareness—”
“This is exactly why he didn’t tell you about the diabetes sooner. He doesn’t want to be a poster boy for diabetes. He doesn’t want that to be his main story line.”
Dawn’s mouth hardened. “Tough.”
“Tough? That’s all you’ve got? I expect better than that from you—”
“Tough. Do you have any idea how close I came to getting fired last night? Two a.m. emergency production meeting. My neck on the line. People talking about how wrong it was to bring both you and Trevor on board. Only Michelin speaking up for me saved my job.”
“I’m sorry.” Jalen counted seascape paintings on the side wall to avoid looking at her pained eyes.
“I don’t want your apology. I want you to cooperate with me. Like you promised. I’m still so furious at you I can barely speak—”
“That makes two of us,” he shot back. “I am sorry about your job. But it’s not fair to Trevor to make him be public about his condition without any say in the matter.”
“Maybe he will want to share with others. Educate. Give hope.” The camerawoman spoke up for the first time. She had a lilting Jamaican accent and a serene smile. “Near death changes many minds.”
Jalen made a frustrated noise. He could lay into his sister, but this woman hadn’t done anything to deserve his temper. But Jalen knew Trevor, and the last thing Trevor wanted was to be a spokesman for a disease that he mainly seemed to want to pretend he didn’t have. Denial. Avoidance. Those were Trevor’s calling cards, not education. And just like that, all the anger he’d been holding back all night came bubbling back to the surface.
How could Trevor take such risks? God. He did not want to be this mad at the guy he loved. He squeezed the bridge of his nose.
“Have you
eaten?” Dawn’s voice gentled. “You should go eat something. Get a little coffee. You’ll feel better.”
“Maybe.” He probably should eat, but he really didn’t want to abandon Trevor long enough to do it.
“Tell you what. I’m going to go get you a breakfast sandwich and a coffee. Then we’ll talk when I get back.” Standing up, Dawn didn’t give him room to object. He knew she hated arguing—she was biting on a strand of her long red hair and kept looking at his shoes.
“Yeah. We’ll talk.” He softened his voice. Wasn’t her fault they were both in impossible situations.
Fuck diabetes. Fuck Trevor. Fuck reality TV.
While he was contemplating various things that could fuck off, a blond man in a crisp dress shirt and suit pants came off the elevators, headed directly to the nurses’ station. His hair was slicked back with plenty of styling goo, and his face was angular, whereas Trevor’s features were more elfin, but he had the same smaller stature and the resemblance was close enough that Jalen had no doubt this was Trevor’s brother.
“Trevor Daniels,” the man said to the nurse behind the desk, not sparing a glance for the waiting room. “I’m his older brother. The nurse on the CCU floor said he was moved here.”
The nurse clicked something on her computer. “Yes. He’s in 311, but he’s with the doctor right now, so if you’ll just wait a few minutes, you can see him when the doctor leaves.”
“That’s fine.” The man’s sharp tone didn’t match his words. He paced over to the waiting area but still didn’t look in their direction. He did, however, hug his leather bag close to his body.
The camerawoman shot Jalen a look like he should go over there and introduce himself, and that so wasn’t happening for a whole host of reasons.
Luckily, dude’s phone rang, the opening notes to a hymn Mama Ivy liked to hum around the house. Jalen doubted the guy shared Mama Ivy’s love-everyone brand of religion.
“Yes?” The guy answered the phone despite several “no cell phone” signs on the wall. He adjusted his glasses while listening to whomever it was on the line.
“Yes, I’m here. They haven’t let me see him yet, but soon, hopefully. Did you make arrangements?
“That’s good. And you’re sure they can handle his medical needs? I don’t know yet what sort of shape he’s in—”
A long strained pause while the dude made a series of grimaces. Whoever was on the other end of the phone had a lot to say about Trevor’s medical needs, but Jalen was still hung up on “arrangements.”
“Yes, yes. I know. Just get him there.” The brother had Trevor’s tendency to tap his fingers against his leg when impatient.
Jalen dug his palms into his thighs, hard. He wanted to sprint down the hall to Trevor, keep him safe from ominous-sounding arrangements, but he also needed to hear the rest of Trevor’s brother’s phone call.
“No, I haven’t seen any of the show people yet. From how things are blowing up online, I expected the place to be crawling with them.”
That’s because you’re not looking, Jalen wanted to yell. Because of course dude was totally missing the large Jamaican lady with her bags of camera equipment and Jalen, and if he’d seen any online publicity for the show, he would have seen Jalen’s face.
“Don’t worry. This will all blow over soon.” The guy spoke in low, soothing tones, the way Carson always did to Carter when he got too demanding. “No, I don’t expect problems. He’s a good kid. He’ll listen to me this time.”
No, no, he can’t listen to you. Jalen stood, ready to race to Trevor, whatever good that would do—
“Hey! Jalen, we brought you food!” Carter and Carson stepped off the elevator, followed by Dawn and Kaitlyn. They had two trays of coffees and bags of food.
“Sir.” The nurse at the desk raised her voice. “Mr. Daniels? The doctor is done with your brother. You can go in now.”
No. Jalen lunged to try to beat him there, but Dawn shoved a coffee in his hand. “Is that Trevor’s brother? I should say hello. Try some damage control.”
She started after the brother, Jalen matching her steps, but the nurse at the desk held up a hand. “How about we try one visitor at a time, hmm? His nurse needs to visit him before he eats his breakfast as well. When he says he’s ready for you people and your cameras, then you can head back in.”
Nice Nurse Wendy of the night shift she was not.
“Hey, I was with him all night—” Jalen started to go around the desk, because he didn’t need to get lumped with the show people. But the nurse came out from around the desk, glaring at him. Her beady stare combined with her bob haircut gave her an almost ferretlike air.
“Which is why I suggest you have your drink and give him a few minutes with his family.”
Ouch. Jalen had spent so much time the last few weeks with laid-back Pacific Northwesterners that he’d forgotten bigots could live anywhere.
“Don’t make a scene,” Dawn hissed in his ear, dragging him and his coffee back to the seating area. “We’ll get to see him next.”
“I think his brother wants to take him back to Iowa,” he started, going on to explain the conversation he’d overheard.
“I don’t think it’s nearly as dramatic as you’re assuming.” Dawn patted his leg as he finished. “We’ll just convince Trevor he wants to stay, okay? And we’ll try not to alienate his brother in the process.”
“No lawsuits,” the camerawoman observed sagely.
“Exactly.” Dawn patted him again, like he was some trusting toddler and not a freaking adult who had already seen plenty of the ways in which people who loved each other could fuck each other over. He ate his sandwich, but his eyes never once strayed from Trevor’s door.
Chapter Nineteen
@NextDirectionShow The show must go on! Still thinking of
@StandOutTrevor but can’t wait to hear
@MichelinMosesOfficial sing tonight!
@KegStandBros Dude! Just heard! Get better
@StandOutTrevor! #Love4Trevor
After Dr. Cho left, a nurse came with a new pill for him to swallow and a syringe that looked more like a pen.
“I hear you want to go home today,” the nurse said with a wink. He was younger and kind of cute, with shaggy hair that fell in his eyes. “This is an insulin pen. You’re going to go home with one just like it.”
He proceeded to talk Trevor through stabbing himself in the thigh, which, considering he discovered he most definitely was not wearing underwear right at that moment was more than a little awkward, but once that was done and no one had died of embarrassment, he brought Trevor a food tray.
“Now, I’ll be back for your post-breakfast blood sugar reading, and I want you to try to eat most of what’s on the tray.”
The tray had a small bowl of what looked to be scrambled eggs, a piece of whole wheat toast, something that might be turkey bacon, and a carton of milk. Trevor took a stab at the eggs, wishing they’d at least given him salt and pepper to try to hide the rubbery taste. The toast was easier, but he wasn’t really tasting the food anyway. The chilled air in the room made him long for his little room back in the house in Vancouver, wrapped around Jalen, the human space heater. He hadn’t been cold in weeks, thanks to Jalen’s strong arms. And now he was getting ridiculously emotional about cold air.
All because he felt guilty and stupid about what had happened. He didn’t deserve a great guy like Jalen—the doctor hadn’t quite put it like that, but there was certainly a fair bit of you idiot to her lecture. All of which was true—he’d put himself in danger and he’d made Jalen lie for him. If he was smart, Jalen wouldn’t put up with him much longer.
The door to his room opened yet again without a knock. Jalen.
“I missed you.” The words, both hopeful and way too needy, escaped before he could try for cool. He swallowed hard around the rest of the words that wanted out. I love you and I’m afraid you’re going to dump me because I was stupid, and then I’ll be cold and alone forever.
“Stuart?” Trevor blinked as his oldest brother entered the room. He’d always had a speech pattern like their father’s—solemn even when expressing good news, always modulated like he might be recorded or speaking to an audience.
“We got word last night you were ill. Father sent me.”
“Oh.” That stupid medical waiver and emergency contact information sheet. He hadn’t known who else to put down—marking his friend Lucas or even Lucas’s parents felt pathetic, like conceding he didn’t have a family anymore. “I thought I was banished from the family.”
“That’s a bit of an overstatement.” Stuart laughed, a comforting sound. It was their father’s laugh, the one he used when putting nervous brides and widows at ease. He pulled the chair Jalen had been sitting in over to the side of the bed and sat down, carefully smoothing out the wrinkles in his pants as he did so. “You’ve made some mistakes, but Father and Mother still care about your health.”
“And they sent you to check on me?”
“Of course. They are praying for your recovery. The whole congregation is.” Stuart smelled strongly of cinnamon; he loved the hard red-hot candies, had ever since they were kids.
“They probably think I brought this upon myself.”
Stuart’s lips pursed, eyes narrowing like their uncle Chuck when asked hard campaign questions. “That’s something only you can answer with prayerful reflection.”
“I’m not quitting the show.”
“No one is asking you to make rash decisions.” Another nonanswer. Stuart was good at those. He patted Trevor’s hand.
“Come on, little brother, the bus will be here soon! Hurry up!” Sprinting down the long gravel driveway, legs too short to keep up with Stuart and Brian, Stuart stopping to swing him up onto his back.
“Why did they send you?” Trevor wasn’t complaining exactly, but it had always been the Stuart-and-Brian twosome, with him the little tagalong brother desperate for their attention. Now that Stuart was an assistant pastor in the church and married with three young kids, they had even less in common.
Love Me Tenor Page 21
