The Dirty Dozen: Alpha Edition

by Kay Maree

  I’d never forget the feeling of sheer white terror when he uttered the words, “Peace. Out,” then flopped backward off his piano stool, while I still sat in his lap. I’d never moved as fast—even while I screamed in panic—as I had when I’d jumped up to try to break his fall, lowering his body gently to the ground. Or when I’d started CPR, thanking the gods that I’d taken a first aid course every five years or so, “just in case.”

  Then, as I stood back, watching while the designated first-aider from the venue carried on with CPR, until the emergency vehicle arrived, I felt like I’d been hit by a semi-truck. No, I felt like somebody had jacked my heart from my chest with a rusty spoon, tied it to the back of the truck, and dragged it for thousands of miles down unsurfaced roads.

  I was dimly aware of King, either by Rome’s side, or by mine, holding me, and offering me words of reassurance, but he was on the periphery of my consciousness. I was laser-focused on Rome. The building could have spontaneously combusted into a ball of flames, and I would hardly have noticed.

  I only became more aware of my surroundings when the EMTs who’d been working on Rome for a while, declared him in a stable enough condition to be transported to the hospital. Then my attention was set on getting there as soon as possible. King and I jumped into one of the tour vehicles, and the driver had us at the hospital in no time. On the way, King made some calls—letting Rome’s brother know what had happened, and connecting with their manager James, who’d already been notified by the tour manager.

  The fifteen-minute ride to the hospital felt like the longest of my life. King played it down, keeping up a strong front for my sake—pulling me protectively into his side on the back seat of the car, with his arms around my shoulders, and not letting go, reassuring me that everything would be okay—but I knew he was equally shaken, and concerned for his best friend. The fact was, no matter what happened between them, they really were more like brothers than friends, and the situation would have been eating him up inside, just like it was killing me.

  When we arrived at the hospital, accompanied by a member of the local production team, who acted as interpreter, we were told that the doctors suspected that Rome had suffered some kind of seizure, most likely caused by excessive alcohol consumption.

  They told us they didn’t know for sure, and would need to run more tests to confirm, and rule out a whole host of other potential problems and conditions. They could then work out the best form of treatment once they had a confirmed diagnosis.

  We’d sat huddled in the waiting room, trying—and failing—not to think the worst, and doing our best to distract each other from the reality of the situation.

  King was particularly good at this, keeping me entertained with stories of the crazy times the two had shared over the years. I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall to witness some of their antics from afar—I probably wouldn’t have found them as funny if I’d had to be up close and personal in the midst of it all when they played out, or worse still, on the receiving end.

  “Seriously though, I’m not trying to downplay it, but he’ll be fine.” King spoke softly, his tone reassuring.

  “You can’t be sure of that.”

  “True, but trust me, in all the years I’ve known him and his brother, they’ve had like one cold between the two of them. The rest of the world could be dying of swine flu, the worst plague to hit the earth in a billion years, and TB, and those two wouldn’t even have so much as a sniffle. They are like some kind of bionic freak-show meta-humans. Or cats. With all the narrow escapes they’ve had, they’ve racked up a minimum of nine lives each, already.

  “It must be a Slavic thing, or something. I dunno, but it got to the point where his nickname at the Con was the Ox, because the rest of us could be wiped out by a vomiting bug or whatever other pestilence, and he’d be sitting there munching pizza, just the same as any other day.” A smile had tugged the corner of his lips as he remembered.

  “But he’s clearly not infallible, or else he wouldn’t be here right now. No matter what you, he, or anyone thinks, he’s just flesh and blood like the rest of us. He hurts. He was in pain, and we both knew it and ignored it, and now he’s sick, possibly really fucking sick, and we’re partially to blame.” My voice cracked, and I did my best to hold back the tears threatening to fall.

  “Yeah, I know. I’m just saying that if anyone can pull through, he can. I mean the amount he’s been drinking recently would have killed anyone else weeks ago. Shit, just the amount he drank tonight alone was enough to fell a fucking elephant, but here he is.

  “He’s strong, and he’s a battler, and always will be. After the things he’s been through in his life, his will to fight is the reason he’s still here. He’ll get through this.” He’d pulled me closer to him, kissing gently into my hair.

  ***

  A flurry of activity brought my attention back to the here and now, as the doctors and nurses completed their checks on Rome.

  A little while later, a doctor came over and explained—through the interpreter—that their initial suspicions had been correct. Rome had suffered some kind of seizure, a bit like an epileptic fit, which wasn’t an uncommon side effect of prolonged excessive drinking. He’d had scans and X-rays, and from what they’d been able to find out, there was no water, or blood on the brain, nor long-term damage. His vital signs were good, so they’d ruled out any issues with his heart or other organs.

  He needed rest, and they wanted to keep him in the hospital for a few days, for further observation just to be sure. But from what they could tell, they thought there would be no long-term effects of the episode—especially if Rome refrained from drinking for a while—and that he’d make a full recovery.

  King turned to me, his smile spread wide across his beautiful and aptly regal features, his bright blue eyes sparkling like jewels against his tan skin.

  “See? The lucky fucker lives to piss us off another day.” Though he brushed it off with a joke, the relief he felt was palpable—his whole body relaxed as he spoke. I knew the feeling, I’d been so tightly wound since Rome had collapsed that my muscles were screaming from being stretched taut, and I’d developed a tension headache.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  KING

  We approached the bed, just as Rome was wrestling with the tube they’d put down his throat to help him breathe. Now that I knew for sure he was going to be okay, I took a moment to appreciate how terrible a patient he would make. The guy was a bad-tempered asshole at the best of times, let alone when he was sick, and prone—trapped in a hospital bed for days on end.

  The nurses managed to convey the message that they’d remove the tube when they’d finished all of their tests and checks. Rome’s face expressed his sincere desire for them to all fuck off, and I had to stifle my highly inappropriate laughter. We were all in for a bumpy ride, and the next few days were going to feel very long, if I knew Rome. Lord help us all!

  When they’d finally finished their work on the cranky patient, including the painful-looking removal of the offending tube, Quincy and I approached the bed again, safe in the knowledge that we weren’t impeding anyone from doing their job, or about to be shooed away for that reason.

  Quincy darted out of my embrace, and rushed to the side of the bed, where she’d spent most of the night, holding Rome’s hand, stroking his pale and clammy forehead, and never moving her gaze from him, as though she thought she could heal him solely by the power of her stare.

  “Hi.” When he eventually spoke, his voice was thin and hoarse.

  “Hi yourself.” Her smile lit up the entire room, but more than that, it lit up my world, and my heart. “You’re sounding a little scratchy there. Want some water?” He nodded, gracing her with a wan, sheepish smile.

  She reached over to the nightstand next to the bed, and picked up the cup of water that was there, complete with straw. As she brought the straw to his lips, and he took a thirsty gulp, almost choking himself
in the process, something about the look that passed between them made my stomach lurch.

  “Whoa there, tiger. Take it easy. We only just got you back. We don’t want to lose you again.” Her tone was jovial, but I didn’t miss the way it was also tinged with sadness, like she didn’t want him to know how upset she’d been, but couldn’t quite muster enough acting skills to hide her true feelings.

  When he regained his composure, he started trying to sit up, but Quincy urged him back. “You need to chill, or you’ll fuck yourself up more.” He looked frustrated as hell, but flopped back on his pillows with a resigned sigh, looking at her searchingly.

  “King?” His eyes darted around wildly, looking for me.

  “Yeah, he’s here.”

  I stepped closer—I had no idea why I’d even been hanging back—taking Quincy’s hand and kissing the back of it as I joined her at Rome’s bedside.

  “Yeah, I’m here buddy. Wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else.” Quincy squeezed my hand, and looked lovingly back and forth between Rome and me. “But I tell you something— if you ever fucking scare me like that again, I’ll kill you myself.”

  Rome’s smile widened, and Quincy all-out laughed. “So let me get this straight. If he almost dies again, you’re going to kill him. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “Okaaaay. I won’t even pretend to understand the dynamic between the two of you, because I really don’t. You’re both bat-shit crazy.” Her smile told me she was only half-serious.

  “But you love us.” I was only half-joking

  “I do. Though, I thought I’d never find myself saying these words, I can’t wait to see this one—” she jerked her head toward Rome “—back to his usual giant asshole self.” He raised his hand weakly and flipped her off.

  “It’s true,” I agreed. “Rather that than worried to death about you while you’re laid out flat in a hospital bed.”

  “Sorry.” It was one of the few times I’d heard him sound genuinely apologetic. Admitting he was wrong wasn’t his normal MO.

  “What’s to be sorry for? I’m sure you didn’t half kill yourself just to ruin our day. There’s no need to apologize, just don’t ever do it a-fucking-gain, okay?”

  “For everything…” he stopped speaking, swallowing hard. I wasn’t sure if it was the recency of having the tube removed that was giving him throat trouble, or something else.

  “For being an epic dick on this tour. For ruining last night’s show. For being a selfish bastard.”

  “Don’t sweat it. It’s not even a thing. I mean, it is a thing, but it’s your thing. Everyone knows that’s life with you. If I wasn’t prepared for that, I wouldn’t be here right now. Oh, and speaking of giant pains in the ass, I called Marko and let him know what’s going on. He’s sorting out flights. So now I’ll have to deal with two of the world’s biggest douches in one tiny room. Thanks for that, asshole.”

  Again, I was kind of only half joking. Rome’s brother was just as big of a dick as Rome, if not slightly worse, but I didn’t have the close relationship with Marko as I did with Rome, so I had a lot less patience for his bullshit. Plus, one colossal ego in the room, or two, if you included mine, was plenty at any given time.

  “No. It needs to be said. I excelled myself—took my normal assholery to the next level. I was acting out like a fucking spoiled preschooler. The fact is, I was jealous and resentful of what you guys have, but I’m over that now, and I really did mean what I said, before I passed out. I’m happy for you two. Honestly. Couldn’t have happened to two bigger pains in my ass, and you’re so cute together it kind of makes me sick to my stomach, but other than that, it’s a beautiful thing.”

  “Don’t tire yourself out talking. None of this shit is important right now, or at all, in fact. What’s important is that you’re not dead or dying. You just concentrate on getting yourself well enough to get the fuck out of here—these places weird me the hell out. Everything else is literal bullshit. Okay?” I meant it. There was nothing like nearly losing someone to remind me how important they were to me.

  “Just because I’m laid out like this, doesn’t mean you call the shots. Nothing wrong with my brain, even though my body has seen better days right now.”

  “Okay, whatever. Apology accepted. Blessing accepted. We good now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Great, because I really need to use the bathroom and to grab coffee, and something to eat. You need anything?”

  “Nah. Got no appetite. Not for food, anyway.” He glanced at Quincy, probably trying to be on the DL, but discretion had never been one of his strong suits, and he was obvious AF. Quincy held his gaze, unflinching. In the end, I was the one to break the stalemate.

  “You’re probably not allowed to eat anything yet, anyway, after all the shit you just went through. Want anything, baby?”

  Quincy glanced at me, smiling wide. “I’d donate a kidney to Rome right now if he needed to replace his vodka-riddled one, in exchange for a coffee.”

  “Harsh.” Rome.

  “Extreme.” Me.

  “You’ve met me, right? You know I need coffee more than I need oxygen most days.”

  “Truth. Never let it be said that I would willingly or knowingly part a woman from her life-force. BRB.” I swiped a quick kiss across her lips, and headed out of the room.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  QUINCY

  The door was barely closed before Rome turned to me.

  “You know I’m in love with you, right?”

  “What?” Jesus Christ. I hadn’t even had time to catch my breath, and the rollercoaster ride of life with Rome was back in full effect.

  “You heard me.” I had heard him. I was just trying to buy myself some time to digest the huge bombshell he’d dropped. I felt like the entire world had fallen away, except a tiny sliver of solid ground under my feet, and I was in danger of falling into the abyss below.

  “I heard you, but I also heard you tell King and me that you were happy for us. Literally moments ago.”

  “Yeah?”

  “So how can you be here saying this stuff now? Why lie to us?”

  “I didn’t lie to anybody about anything. Both things are true. I’m in love with you, but I’m happy you’re with King. You made the right choice. I’m not too much of a douche to be able to see that. The two of you are great together, and I wouldn’t wish me on my worst enemy, let alone the woman I love. Nobody would.”

  “I don’t understand.” That was putting it fucking mildly. I was so mad with Rome, and totally confused by what he was saying, and even more so by what I was feeling, that I couldn’t think straight.

  “What’s not to understand? I love you, which means I want you to be happy. He’s a good guy. He’s good for you, because he makes you happy. So, I’m happy for you. You deserve it. You both do.”

  “I—”

  “No. Let me say this, then we’re never going to mention it again, especially not to King, okay?” I kept silent. I wasn’t about to agree to lie to my boyfriend.

  “Quincy. You have to promise not to tell him this shit. I love him like a brother. I don’t want to hurt him, or make him feel guilty for being with you. Please.” It was a rare heartfelt and earnest moment from Rome, as his dark brown eyes pleaded with me, and it just about broke my fucking heart.

  “Okay. I agree not to say anything in the short-term, but I can’t say more than that. I won’t lie to him.”

  “I’m not asking you to lie. I’m just saying don’t mention it. I’m never going to.”

  “So why even tell me then?”

  “Better out that in, I guess. I had to tell someone, or it was going to eat me up inside. I wasn’t about to drop that shit on King, so…”

  “So you thought you’d drop it on me, instead? Gee, thanks.”

  “Who else was I going to tell? The only other possible candidate is Marko, but what
good would that serve? He’s at least as much of an asshole as me—possibly more so—and he doesn’t really give a fuck about the finer details of my life.”

  “But now I’m burdened with this information.”

  “It doesn’t have to be a burden. It’s just a fact. You can ignore it, safe in the knowledge that I’m over it.” His mouth said one thing, but his eyes said another.

  “Oh, I see that, by the way you drank yourself into having a seizure and were hospitalized as a result.”

  “Who said that the two things are connected?”

  “So you mean I’m supposed to think it was random that you flipping your shit happened to coincide with the first time King and I told each other ‘I love you’?”

  “What you think is up to you, but I’m telling you I’m fine. I just needed to get that off my chest, so we can move the fuck on with our lives.”

  “So you can move the fuck on, you mean.”

  “Yeah, that too. But so can you.” Easier said than done with this knowledge burning a hole in my brain, and in my heart.

  “Really? What did you expect me to do with the information?”

  He looked genuinely confused at the question, which pissed me off. I knew full well that he wasn’t as emotionally stunted as he liked people to believe. He just acted that way to put a barrier between himself and the rest of the world.

  “Do? I didn’t expect you to do anything except get on with living your life and being happy.”

  “I don’t think you thought that through properly. Or maybe you did, but as ever, you failed to consider anyone in the equation but yourself. Typical.”