Not Even A Mouse

by MariaLisa deMora

  Myron licked a path along Andy’s shoulder to the soft flesh of his neck, and after a moment of hesitation, sank his teeth in briefly, the quick shudder of Andy’s body proof he’d been right to follow his instincts. Andy liked it a little rough. So do I, apparently. “Me, too.” He grunted, straining as he arched up. “Close.”

  “Fuck, babe. So good.” Andy’s mouth was next to Myron’s ear, audible breaths broken by deep grunts. “Now. God, coming. Babe.”

  The first splash of heat on his belly was enough to tip him over the edge, and Myron found himself writhing under Andy, rutting against his belly, hands full of the sheets he had ripped off the bed. He held on while Andy wrapped him up, giving Myron his full weight, letting Myron thrust and push until he came so hard it felt like a bomb detonated at the base of his spine. Long moments of gentle strokes from Andy’s fingers across his ribs and back, anchored him until the orgasm rolled away, leaving him feeling like his skin was too small, scoured raw by the sensation.

  Bright lights brought him out of the memory, and Myron saw they were parking in the hospital lot.

  “We’re here.” Brute shoved the keys across the cab, and Myron accepted them, pushing them deep into his pocket, discreetly adjusting himself at the same time. “Call if you need us, brother. Tell Mouse we’re all rooting for his girl.”

  The right move

  Myron

  The lights inside seemed just as blindingly bright as the ones in the parking lot, and Myron fought the urge to shield his eyes, narrowing them instead. He followed Andy’s directions and within a few minutes, found himself in the hallway outside the designated waiting room. Through the doorway, he spied Andy in a chair, head tipped forwards. Hands clasped between his knees, he seemed to be staring at the floor, but the moment Myron entered the room he looked up as if he’d been waiting.

  They met in the middle of the room, and a momentary relief that none of the Rebels had demanded to accompany him rocketed through his brain. But then Andy’s arms were around him, and Myron hadn’t stopped himself from returning the embrace even though there were other people in the room. He wrapped himself around Andy, cupping the back of his head to hold him closer still.

  “You came.” The disbelieving words preceded a series of wracking shudders, Andy’s frame shaking with palpable anguish and suddenly Myron’s heart was in his throat. Jesus, is she...am I too late?

  “I came,” he agreed softly. Please, God. He willed there to be no bad news. Please. He’d only met her the once, but after talking and playing with her for an hour, he’d been in love. Natalya had stolen his heart, something he hadn’t believed possible. All he could do was reassure. “I’m here. Promise. I’ll be here.” There was no way the radiance that was Andy’s little girl could be gone. Andy’s stories of her antics had been the highlights of so many days. She was brilliant, and sweet, and so loved. It’ll break him. Keeping his voice positive, he asked, “Tell me. What do you know?”

  “Nothing,” Andy said, words spit out as if they were bitter on his tongue. “They took her back to surgery and promised to keep me updated, but no one has come and told me anything. That was over an hour ago.” Andy took a series of deep sighs, slowing his breathing until he arched against Myron’s arms, leaning back. They were staring into each other’s eyes, and Myron realized they were almost the same height. In his mind, his memories of their encounters, Andy always seemed so certain of himself, so confident; he’d seemed so much larger. His presence commanding. Maybe it was because I needed him, and now, he needs me.

  “What happened?” He shifted towards the chairs, and Andy clutched at Myron’s arms, coming with him in a way that said he needed the contact even more than he’d let on. Myron wrapped his hand around Andy’s, holding tight. Guiding him to a seat, Myron settled Andy and then sat beside him, hand on his forearm. The muscles under his palm rippled repeatedly, and Myron looked down to see Andy making a fist, over and over. He stroked Andy’s arm, waiting until Andy had begun to relax to ask, “Why’d you have to bring Talya in?”

  Through the story, he steadily held Andy’s gaze, listening without interruption. When he finished, Andy seemed to deflate, sagging until he came to rest against Myron. They sat like that for a moment, and Myron relished the warmth in his chest knowing Andy needed him. Then, as it always did, Myron’s brain kicked into gear, looking for a way to help in a tangible way. Maybe I can get info for him, learn how Talya is. “I know some folks, okay? Lemme see what I can find out.” Andy’s expression lit up, and Myron struggled against the need to touch his face. Not here, not in public. “Lemme make a call.” This was what Myron did best, pulling together data and facts from sources that might be unwilling, but he’d be entirely willing to lean on whoever he needed, if it would get Andy what he needed.

  He started with Bulldog, securing a promise that the man would make his own calls and get back to Myron quickly. His next call was to Goose, because as an EMT, he had his own medical connections. Another promise to reach out, another promise to let Myron know as soon as anything broke loose. Carefully untangling himself from a silently resistant Andy, Myron left him in the waiting room to troll a path down to the nurses’ station. Enough of them knew men in the club, so it was no surprise he found one willing to gossip a little about their young charge. Still in surgery, they were having problems keeping her stable. She’d lost a lot of blood.

  Fuck.

  On his way back to the waiting room, Myron went out on a limb and called DeeDee, basically Slate’s mother-in-law. If the club had a matriarch, she’d be it, having been associated with the club for decades. She promised to contact the women and organize a blood drive. If Talya had needed as many transfusions as the nurse had indicated, it was one way the club could help.

  As he was walking back into the waiting room, he saw an exhausted-looking doctor walk through the double doors of the surgical suite and into the hallway. Myron moved faster. Andy was the only one in the waiting room; it had to be news about Talya. The doctor paused a moment and swiped the surgical cap from his head, using the brightly colored fabric to scrub across his face. He took in a visibly deep breath, set his shoulders and stepped through the door just ahead of Myron. “Danfort family?”

  Myron relaxed for a moment at the unfamiliar name. But, he saw Andy stiffen and stand, staring at the doctor with wide eyes. Danfort? Shaking off his confusion, he made it to Andy’s side to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, propping him up as best he could as they waited for whatever pronouncement the surgeon would make.

  The surgeon’s voice was rough and tired as he questioned, “You’re Natalya’s father?”

  “Yes. God, yes.” Andy’s response was immediate. “How is she? My little girl? She’s okay?”

  Natalya Danfort, not Kasmouski? What the hell?

  The doctor confirmed, “She’s stable and in recovery. From there she’ll go to ICU.”

  Air rushed out of Andy, and he sagged against Myron. “She’s really okay? Talya’s gonna be okay?”

  “It was a difficult procedure, but she’s a fighter.” After a more thorough explanation of the surgery, the doctor stuck his hand out, and Andy accepted, their hands moving up and down, his confidence reassuring. “I’ll check back in on her soon.” He released Andy and reached for Myron’s hand. Startled, he instinctively gripped and shook. “If you want, the two of you can see her for a few minutes before we move her.” The surgeon smiled, tired but clearly pleased he could pass along good news. “She was asking for her daddy and papa.”

  Andy’s flinch and abbreviated denial of “He’s not...” came at the same time Myron dropped the man’s hand as if it burned him, stuttering, “No, I’m just…just a friend.”

  Andy leaned against Myron’s shoulder, focus still on the doctor. “Her…Roger’s dead.”

  There was silence for a moment, the weight of that knowledge flattening Myron. The anonymous man in the picture was no longer anonymous, he had a name. Roger. This explained so much. Dead. Andy’s quiet apology and Ta
lya’s sadness. How Andy had seemed about to say something a dozen times, but Myron knew he’d held back. Fuck.

  The doctor shook his head and then repeated himself, interrupting Myron’s thoughts as he spoke to Andy, “You can see her for a few minutes. I’ll take you to her.” Andy stepped away, walking out of the room with a quick glance back.

  Suddenly at loose ends, Myron sat as he struggled whether to stay or go. He had been blindsided by the surgeon’s statement, and then floored by what Andy revealed. After remembering Talya’s “That’s Daddy’s seat” and now learning her name was Danfort, he knew it shouldn’t have been such a shock. He knew the man in the picture was important…had been important to Andy and his daughter. I just didn’t want to believe. Things with Andy felt real. A montage running through his head, every encounter looked different studied through the lens of this knowledge.

  Stay, or go.

  His heart and head were at war, bile twisting up the back of his throat when his imagination painted a scene of the man in that picture bursting into the waiting room, demanding to see his little girl. Myron imagined a tearful bedside reunion in full-color detail, him standing to the side, forgotten. That had to be what Andy would prefer. No wonder he seems reserved sometimes, and pushing forwards at a hundred miles an hour at others.

  The memory of Andy’s voice and tight hold finally decided him, convincing him to stay exactly where he was. If Talya’s Daddy was dead, then Andy would need someone to help support him and his daughter during a time like this, and Myron believed Andy deserved to have whoever he wanted. I want to be that.

  Myron shoved down his negative thoughts, turning back to his phone and working on various non-critical club projects. So many times his role in the club was akin to herding cats, as if his invisible fingers could be set against the edges of plates to keep everything spinning.

  Noise at the door to the waiting area captured his attention and Myron looked up to see DeeDee and her old man, Jase, walking in. They were followed by Goose and Francine, then Brute and Bexley. Five more people affiliated with the club than he’d expected. Damn.

  Over the past couple of years, a lot of his friends had coupled up. It was one thing to see it at a club party, where any Rebel member would only be alone by choice. Eager women lusting after patch holders in leather were a staple at their events, and any man who chose that route was only looking for a good time. These brothers and their old ladies were in it for the long haul. So it was another to be confronted by their happiness by the harsh light of the fluorescent hospital lights. If he could see them and how they felt, they’d recognize everything he wanted to keep secret. Nowhere to hide.

  Forestalling their questions, Myron said, “She made it.” The women smiled, DeeDee’s eyes going misty. He took a deep breath. “Her tonsils came out last week, and the doc said when the scabbing in her throat came off it tore too deep. Hit her carotid. She nearly bled out before Andy…” He winced and corrected himself quickly. “Before Mouse got her here. They got it fixed, but she’s still not out of the woods. He’s back with her now.”

  “Oh, Myron,” Bexley whispered and laid a hand on Myron’s arm, not gripping, just pressing, her reassuring touch making something inside him bend nearly to breaking. “Is Mouse okay?” He nodded, not trusting his voice. What the fuck is wrong with me? It wasn’t like the man was anything to him, not really. One night where Myron had let down his defenses, weeks ago. Followed by a hundred conversations and kisses. I’m such a liar.

  He wouldn’t let himself think about all the reasons why Andy had called him. They’d spoken frequently, sure, mostly on the phone. And in the backroom of the bar. And in the back seat of Andy’s car. Andy had invited him for a repeat trip to his house again the first time Myron walked back into the bar, but he’d shut that shit down hard. Not knowing the truth about Roger, he had made some assumptions. Got a lot wrong.

  The group in front of him parted, and he saw Andy walking back in, the expression on his face smoothing as he came straight to Myron. Instead of demanding a resumption of the comforting embrace from earlier, Andy turned and stood beside Myron, keeping a careful distance between them. Taking a deep breath, Andy swiped at his cheeks with both hands and lifted his chin. He seemed to survey the men and women, nodding at the ones he knew, reaching out to grip Bexley’s hand as he did so. Out of everything, that single action bothered Myron, the back of his throat burning as he watched Andy reach out to Bexley for comfort, instead of to him. Of course he did, you didn’t exactly welcome him back, did you? It didn’t make sense why it would hurt, but it did.

  He cleared his throat, forcing out a question. “How is she?”

  Andy pinned him with a watery gaze. “She’s better than I expected. So pale, she’s so pale, Myron.” Needing to touch him, to restore the connection between them in some way, Myron crossed the gulf of space between them and rested his hand on Andy’s shoulder. He squeezed tightly, fingers digging in hard. “As long as everything stays as it is now, she’ll be fine. They’re putting her in ICU because someone can be with her all the time.” Goose made a sound and Andy shook his head. “No, I know not me, not all the time. But, family,” he leaned towards Myron, a sway really, their bodies nearly brushing before Andy pulled himself back upright, “and close friends can go in every couple of hours, two at a time.”

  It grew quiet in the room, and Myron imagined he felt the weight of everyone’s stare, shocked when he glanced around to find only Bexley was looking at them, the others having gathered into a group off to the side.

  Maybe it’s still too fresh for him. Talya wasn’t that old. For her to have memories of Roger, his death couldn’t be too far in the past.

  He was furious suddenly, so angry that his need to lash out was nearly unstoppable, chairs and phones and his brothers all likely looking targets. I want…I need to be here for him. Muscles tense, hands shaking, Myron slipped his hand around Andy’s. The immediate crushing hold told him he’d made the right move. I want to be what he needs. He squeezed, offering a hopeful promise. “She’s going to be fine. Back to singing in the kitchen in no time.” Bexley made a sound like she’d suppressed a laugh and he glared at her, anger flaring again at her smile. Making this statement as he was, it would be the death knell for the thing that had saved his life so long ago, and he wanted her to respect that, even if she’d never really understand.

  Andy’s worth it.

  “You want me to stay?” Andy nodded, the barest of movements, as if he were afraid of making too large a gesture.

  Fuck ‘em all.

  Myron squeezed Andy’s hand and leaned close, shoulders brushing. “Okay. You need me, I’m here.”

  Andy’s audible sigh told Myron he’d again made the right decision.

  Going home

  Andy

  He woke with a jerk, yanked out of a bloody nightmare with welcome pressure from a now-familiar hand on his shoulder. Blinking up blearily, he stared at the face hovering over him. Myron. Beautiful, kissable Myron. Reaching up, he wrapped his hand around the back of Myron’s neck and tugged him down. When their lips met in a soft caress, the spark he anticipated leapt between them, heat flaring in his groin at the rough slide of whiskers on his skin. “Babe,” he whispered, releasing his hold and moving to sit upright. He’d been dozing sprawled out across three chairs, Myron’s bundled leather jacket his pillow.

  Myron’s eyes warmed, and the corners of his lips tipped up. “Doc’s here, says he’s got good news.” Andy peered around him to see the surgeon standing near the doorway, phone in hand, studiously not looking their direction.

  “I’m up,” he said, pushing to his feet and listing sideways until Myron’s hand cupped his elbow, steadying Andy. Like he’s done since he got here. That was three days ago. Endless days filled with brief visits to Talya’s bedside, vats of bad coffee, and a bellyful of fear. If it hadn’t been for Myron’s friends, they would have starved. They because Myron hadn’t left the hospital, either, staying by Andy’s side th
rough everything. Even when the bleeding started again that first night, Myron hadn’t panicked, just punched the button to call a nurse and ripped the door open, shouting for help while Andy cradled Talya in his arms.

  A second round in the surgical suite meant Talya had spent another two days in ICU. She had finally been cleared to be put into a regular room last night, but none were available. That meant she was still parked in ICU, and they were out here except for fifteen minutes every two hours.

  “I’m releasing Natalya.”

  Andy blinked. “What?” Myron’s fingers squeezed his elbow, and he leaned sideways, resting his shoulder against Myron’s solid frame. My rock. “Releasing, like to go home?”

  “Yes, she’s recovering nicely and with healing well underway, I think the calmer environment at home would be more beneficial now. I’ll write the orders now, and you’ll be ready to head out in about an hour.”

  “I’m going to…she’s coming home? Really?” A thousand thoughts ran through his mind, but all he could think of was this same surgeon telling him the same thing just over a week ago. “She can go home now, Mr. Kasmouski. Just convince her to take it easy. She seems like a handful.” Patent lies, because look where they were right now. She nearly died. Andy’s throat tightened with fear, muting his hundreds of questions.

  “She’ll need someone with her, of course, and you’ll want to follow-up with her regular pediatrician on Monday.” Andy stared, mouth still stubbornly sealed shut. “She’s healing well, and home is the best place for her, Mr. Kasmouski.” The surgeon flashed a smile and turned, walking out of sight down the hallway.

  “It’s a good thing.” Myron’s voice rumbled in his ear, and Andy twisted his neck, meeting his gaze. “It is, Andy. She’s going to be fine.” Somehow when Myron said it, Andy could finally believe the words.