Stand by Your Manny

by Amy Lane

  “Sorry about what?” Cooper asked kindly.

  “You were hungry.” Sammy’s thumb was free, and he stroked the side of Cooper’s narrow jaw. “You are so kind. I don’t want you to be hungry.”

  Cooper grimaced. “Well, right back atcha. And you’re going to make yourself sick. I’ll be right back.”

  He stepped away awkwardly, and Sammy turned, dreamlike, to his composition. He was deep under again when he felt that kind hand on his shoulder again.

  “Sammy, I’m not even kidding. The food is right in front of you on top of the piano. Now eat!”

  Sammy nodded and grabbed the sandwich, taking a bite before going back to his work. Another bite, another couple of notes. Another bite, and he could just finish the next bar. It was almost done.

  The song. Not the sandwich. But he wasn’t that hungry anyway.

  He’d just about put the last notation on his paper when the sound of young, excited voices crashed into the pleasant creative silence of his head.

  “Channing, you’ve got the pictures, right? The pictures of us in the Exploratorium? You’ll show Cooper—he’s never been!”

  “How can Cooper never have been?” Keenan asked, voice rising over Felicity’s. “He’s a grown-up. All grown-ups have been to San Francisco!”

  “Sh…,” Tino hushed. “You guys, Letty’s out. I’m going to take her upstairs and get her into bed while you tell Sammy and Cooper all about your day.”

  Sammy managed to pull his head out of his work long enough to get Felicity’s fierce hug and Keenan’s right after her. “Hey, guys—sounds like you had a good time. Tell me about it!”

  “Oooh, Sammy! Uncle Channing said no food on the piano!”

  Sammy grinned as Keenan made him sound like a world-class miscreant. “Yeah, sorry about that.” He stood to stretch and wobbled, dizzy. “Yeah—here. Give me a minute and I’ll take that to the kitchen.”

  “Sammy!” Keenan’s voice got shrill, and he pointed to Sammy’s front. Sammy looked down and groaned, his breath sputtering blood everywhere.

  “Goddammit,” Sammy muttered, pulling his T-shirt up to hold his nose. “Dammit—”

  “Dammit!” Channing snapped, pulling in past Keenan and Felicity. “Sammy, you did it again, didn’t you?”

  “Sowwy, Ubcle Channing,” he muttered, and then the whole world swayed and he wobbled into Channing’s arms. Just like when he was little, the iron strength in Channing’s shoulders reassured him that all would be well.

  Everybody Hurts

  COOPER stood paralyzed and horrified. Sammy was bleeding and dizzy and falling down, and Cooper couldn’t even move past Felicity to catch him. Cooper had to stand and watch as Sammy’s uncle wrapped an arm around his waist and started hauling him out of the music room, which he’d haunted like a ghost for the entire afternoon.

  He’d been kind but distracted when Cooper first entered the room, waiting on Cooper, making him feel at home.

  And then he’d played that song—that beautiful song. Cooper could recognize pieces in it, glimpses of the familiar through the refracted rainbow of Sammy’s musicianship, but the song itself had been, by turns, rollicking and earthy and haunting.

  Cooper knew very little about music, but he was pretty sure Sammy Lowell was damned talented.

  And then, when Sammy began to compose, that had been companionable too. It hadn’t been until Cooper woke up from his nap that he realized Sammy still hadn’t eaten, hadn’t spoken, hadn’t moved from his position at the piano, where he muttered over his homework and stared dreamily into space.

  The blood dripping down Sammy’s worn cotton shirt terrified Cooper. Seeing his angel weak and disoriented made a lie of all the fragile security Cooper had established over the past few days.

  “Sammy?” Felicity called as Channing hustled him off toward the bathroom in the lower hallway. “Sammy?”

  “Hey,” Keenan soothed, sounding surprisingly adult. “Don’t get upset. He did this in high school all the time. He had a thing. They’ve got a word for it, and a thing and a blood test.” Then Keenan’s voice took on the lecturing, bored tones that could only be assumed by an irritated family member. “It’s his own fault, you know. He should have finished his sandwich.”

  “Who should have finished their sandwich?” Tino asked, coming down the stairs. He caught sight of a drop of blood on the piano bench and swore. “Dammit. Really?”

  “They went toward the bathroom,” Cooper said, feeling stupid. “I’ll, uh, get something from the kitchen to clean that up.”

  Tino shook his head angrily—but it was obviously not directed at Cooper.

  “I’ll get it,” he said. He looked up at Felicity and Keenan and gave a pained grimace. “Okay, guys. We’ll have to save all the excitement for Sammy until tomorrow. Can you two go up and put on your pajamas? Felicity, hug Cooper now so you’re not making him go up the stairs. Both of you, Channing and I will be up in a minute to say good night.”

  Cooper blinked, surprised at how damned efficient one human being could be.

  Felicity turned toward him and gave him a ginger—but prolonged—hug. “Night, Coop,” she whispered. “Thanks so much for letting me go. It was the most awesome time.”

  Keenan came over and gave him a quick hug too. Cooper accepted, surprised. “Don’t worry too much about Sammy,” the little boy said wisely. “He’s always been okay before.”

  Cooper watched them both scamper up the stairs and then picked up the half-eaten sandwich and followed Tino to the kitchen.

  Tino was throwing cabinets open in pique, hauling a spray bottle of cleaner out of one and a towel out of another. “Damned kid,” he muttered. “Damned stupid, dreamy—” He stopped when he saw Cooper, right before his voice broke. “Sorry, Cooper,” he said, getting hold of himself visibly. “I was trying to have my little tantrum where nobody could see.”

  “I thought Keenan said he’d be okay,” Cooper offered tentatively.

  “Yes. Well, yes and no. He’s anemic—it’s not serious—or it shouldn’t be serious. If he’d eat three squares a day and take his damned supplements and remember to move around once in a while when he’s sedentary—and remember to sit down once in a while when he’s moving around—he’d be okay.” Tino let out a frustrated breath and threw himself back against the counter. “But he doesn’t.” He kicked backward, slamming the cabinet under his feet shut. “It’s something that started showing up when he was in middle school and then got really bad his senior year. He’d forget breakfast, skip lunch, and pass out in the middle of a soccer game. Used to make Channing and me just crazy, right? And when he’s a kid like that, you can nag. ‘Take your meds, Sammy—yes, even if it makes us late for school, okay? Eat, Sammy. Get some sleep, Sammy. Yes, I don’t care if you get an A instead of an A+, go to bed now!’ But he’s an adult now, supposedly, and….” Tino shook his head.

  “He just forgets,” Cooper said. He’d been there—he’d seen. “I’m sorry. I knew he skipped lunch, but I couldn’t seem to make him stop and eat dinner.”

  Tino gave him a tired but reassuring smile, the kind that showed the fine lines of age at the corners of his eyes. In the bright light of the kitchen, a few strands of silver glinted in his curly dark hair, telling Cooper that, although he looked young at first, he was old enough to be a father figure to Sammy and married to Channing Lowell, one of the most successful businessmen in the state.

  And in the middle of all the exhaustion and worry, he was trying to reassure Cooper Hoskins. “Cooper, it’s not your fault. And it’s not your job, frankly. He’s supposed to be an adult. The week after next, he’ll be teaching after his classes, and if he doesn’t eat a protein bar at least, he’s going to be hurting. He wants to be a musician, and that often means touring. If he can’t take care of himself, he’s not going to be able to do that with his life. It’s just….” Tino let out a frustrated growl. “He’s such an awesome kid. In pretty much all respects but this one.” He shook his head and started bac
k to the music room, cleaning supplies in hand. “When you love someone, they can just drive you batshit crazy, that’s all.”

  He stalked out, and Cooper put the plate in the sink, then followed the sound of nagging down the hallway.

  Sammy was sitting on the toilet seat, shirtless, head back, while Channing fumbled a small blood-test kit out from under the sink.

  “Channing,” Sammy complained. “Is this really necessary? The blood’s almost stopped, I’ll go eat something when it’s done, and I can take my supplement tonight and in the morning, okay?”

  “Yes, it’s necessary,” Channing muttered. His blond hair was in disarray from what had probably been a busy day, and his usually smiling face was compressed in a frown. “Have you been having any chest pains?”

  “No, Channing—”

  “Shortness of breath?”

  “No, I swear—”

  “Have you lost consciousness?”

  “Please, give me a—”

  Channing produced a little lancet and gestured imperiously for Sammy’s hand. Sammy looked up in time to catch Cooper’s eye. “I swear, I’m not an invalid,” he muttered. “Ouch!”

  Channing had gotten tired of waiting. He took the blood drop welling up from Sammy’s finger and rubbed it on a little test strip, frowning when he saw the results.

  “Do you see this?” he demanded, waving the strip in front of Sammy’s face.

  Sammy grimaced. “Wow, that’s really—”

  “Close to blue, Sammy. Remember what happens at blue?”

  Sammy closed his eyes. “You ship me to the hospital for fluids,” he muttered. “I remember.”

  “I’m going to go get you some food and your supplement,” Channing said between gritted teeth. “You’re going to go upstairs and get in bed. And you know what else?”

  “I’ll be hearing about this for the rest of the week?” Sammy hazarded.

  “You know that job you were so excited about?” Channing threatened.

  “Uncle Channing, you can’t!”

  Channing just shook his head and stalked out of the bathroom muttering, much as Tino had from the kitchen. Cooper stepped aside to let him go and shook his head as he thundered down the hall.

  “Wow,” Cooper said when he was out of earshot.

  “Yeah, well, I screwed up,” Sammy mumbled, embarrassed. “Sorry, Cooper. You were trying to feed me there at the end, but I just….”

  “Was too woozy to remember to eat,” Cooper said dryly.

  Sammy shrugged and pushed forward tiredly, wobbling at the last minute. Cooper stepped smoothly under his arm to steady him.

  “Mm,” Sammy grumbled. “This is embarrassing. All that posturing to Tino and Channing, and I might have really screwed it up this time. I might not be able to make it up the stairs.”

  “I’ll help you,” Cooper offered, feeling only a little bad about what Tino had told Felicity. Yes, his side and arm hurt, and he wasn’t excited about walking up even the short flight of stairs.

  But Sammy was wrapping his arm around Cooper’s shoulders, and for a moment Cooper felt warm and sheltered and useful.

  For a moment Sammy needed him.

  Sammy did most of the work on the way up the stairs, and Cooper let out a little grunt with every step. They’d gotten halfway up when Sammy turned to him, misery written all over his face. “I’m sorry,” he said, holding on to the railing for dear life. “I’m hurting you. I didn’t mean to be such a bother.”

  “Just getting used to working again,” Cooper told him, smiling gamely. “Don’t worry—we’ll get there.”

  And they did, making it into Sammy’s room just as they heard Channing and Tino on the stairs.

  Sammy threw himself on top of the covers, and Cooper sat down in the desk chair right before the peremptory knock sounded.

  “Come in,” Sammy said between gasps and then grimaced at Cooper as they shared a moment of conspiracy.

  “I don’t even believe this,” Tino snapped, dodging underneath Channing’s arm as Channing opened the door. “You both suck. Neither of you should have taken the stairs alone. Cooper, don’t move. Sammy, you’re fooling nobody—kick off your shoes and we’ll get you into some sweats and under the covers. You’re starting to shake. Jesus, you guys—we’re not the health police. Let us help!”

  “We’re grown,” Sammy said mildly, giving a pale shadow of his engaging grin. “We just didn’t want to—”

  “Bother us,” Channing said dryly before turning to scowl at Cooper. “Guys, I get it. Legally you’re grown. Cooper, you’ve been on your own for years. We understand. But what Sammy should know, and we’d like you to believe in, is that being grown doesn’t mean being alone.” He moved to Sammy’s bedside and set down a small tray of food on the end table next to the bed. Tino was going through Sammy’s drawers while he settled, and Channing caught a thrown sweatshirt and pair of pajama bottoms without even looking up.

  Cooper tried not to laugh, but Sammy must have heard him. “Don’t be too impressed,” he muttered. “They’ve had thirteen years to practice their routine.”

  “C’mon, Sammy,” Channing muttered, holding the sweatshirt out. “You’ve scared him enough tonight. Get dressed.”

  Cooper wasn’t stupid—he’d seen lots of men get undressed. School, the gym, foster care. He was good at not looking. A champion not-looker, actually. Don’t look, don’t linger, don’t get het up, because nobody needs to know anything about who Cooper Hoskins is and who he wants to kiss. Sure, the school has PSAs about being gay all the time, but Cooper needs a place to live and he needs his foster siblings to have his back, and that might not happen if the big gay secret gets let out, so don’t look.

  But he was looking at Sammy now.

  Looking at his long body, his narrow chest with shoulders that looked like they could, someday, be as broad as his lantern-jawed uncle’s. Looking at his tight stomach—all the muscles small and defined, the skin on his chest and stomach hairless and so white as to be blinding.

  He wore boxer briefs. Bright turquoise boxer briefs.

  Cooper took a deep breath through his nose and tried to remind himself to breathe out.

  By the time Sammy was dressed and under the covers, Cooper thought he was going to black out.

  Tino handed Sammy a plate of steamed spinach and chicken, which would explain why he took so long. No half-eaten sandwich for Sammy—he got fresh-made protein.

  Cooper approved.

  Sammy looked at the food like it was school lunch glop, closed his eyes with a long-suffering sigh, and began to eat.

  For a moment his chewing was the only sound in the room.

  He swallowed and said, “I didn’t mean to worry you guys, but you’re freaking me out.”

  “Really?” Channing crossed his arms and glowered. “We’re freaking you out?”

  Cooper couldn’t help it—he laughed.

  “That’s funny?” Sammy asked, but his eyes were twinkling, and he took a bite without apparently noticing.

  “You’re really lucky,” Cooper said, feeling foolish. “All I used to hear growing up was not to eat so much. Nobody could afford me.”

  “Oh Jesus,” Tino muttered. “Now I’m feeling guilty. Stay there, Cooper. I’m going to go make you a cheesecake.”

  Channing’s chuckle broke the final string of tension in the room. “I think you are a very necessary person in this house.” He looked meaningfully at Sammy. “Some of us could learn a few lessons about taking care of himself if he pays attention. Cooper, did you eat?”

  “No,” Sammy said, the expression on his face diabolical. “He made me a sandwich and didn’t make himself anything. I think he deserves food too.”

  “Well played, young Samwise.” Tino went in for the fist bump. “Cooper, stay right there. Channing and I will go make you some food and then go shower. Because I can smell beach stench from here. The kids didn’t get to tell you, but it’s a good thing we all brought spare clothes.”

  With t
hat the two of them walked out of the room, leaving Cooper to make sure Sammy ate.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Cooper said mildly. “I really can fend for myself.”

  “I know it.” Sammy toyed with his spinach. “I just think you deserve some fussing too.” Cooper looked meaningfully at his fork, and Sammy sighed and took a bite. “I mean, I’m not hungry and I’m mortally embarrassed, but it’s nice to know they love me.”

  “They do,” Cooper said, smiling faintly. “Not to sound bitter, but, you know, must be nice.”

  Sammy nodded, but his attention was focused elsewhere. “Yeah,” he said softly. But he wasn’t eating.

  “Sammy, dammit, eat!” Cooper’s voice cracked, just like Channing and Tino’s, and Sammy took a bite on automatic.

  “Sorry,” he muttered when he’d swallowed. Then he smiled and tried to change the subject. “I’m sorry I spoiled the kids’ coming home. Listening to their stories is the best. I mean, besides being there, but next time you’ll be better, and you and me can chase kids all day. If you really want a challenge, we should invite Nica and Jacob—or maybe just Jacob, ’cause I think Nica’s going on bed rest again. Taylor and Brandon come on those, and we take, like, three cars and—”

  “Eat,” Cooper interrupted, his voice thick in his throat.

  And another guilty bite.

  Cooper felt exhausted, and sitting in the chair wasn’t helping. With a gentle heave, he stood up and made his way over to the queen-sized bed. “Scoot over.” He yawned. “And give me a pillow.”

  Sammy did so and set his food down on the end table while Cooper made himself comfortable on top of the covers.

  “Here.” Sammy reached down to the foot of the bed and pulled up two throws that he draped over Cooper, making sure his bare feet were covered. “You might as well stay the night here. I’ll ask Channing to run up your pain meds before he goes to bed.”

  “Not afraid a foster kid will ruin your reputation?” Cooper asked dryly.

  Sammy frowned at him and then, surprisingly, pushed Cooper’s hair out of his eyes. “Never crossed my mind,” he said sincerely. “Why would you even think that?”