Stand by Your Manny

by Amy Lane

  He wasn’t aware he was crying until Sammy kissed the tears falling from the corners of his eyes. “Cooper?” he asked, still moving in aftermath, still trembling with what they’d just done.

  “Fine, Sammy.” Sammy was inside him, a part of his skin, a part of his soul. “Just….” He took a breath, and what came out next was the thing he’d promised he wouldn’t say. “Just missing you already.”

  He cried. Like a child, when he hadn’t even cried as a child, not even when his mom had left. Who would comfort him? Who would care?

  But Sammy was there, kissing his tears away, making promises Cooper believed—had to believe. Sammy loved him.

  And Cooper loved him back with all his heart and soul.

  He would just have to have faith.

  HE didn’t see the bruises until the next morning, on Sammy’s arms, on his thighs. He traced them in dismay, fingers trembling as they showered together, shivering because 4:00 a.m. felt cold, even in June.

  “Oh wow,” Sammy laughed. “I didn’t even feel that.” He kissed Cooper’s forehead, closing his eyes against the spray.

  Cooper scowled. “Sammy—that’s… that’s awful! Look at you!”

  “Yup. I look like I got laid.” He grinned, irrepressible. “I’ll just have to tell my roommate I’ve got a boyfriend, so hands off!”

  “You’ve already done that,” Cooper muttered. He’d met some of Sammy’s friends from the tour. Quinlan, the trumpet player, was a flirty bastard, but Sammy didn’t take him seriously, so Cooper didn’t see him as a threat.

  “Well, see? No worries, then.” Sammy kissed him quickly on the mouth. “Except being late, because the kids are coming to see me off too. Hand me the body wash, okay?”

  Cooper complied, but he felt the responsibility of the marks in his stomach. For better or worse, Sammy wore Cooper’s love beneath his skin. While Sammy was off setting the world on fire, Cooper needed to be getting his act together to give Sammy something worth coming home to.

  The kids were subdued during the trip to Sac State, where the bus waited, and Letty cried quietly on Sammy’s chest when he picked her up to hug her.

  “Hey,” he crooned. “You’ll be fine. Cooper and Felicity will keep you company—you won’t even miss me.”

  “Of course I’ll miss you!” she wailed. “You’re Sammy!” He hugged her tighter while Tino and Channing loaded his suitcases into the bus. Finally Tino came and got her, accepting his hug from a kid who had probably grown taller than him in high school. Keenan came next, with a hug and a fist bump, and Felicity, who had become “City Chick” in Sammy’s vocabulary, cried a little on his chest too.

  Then Channing, who engulfed him with that massive chest and wide shoulders and then pulled back, leaning forehead to forehead with the boy Cooper could see resembled him more every day.

  “Call when you can,” he reminded.

  “I promise.”

  “Stop for rest, and eat well.”

  “I promise,” Sammy echoed—but not like he was blowing it off or humoring Channing, which gave Cooper heart.

  “And….” Channing bit his lip and glanced at Cooper. “Let somebody know if you’re not feeling well, okay? Just… tell someone, Sammy. We trust you.”

  Sammy grinned and hugged him again, and then it was Cooper’s turn.

  Sammy’s eyes were shiny by now, and he looked a little haunted. Cooper wanted to go back to that moment in his arms, when Cooper was crying and Sammy made everything okay, but it was Cooper’s turn to pony up. “Text me every day,” he ordered firmly, and Sammy nodded. “And know I love you. And take care of what’s mine.” And then Cooper kissed him, hard, blatantly, with tongue, in front of his family, which they hadn’t ever done before. Sammy groaned and responded, not even coming up for air when the conductor—a frazzled man in his forties who looked outnumbered by all the young orchestra members—called for everybody to start loading up the bus.

  “Go,” Cooper urged, coming up for air. “We’ll be waiting.” He gave Sammy a little push, and Sammy took a few steps away and then turned, portfolio over his shoulder, and headed for the bus. He paused before he got to the line and turned to wave at them.

  “Love you guys—don’t forget I live there, okay?”

  “As if!” Tino and Channing called back in tandem, and even Letty stopped her quiet sniffle on Tino’s chest to turn around and wave.

  They waited until the bus drove away to get back in the car and turn back toward home. Cooper stared out the window into the lightening sky, feeling lost and bereft, until Tino spoke up in irritation.

  “Nobody died. Channing, find an IHOP. I’m starving.”

  “I aim to serve you, my liege,” Channing said dryly. “Any other commands?”

  “Yes. We’re going bike riding in the park after breakfast. And we’re spending the rest of the day in the pool. Cooper, you too.”

  Cooper gaped at him from the back seat of the minivan. “I’m sorry?”

  “You heard me. I don’t care if it’s your day off. You don’t get days off family. IHOP, a bike ride, family day. Deal.”

  Cooper smiled, even though he’d been included in family day pretty much since he’d been able to move after the accident. Sammy had even presented him with a bike in April, so he had no excuses.

  “Deal,” he said softly, wrapping his arm around a whimpering Letty and kissing her forehead. “Don’t worry, angel. He’ll be back.”

  “What if he forgets me?” she asked.

  “I’ll text him a picture of you every day so he doesn’t. But you can’t be crying—it’ll make him sad.”

  She hiccupped. “Okay. Maybe wait until after banana pancakes, ’kay?”

  “Deal,” he told her solemnly.

  An hour later, he sent Sammy a text of the three kids, whipped cream on their noses, laughing uproariously in the middle of IHOP.

  Sammy sent back a picture of the summer desolation of I-5 with the caption, “I like your pic better.”

  And Cooper had a little faith.

  Care and Maintenance

  “NICA had the baby?” Sammy said wistfully. “And I wasn’t there?” He curled into a smaller ball on the bed, wishing right then that he could be at the house, celebrating Nica’s release from bed rest and a new baby cousin.

  “Yeah,” Cooper said, looking back at him from the phone. “People were bummed. They said you usually got the first big poop of every baby. It was sort of tradition.”

  Sammy laughed, remembering a half-dozen destroyed T-shirts and the sense of inevitability every time he held a newborn. “Yeah. It really is. Sorry I’m missing it.” He yawned, willing his sluggish body to recuperate. He’d been doing okay—not great. The access to good food was limited on the road, and every time he bought so much as a bag of green apples, it was fair game for the rest of the company. The bus had broken down the day before, right before dinner, and they’d barely gotten to the hotel room before dawn. Nothing had been open for food, so he’d done what the rest of the bus had done—raided the vending machines and made do with a granola bar and Gatorade. Quinlan and Bobbie and Chrissy had all left for lunch before he was even out of bed, and they were supposed to be back soon with something to eat.

  “How are you?” Cooper asked suddenly. “I’ve been going on about the family—you don’t look so good.”

  “Late night,” he said, grimacing. “Bus broke down, crap food. Hopefully my friends are bringing me something back.” If they remembered. He didn’t blame them—they’d been tired and out of sorts as they’d left. Taking care of Sammy shouldn’t be on their list of things to deal with.

  “Yeah, but in general,” Cooper muttered, squinting at the phone. “Here—hold the phone out, let me see you.”

  Sammy did, gazing sheepishly up at Cooper’s image as he did so. Cooper looked amazing, actually. “You kept working out,” he said, happy. “I can tell. Your shoulders are getting… well, sort of spectacular. That’s awesome, Coop.” He swallowed. “My own wimpy little a
rm is getting tired. Are we done?”

  “Sammy, I’m having Channing call your band director. Right now, okay?”

  “That’s embarrassing,” Sammy grumbled. “Why are we doing that?”

  “Channing!” Cooper hollered. “Channing! Come here!”

  In a moment, a startled-looking Channing peered over Cooper’s shoulder. His eyes opened wide, then wider. “You look like hell,” he said gruffly. “Tell me food is coming?”

  “Oh hell.” Sammy squeezed his eyes shut. “I forgot my supplements and medication. Everybody cool your jets. I’m gonna take me some vitamins, have one of those little packets of goo Cooper sent me. Just give me five. I swear, I’ll look less like cat barf in five minutes.”

  He rolled out of bed, feeling dizzy, and started scrabbling through his luggage. “I swear, guys, I’ve been an angel. Last night—just stupid broken bus and….” He sighed and tried not to sound like a four-year-old. “Just give me a second,” he begged the rectangle on the bed. He pulled out his supplements and managed to down them with some of the Gatorade, then grabbed a packet of runner’s goo—awful stuff, but it did do the job. Five minutes later he picked up his phone and grimaced at Cooper, who was scowling into the screen impatiently.

  “Better?” he asked, turning on the light behind him. “Color, right? I’ve got some? Sorry—I was tired and got loopy. I swear, it’s not happening a lot. I promised, right?”

  Cooper let out a breath and looked to his left, where, Sammy assumed, Channing sat out of picture. “Sammy, look, it’s not your fault if this isn’t working. You texted me pictures of your food for three weeks—I get it. You’re doing your best. But you’re tired, man. You’re exhausted—we’ve all seen it. You’re doing everything you can, but sometimes… sometimes your body just lets you down. Another guy—he could have held the damned air conditioner on the roof. Me? I almost killed myself. I should have admitted I was in over my head—with that and with Felicity. But I was, and I needed Brandon and you and Tino and Channing to help me see it.”

  Sammy closed his eyes tight. “It’s dumb,” he said, hating that his throat swelled with tears. “It’s… any schoolkid can miss a meal. I swear, Keenan will go for a week without eating a goddamned vegetable. I just… there is so much I want to do with my life. How am I supposed to… to build a life with you, Cooper, when my stupid body can’t get through a stupid tour?”

  Cooper’s voice cracked a little, but when Sammy looked into the phone, all he could see was empty space. “Sammy, I love your stupid body. Your stupid body makes me so damned happy, you just… you have no idea. You just need help, baby. We can’t choose the things that make us weak, but we can let in the things that make us strong.”

  “Oh, that’s fucking wise,” Sammy snapped bitterly. “You think of that now when I’m in a hotel room in Chicago?”

  “Well,” Cooper retorted with dignity, “I signed up for my classes yesterday. Maybe I got smarter by default.”

  Sammy couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Maybe. So you and me, doing the college thing this year?” He smiled, even though it looked like nobody was watching. “That’ll be awesome. You’ll do great.”

  “So will you. Just… just come home?”

  His door opened right then, and Quinlan bustled in. “Don’t fret, Sammy boy, we got you spinach salad and chicken breast and a bag of green apples. Me, Chrissy, and Bobbie wouldn’t leave you hanging.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Sammy told Cooper, taking a deep breath and feeling like he was fighting water. “I promise. Let me eat, okay? And then I’ve got to perform.”

  “Yeah,” Cooper whispered. “I love you, Sam Lowell.”

  He was looking at the screen now, and Sammy reached out and touched it softly. “Love you too, Cooper Hoskins.” Then, louder. “Love you, Uncle Channing!”

  “Take care, Sammy.”

  And then he signed off.

  “Thanks,” he said, reaching up to where Quinlan waited with the food. Quinlan was sort of hunky, dark-haired, brown-eyed. He’d often joked that he could pick Sammy up like a child bride—and he’d put his hand on Sammy’s ass enough for Sammy to know he’d enjoy that if he could. But now he was looking at Sammy with compassion in his eyes.

  “Here—scoot over,” he said, handing Sammy his box. “We had them cut up two breasts of chicken for the spinach salad. You haven’t been looking great, you know? I mean, you first signed on and we thought all that fussing with your diet was, you know, special snowflake stuff. But your body isn’t dicking around.”

  Sammy opened the takeout box and snagged the plastic fork Quinlan produced from the bag it had come in. “No,” he admitted. “It’s… we don’t know. Doctors don’t always know. A lot of time it’s the kidneys, just not producing enough of a certain enzyme. That’s why it’s linked to diabetes. I just got the anemia—which is not awesome all by itself. There’s only so much I can do.”

  “Do what your family said and take care of yourself,” Quinlan filled in soberly.

  Sammy quirked a smile at him, because a month of late-night talks and impromptu jam sessions and trips to Starbucks for oh-please-God coffee did tend to make good friends. “You heard that?”

  “Yeah.” Quinlan ruffled his hair. “Eat, Sammy. We perform tonight. We’ll see how you’re feeling afterward, and if it’s not good, I’ll go pound on McMurray’s door myself. We’ll get you a plane ticket home.”

  Sammy nodded weakly and began to eat his salad with method if not enthusiasm. “Thanks, Quin. That sounds like a plan.”

  “Sammy?”

  Sammy looked up from his mouthful. “Mmf?”

  “My folks… they wouldn’t care if I was sick. They’d just yell if I couldn’t finish the tour—think I was being weak or something. So I’m glad you got a family that deserves you, okay? Even if there’s a boyfriend there who’s not good enough even a little.”

  Sammy nodded and caught his hand. “He’s plenty good enough—but you’ll find someone good enough for you too.”

  Quin kissed the back of his hand and then stood. “I’m going to shower. No checking out my ass—you’re taken.”

  Sammy laughed and went back to his salad, taking heart from the food and the companionship. It was a bad moment; that was all. Food, some rest, a shower. He’d be better that night.

  That night, he gave the performance of the tour—he could feel it in his bones. He and Quinlan played this improv piece they’d both worked on, Chrissy got in there with jazz flute, for Christ’s sake, and with Bobbie on violin—they were golden. He poured his love of performance, his love of music, all of it into that moment, because God, who knew when you got another one like that, right?

  When it was over, he stood up with his ensemble mates and bowed, feeling as strong as he’d ever felt in his life, adrenaline thundering in his veins. They laughed and clapped and congratulated each other as the curtain closed, and he went to hug Quinlan.

  And blacked out completely, falling into his friend’s arms.

  HE woke up in the hospital, hooked up to a pint of platelets. Quin, Chrissy, and Bobbie were all there, in various stages of sleep. Bobbie was talking on Sammy’s phone.

  “He’s awake, Coop—here. You want to talk to him?”

  Sammy took the phone like a lifeline. “Cooper?”

  “How you doing, Sam?”

  Sammy looked woefully at the tube in his arm. “I hate this part,” he whispered, remembering Cooper’s hand in his.

  “I’m here with you,” Cooper told him. “Just like last time.”

  “Does Channing know?” Oh God. Channing. A part of him sort of yearned for Channing to thunder in and take Sammy away, making all the decisions for him. Channing wouldn’t ever steer him wrong.

  “No,” Cooper said gently. “Just me. Why?”

  But most of Sammy knew that being a grown-up was being in charge of your own life.

  “Because,” Sammy whispered. “He needs to let you off to drive to the airport. As soon as the doctor lets me
out of here, I’m coming home.”

  Cooper’s voice broke. “Good.”

  They didn’t say anything else for a while, but just like before, it was enough to know Cooper was there.

  CHANNING bought the tickets, and he must have used some ultra-special bazillionaire magic, because he found a nonstop flight, first class. Sammy left the hospital at ten in the morning in a town car and arrived in Sacramento at five in the evening, completely exhausted.

  Channing was there to pick him up, but so was Cooper, and he spent the ride home sleeping on Cooper’s shoulder. They practically poured him into the bed in Cooper’s room—he didn’t even remember taking off his shoes and his jeans, and his greeting from the kids was hallucinogenic at best.

  “Guess what?” Felicity said when she reached over the bed to hug him.

  “What?” he asked, trying to focus on her face. The wan, haunted look was completely gone from her eyes, and he realized that coming home meant coming home to her as his little sister just as naturally as coming home to Keenan and Letty.

  “I’m adopted,” she breathed, like the word was sacred.

  He summoned a smile for her. “Good. ’Cause if anyone tried to take you from us, I’d fight ’em.”

  She laughed. “You can’t fight anyone, Sammy. You’re asleep!”

  And like a magic word, he closed his eyes, and that was reality for the next fourteen hours. He woke up sometime the next morning to pee and wasn’t surprised in the least when Cooper walked him to the toilet because he couldn’t stand on his own.

  “This sucks,” he panted when he got back to bed. “I’m supposed to be better after a transfusion.”

  “You will be,” Cooper told him, eyes wide and worried. “Channing called the doctor last night. He said this was exhaustion, pure and simple. He was a little pissed off about it, actually. Said you’d come in and made sure you were good to travel but hadn’t talked about it being a tour, because apparently that’s got a whole different set of demands.”