Syncopation

by Anna Zabo

  Only a thin strip of the driver’s face was visible in the rearview mirror. “Where to?”

  “Whatever the nearest hospital is. Wait—” There had been a text with the name. He dug his phone out and read the name of hospital off.

  The driver pulled away, and the flashes of cameras and tapping on the window were gone. “You okay?” Concern in the driver’s voice.

  “I’m trying to get to my friend.” Zavier held on to his phone, focused on breathing, and read the rest of the texts. That helped, somewhat. Ray was all right. Not well—but he wouldn’t die. Didn’t die. Would recover. That was all that mattered.

  Except relief unlocked a faucet of emotions that churned through Zavier and roiled him with nausea. He clutched his phone to keep his hands from shaking. The bitter, bitter taste of helplessness. Gratitude that Dom and Mish had been there to do what he couldn’t. The awful what-if that lingered—what if he never saw Ray again?

  He swallowed. Ray was alive. Repeating that took the nausea away.

  Zavier sent a message to both Mish and Dom via a group text. I’m on my way. Had to talk to the cops for a while.

  Mish texted back with a room number in the emergency department. They want to keep him overnight for observation, but they’re waiting for a room to open up in the hospital.

  Good. Bad. He couldn’t tell. He just wanted to get there and see Ray. Touch his hand. Verify what his logical brain knew was true. Ray was alive.

  Zavier needed to see the rise and fall of his chest, feel the warmth of his skin. Wanted to know beyond a doubt that everything was all right. He cared for Ray more than he’d ever cared for any other friend. Didn’t know what that meant, needed to examine it further, but there was no time, because the taxi pulled up to the hospital.

  Thank goodness he’d shoved his driver’s license and a credit card into the pocket on his phone case, because he had no cash whatsoever. His wallet was packed in some bag at the hotel, but he refused to be without some means, even at fancy dress parties. He handed the credit card over. When the receipt came back, he left a sizable tip and signed. Then he was out of the cab and heading toward the door of the emergency department.

  There was a metal detector to get through at the emergency room, then an information desk. He explained who he was, filled out some paperwork while they checked out his license, then led him back.

  “My daughter really likes you guys,” the nurse murmured. He was a thin black man with a hard-to-place accent. “You’re a bit too punk for my tastes, but I’m glad you care for each other.” He slowed as they neared one room. “He’s in here.”

  Zavier stopped at the threshold and sucked in a breath. Beyond the wooden door lay Ray, in a hospital bed, unconscious, pale, and in a hospital gown. There was an IV drip and wires running from underneath the sheets. One of those pulse monitors had been clipped to his finger.

  Mish and Dom sat nearby, both looking as exhausted as Zavier felt.

  “Hey, hon.” Mish rose from a nearby chair, still in her black dress, strangely somber and out of place against white linoleum and the green bed curtains. She pulled him into a hug.

  The bubble of pain rose closer to the surface, and he pushed it back down. He didn’t cry. He couldn’t. Not now. But he did sag into her embrace and press his forehead into her shoulder.

  “He’s gonna be okay,” Mish crooned into his hair.

  He drew back and took in Ray and the equipment connected to him. Many of the numbers on the machines meant nothing to Zavier, but his pulse seemed good. Blood pressure, too.

  Alive. Ray was alive. “I’m so, so...” Happy? That wasn’t the right word at all. “Glad.” Grateful. Relieved. “I wish I could have done more.” Done something.

  Dom rose slowly from his seat, still decked out as Domino, makeup and all. Garish in the dim light and surrounded by the sterile environment of the hospital. “You kept your cool. Made me go with him.”

  “Was the right thing to do.” The jealous part of Zavier thought it should have been him by Ray’s side. But Dom had the legal means where Zavier didn’t. That Zavier wanted that level of connection to Ray, that responsibility, meant something, too.

  He shook his head and pushed the churn of questions in his soul back down. “You’re his friend, too.”

  Dom nodded. “Still.”

  Yeah. Still. But Zavier was here now. Ray’s chest rose and fell. The monitor showed his heartbeats. Zavier crossed the small distance to the bed and laid two fingers on Ray’s hand, the one that didn’t have the IV catheter in it.

  And yes, he was warm. So warm.

  He didn’t realize he was trembling until Mish steered him to the seat she’d vacated and pushed him down into it. “You’re gonna fall over. Where would you be then?”

  He shrugged. “You and Dom do fine on your own.”

  “Bullshit,” Dom said. “And you know it.”

  Mish tousled Zavier’s hair, which he generally hated with a passion, but from her it felt fine. “You’re starting to sound like Ray when you say things like that.”

  He did sound like Ray at the moment. He stared at his unconscious form. “What did the doctors have to say?”

  Dom spoke. “What we thought—a severe allergic reaction. They got him under control, though. The EpiPen was a good idea.” He sounded bone-tired, and far closer to being Dominic than Domino, despite his state of dress. “They’re running blood tests to figure out what was in his system, but he should be back to normal in a few days.”

  Zavier propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. Ray would be fine. If only his mind would catch up. In his mind, Ray collapsed into his arms. Over and over again. Carl’s sneer.

  Fuck. Rage was a volcano inside him. He hissed out a breath and sat up. “That fucking asshole Carl drugged him.”

  “What?” Both Mish and Dom spoke, both twitched away, as if Zavier had struck them.

  “It was on the security video. He dropped something in Ray’s drink, probably trying to start an incident for the rumor mill, only it nearly killed Ray.”

  Nearly. How much of a misstep would it have taken for Ray to have died? He didn’t want to think about it. Couldn’t help running each scenario through his head.

  Mish’s hand was in Zavier’s hair again, and she drew his head against her side. “Honey, it’s okay. He’s alive. He’s here.”

  That was what he saw, yes. Ray alive in the hospital. All the machines read the right things. No alarms. But in his mind, Ray was falling again. And again. Zavier could only catch him and watch, helpless and ineffective, while everyone around him did what he so wanted to do—take care of Ray. The tears he hated, that he fought against, slipped down his cheeks.

  Mish pulled a chair over next to Zavier’s and took his hand. “It’s gonna be okay.”

  “I know.” He did. But he wasn’t so foolish to think that this night hadn’t changed anything. Everything inside Zavier had been flipped sideways and nearly crushed into bits.

  He never wanted to lose Ray. Never wanted to come close to losing Ray again.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Waking up was like fighting toward light and sound. Ray didn’t want to scrape and push anymore, but he kept crawling until he could blink open his eyes and taste antiseptic, too-cold air. There was weird shit on him, and this wasn’t a hotel or the tour bus. He was alone in a tiny bed with metal bars as sides, and there were way too many pieces of equipment hooked up to him.

  Hospital. He was in a hospital.

  Damned if he knew why—he couldn’t remember. Shit. What had happened? Why couldn’t he remember? Had they been in an accident? Where was everyone else? He tried to push himself up, but every movement felt like swimming through mud.

  “Fuck.” It came out as a croak.

  Movement in the room, then Zavier’s cracked voice. “Ray? Hey, hey.”
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br />   God, Zavier looked horrible. Hair every which way. Dark circles under his eyes and his fancy dress clothes all wrinkled and askew. He brushed fingers against Ray’s forehead. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

  “What?” That came out as a bark. God, his throat was dry. He tried to push himself up again.

  Zavier pressed against Ray’s temple. “Shh. Relax. Wait.”

  The pressure was comforting. Known. Like when he prostrated himself on Zavier’s shoes. Ray closed his eyes. Wait. He could do that. Zavier was here and he trusted him.

  “I’m going to get you some water.” The fingers remained. “Be good and stay put.”

  An order. Relief flooded through Ray. He might not remember what had happened, but this was normal. Zavier was taking care of him.

  When he closed his eyes, Zavier removed his fingers. More movement in the room. Water being poured.

  “Here.” Zavier was close again. “Please drink.”

  Might have been couched as a request, but Ray knew better. Opening his eyes was still painful, but he took the plastic cup with the straw, sipped down some water, and swallowed.

  Bliss. Pure, utter bliss. Practically felt the liquid flowing into his body and down his veins. Another sip felt better, and another. He stopped after that, because man, he was dizzy.

  He tried speaking again. “What—” So far so good. “What happened?”

  Zavier, or a disheveled version of him, pulled a chair closer to his bed and perched himself on the edge. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  Ray scoured his mind. They’d been getting ready for a party. Some of it came back. Zavier’s lips on his neck and the braid of thread he’d tied tight around Ray’s wrist. So you remember who you are. He raised his wrist, but the braid was gone and an IV catheter was stuck into the back of his hand and taped down.

  “We were getting ready for—there was a party. The album went platinum.”

  “Yes, it did. And yes, we went.”

  “I don’t remember being there.” He searched and searched, turning the water cup in his hand. “You’d promised to tie me down when we got back. I remember we got into the limo at the hotel and all I could think about was kneeling naked before you in your tux...then there’s nothing.”

  Zavier shifted on the chair, a tinge of color in his cheeks. “And see—I forgot that promise.” He shook his head, looking far, far too tired. “I was so worried about you.”

  “Zavier, what happened?”

  Silence and a very grave face. Zavier closed his eyes for a moment, then met Ray’s gaze. “Carl drugged you. He dropped two crushed-up pills in your drink while your back was turned.”

  Suddenly, Ray was colder than the water had been. The trembles started next when he realized exactly what that meant.

  Zavier stood and reclaimed the cup. Stroked his hair. “Shh, Ray.”

  The trembling went on. He didn’t remember anything. Not one moment. “What...what did he do to me after that?” It came out rough and tight.

  “Nothing.” Zavier cupped his face. “He didn’t touch you. No one did.”

  “Then why am I here?” In a hospital bed with wires and an IV and machines all stuck to him.

  “Turns out you have a severe allergy to whatever it was. You had an anaphylactic reaction.”

  Oh shit. He must have looked shocked or disturbed, because Zavier stroked his cheek. “You’re fine now.”

  Which meant he hadn’t been then. Fuck. He leaned into Zavier’s touch and listened as he spilled out the rest of the story. Mish’s EpiPen. Dom riding with him to the hospital to direct treatment. Zavier speaking to the cops. There were lawyers and law enforcement involved now, from the local to the state and even the record label. Everything jumbled in his head.

  It was only the next day. Dom and Mish had left to clean up and change, leaving Zavier on watch. Ray had a sinking suspicion that Zavier chose to stay because he would not leave.

  It was a Zavier thing to do.

  But overall, the whole situation was a mess. The rest of the tour—well, their part of it as the opening band for Five Asylum—had been canceled. The press was full of photos and rumors.

  Tears came to Ray’s eyes, and that was horrible and unexpected, but he couldn’t help them. He’d known Carl hated him, but hadn’t thought that hate was enough to make Carl want to kill him. That one fact played over and over in his mind.

  Zavier wiped the salt trails away, murmuring words that didn’t make sense.

  Finally, Ray whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. None of this was your fault.”

  On the surface, he knew that. But deep inside? He didn’t understand how it had even come to be. “But why?” Why did Carl hate him so much? What had Ray done?

  “Carl Roberts is a vindictive asshole who can’t cope with anyone he sees as inferior climbing above him. Didn’t matter that you worked hard. Didn’t matter that you’re insanely talented. He only saw class and status.”

  “The dumbass slacker succeeding.” Made a twisted sense. “Shit, that’s a hell of a way to live, with that much poison.”

  A soft, sad laugh. Zavier tipped Ray’s chin until he gazed up. A position of trust and surrender. “Ray Van Zeller, you’re an amazing man, and I’m honored to be your friend.”

  He fucking loved Zavier. Down to his toes. With every piece of his body.

  “Always?” It was all he could push out. The only word.

  Emotions played over Zavier’s face, and for a moment, Ray saw fear there, but then it was gone and Zavier nodded. “Always. As long as you’re true to yourself.”

  Ray closed his eyes. He wanted to be honest and true, but this wasn’t a love affair—it was a friendship. A deep and abiding one. He’d just happened to have fallen in love with Zavier, which...he’d deal with that later. Figure out how they could be themselves together.

  Right now? He wanted out of this damn bed and gown. Needed to be free of all this machinery. “You think they’re gonna let me out of here anytime soon?”

  Zavier let him go. “Let me go find a nurse and see what I can do.”

  If there was anyone who could spring him from a hospital, it was Zavier.

  * * *

  Took far longer than Ray had hoped to get him the fuck out of the hospital. Long enough that he endured breakfast and lunch in bed. Food wasn’t that bad, but it was still hospital food.

  He spoke to both Mish and Dom on the phone, thanking the latter for everything he’d done. “I know I put you on the spot.”

  Dom chuckled. “You know I’ll be there for you, but maybe you should add Zav to your health power of attorney?”

  Yeah, he should. Wanted to, if Zavier was willing. Something they needed to talk about once they got out of here. If he ever got out of here. Damn, he itched to be free of this bed!

  What really annoyed the hell out of him was that they wouldn’t remove the IV from his hand until the discharge papers were ready. By mid-afternoon, he was about ready to rip the thing out himself. The only reason he didn’t was Zavier’s presence by his side and the fact that Zavier’s hand was wrapped around his ankle. The occasionally tightened grip felt gloriously like a cuff and relaxed Ray in an instant.

  It also made him harder than he liked, given that he was only wearing a hospital gown. Zavier’s sly smile didn’t help. Ray cleared his throat. “I’d say you’re awful, but—”

  That smile didn’t falter. “You want it.” Zavier spoke low, in that entirely too sexy voice of his.

  “I need it.” Ray glanced at the IV in his hand for the umpteenth time and every nerve itched to get up, get dressed, and get out. He hated hospitals. The feel, the vibe, the way they never, ever let him sleep. Granted, he’d been unconscious for most of this stay, but still.

  Zavier tightened his grip yet again.
“Lean back and relax.”

  Ray tried. He tried. But he wasn’t kneeling at Zavier’s feet, so the tension didn’t leak away like it should, at least not at first.

  “Don’t move.” Zavier’s order was sharp, even as it was low volume.

  Every nerve in Ray’s body jumped.

  “Ray...” That was Zavier’s one warning.

  Breathe. He had to breathe. Inhale. Count to three. Exhale. He willed himself into jelly and sank into the bed.

  “Yes, very nice.”

  The murmur of approval played along those same nerves, warming them and softening Ray’s muscles. He was totally unprepared when Zavier ran the back of a fingernail up his instep. Electricity to every limb. He twitched and shook and hissed.

  “No moving.” Amusement in Zavier’s voice. Bastard knew exactly what he was doing. But after a few minutes, the touch, the command put him elsewhere, to that heady, thinky place he ended up in whenever he and Zavier played.

  Felt like home. They could have been anywhere—a hotel room, in the back of a tour bus, in a hospital room—and it would’ve felt like home. All he needed was Zavier’s touch and his voice. After a while, the lovely torment stopped, and Ray floated, happy and relaxed until a doctor knocked on the open door and breezed into the room.

  Zavier let go of his leg, and Ray missed his touch immediately.

  The doctor was on the younger side and black. Fit, with short hair and a deep voice. There were the perfunctory introductions and the doc performed all those simple tests that had already been done to him a thousand times that day—he listened to Ray’s heart, took his blood pressure, and looked over his chart. “Well, Mr. Van Zeller, you seem to be past your scare and everything checks out. Your system has had quite the shock, though, so feel free to relax for a few days. I’ll have your discharge papers written up shortly.”

  So, still not free. “Do you think I could get this fucking thing out of my hand?” He waved his hand with the IV.