Broken Bones

by Deja Black

  His defensiveness made his voice come out a little terser than he felt. “What? I mean, yes, Dr. Kavanagh?” He cleared his throat, still sore from his earlier cries for help. Though this pain was minor compared to his other hurts, no reminder was a gentle one. Shelly was right. He needed to do something, talk to someone.

  “Nurse Phelps, I will take Mr. Tolliver with me,” Dr. Kavanagh said gruffly as he drew Dan to him.

  Dan looked from him to Nurse Phelps, hesitated, but he was unable to stop his forward motion as Dr. Kavanagh practically dragged him, his legs eating up the distance on the tiled floor. He was stunned. Why had Dr. Kavanagh patient-napped him, and could he hold on to the contents of his stomach much longer?

  CHAPTER 2

  AS THE examination rooms blurred by him, Dan tried ticking off the reasons for his capture. He didn’t have any students with the last name Kavanagh who had failed his class. He didn’t remember cutting off anyone in traffic who looked like Dr. Kavanagh. On the one or two times Keith had allowed him out with friends during the last two years of their relationship and he had taken the chance to go to a club, he didn’t remember spilling a drink on, butting into, or going into any rooms with anyone who even remotely looked like Kavanagh.

  Towering. No one should be so breathtakingly tall and be a doctor, right? How would he be able to bend down and examine his patient? How would he use those eyes, eyes that were blue or green—they hovered between those colors, sometimes had a white glow about them, mercurial in their ability to flicker from one hue to the next? Whatever the color, those eyes were luminous.

  His hands… wait, when did he check out his hands? Now. Checking them out now. Dr. Aiden Kavanagh was blessed with long fingers that had a solid hold on his arm. Where those fingers touched, Dan burned, the heat pulsing beneath and around Kavanagh’s long digits.

  And as Dan looked from those graceful fingers to a well-defined arm and finally up to Kavanagh’s face, he could see the tension as he waited. His expression spoke for itself. Finished with the inspection? it queried.

  When he finally noted their progression had stopped, Dan found himself in an examination room. He could hear the beeps and chirps of other machinery not nearly far away enough for his comfort, could see the light flicker from above. He trembled from the cold, his breathing labored, and his pain hadn’t gone anywhere. Still an eleven. Feeling a little dizzy, he knew the nausea wasn’t going away anytime soon. Over his head, he could hear Dr. Kavanagh’s breaths. He was sort of fixating on those puffs of air. Were they faster? Did they follow his own?

  Dan didn’t know what he could be waiting for. This? This was unlike any visit he had had before.

  “Uhm,” Dan said nervously. Was he supposed to narrate what happened? Was Dr. Kavanagh giving him a chance to initiate the interrogation? What else could it be? Would he even be allowed a phone call? “One phone call, please,” he would plead before he was thrown into a tiny padded cell. He was crazy, right? It was crazy to continue to allow himself to go through this. What was the saying? Insanity is the act of doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. He was living the meaning, which meant a padded cell wasn’t completely out of the question. Keith wouldn’t be able to get to him that way, at least.

  “Sit on the bed, Tolliver,” Dr. Kavanagh said, interrupting his thoughts. Abrupt and quick. He had taken a measured step back, and now he watched Dan, his eyes steady, focused. Alert. His tall frame flickered along with the lights for a moment, which made Dan feel he must be worse off than even he thought.

  “Okay.” Slowly, panning toward the center of the room, Dan sought out the examination table. He saw the bed. He just couldn’t make his body move there. Dr. Kavanagh watched him, waited.

  “What’s the problem? Will you sit down please, or is it you can’t sit down?” Moving closer, his big body crowding into Dan’s space, he placed his hand at the nape of Dan’s neck, he tightened his fingers around Dan’s locks and used his hair to lift his face. Dan didn’t know where to place this on his comfort level. On the one hand, he didn’t abide it when anyone other than Shelly or his family was within the walls of his bubble. On the other hand, it suggested that Dr. Kavanagh’s closeness was natural, no boundaries existed where he and Dan were concerned, which was unnerving in itself.

  Those changing eyes met Dan’s, and he had to be honest. “I can’t,” he whispered, tears and hopelessness choking out his words, resignation evident. Dropping his shoulders, he continued. “I can’t sit down on that, Dr. Kavanagh.” Though it was cushioned greater than the chair, the bed was rigid, and even with the fluffy white pillow, he couldn’t see himself sitting there. He knew it would hurt more, his body already tender and torn. He had lost all the fight in him, having put all of his energy into just trying to survive the hammering of Keith’s fists. When Keith had finally forced himself into Dan raw, covering Dan’s body with his drunken one, stale breath from the alcohol hot against Dan’s ears and neck, all Dan could do was accept it, accept the tearing, the pain, the shredding, the punishment of his betrayed trust. His rape.

  He didn’t tell Shelly, couldn’t. No, it wasn’t the first time Keith had heard the word no and ignored it, taking what he believed belonged to him, but it was the first time Shelly had seen his ravaged body after it. He couldn’t say that to her, couldn’t tell her how low he had sunk, that he couldn’t protect himself, not in a fight for his life and not in the violation of his own body. Less than a man, and today had proved it. His own father had told him those same words years ago when Dan decided he had had enough of trying to be the son Matthew Curry wanted rather than who he actually was. His heartbreak at that betrayal was no worse than what he had experienced from Keith. He couldn’t avoid men bent on hurting him.

  “No, Dr. Kavanagh.” Dan paused, searching deep within to finish. “I can’t sit there. I can barely move, and if I tried, if I even bent over, I have no doubt I would vomit all over this floor.” His throat had been rubbed raw with sandpaper, and the fragments of his voice were jagged shards that hurt with each uttering. He finally looked into the doctor’s eyes, fully prepared to see pity or even blame.

  Neither was present, though. No. Instead, Dr. Kavanagh’s eyes had gone eerily white again. Not completely. The centers were blue, a sky blue, and the eyes themselves seemed to glow with a hint of amber. Surprised, Dan didn’t know what to say or even how to react. What he felt, though? He felt pulled, felt a need to be closer, like falling into the whiteness, feeling the healing that emerged from within his own body as that beat of light happened again.

  Suddenly inches in front of Dan, Dr. Kavanagh clasped his shoulder. Dan blinked, and he was just there. “While you think you’re hiding this great secret, or even worse, this nightmare, you truly aren’t.” At the shaking of Dan’s head, he continued. “Don’t be stupid. I saw the way you were sitting. Others did too. While we may not have all guessed what occurred, most of us have been working in the ER long enough to conclude what you’ve suffered. It doesn’t help that we can see the blood isn’t just from the wounds on your hands and your face.” Dr. Kavanagh drew closer and inhaled. “It’s all over you. You reek of it. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

  Bull’s eye. Put straightforward like that, Dan could only cringe in humiliation. While he thought others might have suspected, he didn’t realize they might have actually known his horror all along.

  “Well, Tolliver. What’s it to be? Do you have a death wish, one you are hoping Keith will make a reality?” Kavanagh asked, all the time his fingers steadily holding him, pulling him nearer, warming him. Dan drank in the warmth, needed it, almost craved that touch.

  Dan’s mind didn’t know what to say, but his body had no such hesitation in answering. His sore abdomen cramped, his throat convulsed, and he promptly emptied his stomach onto the waxy floor. Unfortunately, he didn’t just spew on his own clothing, he coated Dr. Kavanagh’s nice Italian leathers with the steaming sick in the process too.

/>   “Well, that may answer one question. Still, it does nothing for the one I just asked you, does it?” He sighed. “Let’s get you cleaned up, give you something for the pain, and talk later, yes?” While Dr. Kavanagh’s words might have indicated a question, his tone brooked no argument. Answers were to be given, whether Dan wanted to or not. His hands, almost gray instead of walnut brown, shook, the now-soiled clothes still draping his body.

  Embarrassed beyond belief and wearing most of whatever he last had to eat, he didn’t feel things could get any worse until he heard the notes of “Danny Boy” winding its way through the hospital corridor. He knew that tune anywhere and knew the whistler too.

  Conner, his brother, had arrived.

  How did he know? Dan hadn’t called him, not sent an e-mail, not even a text.

  “Danny Boy, I know you’re here. Come out. Come out, wherever you are. It’s I, Conner, looking for ya.” Loud, brash, and seemingly uncaring of civility or audience, Conner called out to Dan. His steps were sure and sound, his voice a bellow. The footfalls were also echoed by several others.

  Oh, could it get any worse? Dan thought, and yes—yes, it could.

  “Daniel Michael Tolliver! Your family wishes to see you, myself included.” That voice, the rumbling cadence of the man Dan loved greater than any biological father blended with that of his brother Conner as the family sought their “Danny Boy.”

  “What in the gods’ names is—?” Dr. Kavanagh asked, voice lowered. He turned to what sounded like a small army marching down the hall, the cadence getting closer and closer. They were here. Goddess, Dan loved them, each and every one of them, but man, the people who were surely watching and waiting to see where the leviathans of male flesh ended up? He wasn’t ready for any of this. How could they have known? He hadn’t called any of them, hadn’t even texted a response to Conner’s last two messages, the one last night or even the one a couple of weeks ago. Dan hadn’t trusted he wouldn’t give clues to how really fucked up life had become for him, and damned if he wanted his family involved in any of it.

  He would have to talk to them, have to stall them before they moved as a band of Celtic warriors, ready to hunt down Keith. If he could just stop the swaying that had followed the purging of his insides, regain his equilibrium, and resist the darkness surrounding him, he could figure out how to say what he needed. The sleepiness, the heaviness of his eyelids… that wasn’t helping either.

  And then, the lights went out.

  CHAPTER 3

  DAN’S EYES cleared slowly. He was groggy, and his tongue felt like cement as he pushed it back and forth while it fought to cling to the roof of his mouth. Cotton-mouthed. Exhausted. Drained.

  Dan glanced across the room to see a nervous Shelly sitting, texting—or at least that’s what it looked like. She glanced back and forth like a skittish kitty, watching the exit, then returning to Dan. The tennis-ball effect didn’t help the worried shadows beneath those lids. And while Dan hated being the source of Shelly’s worry, he rejoiced at not being alone.

  Clearing his throat, Dan croaked, “Shelly, did you….”

  “Hey, baby. You’re awake.” Cherry red lips curved at him. “Thought you were going to sleep a little longer.”

  When he thought back to earlier, he remembered that Shelly hadn’t come back for a while. In fact, the last time he had spoken to her was when Dr. Kavanagh had arrived. She was agitated, but he had attributed it to her fear for him. But when he heard “Danny Boy” in his brother’s familiar notes, he knew exactly what had happened. It didn’t take much to put two and two together, what with her leaving and the talking on the phone where he couldn’t hear her.

  It didn’t take much for him to realize he was naked under the sheets too. Bare except for the gown, all of his bruising on display like the worst piece of abstract art. Hurting, but not dizzy, and not as nauseous either. Probably a concussion that landed him on the thin mattress and did little to improve his outlook on today’s chances of getting out to a place quiet and hero-free.

  He also had to ensure he got a sub for his classes for Monday. No way was he going to school looking like this. He could always make up a story, claim he was doing underground matches like Tyler in Fight Club. No, he wasn’t muscle-bound, actually slim and more graceful than macho, but he could tell them something, right? It would take a few weeks for the colorful swatches of skin to even pass for normal, and he should work on getting his story straight.

  Damn. Dan had hoped to avoid this, to set things right on his own, to prove to his father, to himself, he could make it. He had forgotten Jeremiah Tolliver had never asked him to prove anything, to be anyone other than himself. He only asked that the boy he had adopted as his own would love him and love his family, grow, be safe. To not only allow himself to be harmed, but to not seek his family, allow his family to aid him? He would have to answer for that. Daniel Michael Tolliver might not have been wolf, but he was theirs, and boy, his ass was going to be in trouble.

  “Shelly, I could have…,” Dan started again. His throat hurt, his lucidity questionable, the medication blurring his thoughts and dulling his tongue. He sighed. “Thirsty.”

  “Here, babe.” Reaching beside his bed to the little mustard-colored pitcher and tiny plastic cup, Shelly poured Dan a trickle of water. “Dr. Kavanagh, who has a nice ass by the way, says you’re only to have a little water at a time, that with your stomach not being quite settled, you shouldn’t have too much. You probably shouldn’t talk much either. Let me help you with this, okay? Let me do this, since you apparently couldn’t let me help before you got to this point.”

  Shelly lifted the cup to Dan’s parched lips. Itchy, paper-mache skin, rough and patchy, his flesh was starved for moisture. Hence he did nothing but listen as she spoke, each word punctuated with heavy meaning. Her golden eyes rimmed with kohl-darkened lashes pinned him, refusing to let him hide any further.

  “Dan, no one’s trying to say you’re a delicate flower, but have you looked in the mirror lately?” Before Dan could respond, Shelly went on. “No, really looked? If I didn’t know you, I’d say you were on some seriously intense weight-loss program that excluded anything that was food. You honestly look like the crap underneath my shoe after a good rain. In fact, crap looks better.” Shelly set the cup aside. Standing, she paced. Wasn’t much room to pace, but across what room there was, boots trod to and fro, thudding across the floor.

  Her arms crossed in front of her, residing beneath her breasts, and Shelly whipped around to face Dan again. “Look, I don’t know what Dr. Kavanagh was talking about when he said ‘death wish,’ but do you have one?” The sparkle of her nails caught his eye while she spoke.

  “I….”

  “No, Dan. Do you understand you could have died yesterday? Died. Gone. Forever.” Shelly’s voice climbed higher and higher, her gesturing fingers echoing the pitch. “Then what? Yes, I have other friends. Yes, I have family too. But what would my life be like without you in it? Fuck, Dan. This shit has got to stop.” Her words ricocheted against the room walls.

  “Shelly, I know what it looks like. I mean, sometimes….” Dan’s voice throttled out, the words too difficult to let go. He didn’t know how to make this easier on her. He hated disappointing anyone, especially a person he loved like a sister.

  “No, Dan. You know what this looks like?”

  Shelly’s voice resonated with anger and pain, pleading. No one had hit her, kicked her, took from her, but still she hurt. She hurt for Dan, and Dan took the blame for her torment. Dan loved Shelly, almost more than he loved himself. She had never given up on him. He lowered his eyes to the sheets covering his body; he plucked at the thin fabric.

  “This looks like you are giving up. You’re waiting for him to destroy what little you have left. I want—no, I fucking demand to know what the hell happened to you and why. I want to know. The doctor with the tight ass wants to know. Your brother and your father want to know. And if I don’t hear some truth soon from you, we’re g
oing to hunt down Mr. Theater Stick-Up-His-Ass Keith Mulligan and rip off his fucking balls.” With that, Shelly flopped into the hospital chair, her hair settling around her shoulders.

  Deflated, she leaned forward, tightly grabbed Dan’s nervously wandering hand, and waited patiently, stroking gently, encouragingly.

  She deserved to know, and so he told her.

  CHAPTER 4

  “WHERE IS it? Where is it? Where is it? I know I put it in here.” He rushed, searching everywhere: under the mattress, in the closet, behind the bureau. He couldn’t find the key anywhere. He had already paid three months ahead, had his car loaded, and if he could just find his key, he could get out before Keith returned. Keith seldom left him alone anymore, and he suspected the bastard knew he was up to something.

  Dan had threatened to leave once before, once when he thought Keith was sane. After that day, when he had ended up sucking food through a straw for a couple of weeks, the hurt so deep it was agonizing to chew, he had learned the extent of his viciousness.

  He remembered the looks on his students’ faces. The story he told them? Who knew taking a self-defense class would make you look like you needed self-defense? They had laughed, one or two had offered a smart comment, and the day went on.

  Well, having never broken a bone before, he now knew what it felt like to have one almost torn from the armpit. No easy day, that one. Spartacus himself would have been proud. And still he had not called his father, had not spoken to Conner of his pain or how fucked up the whole situation had become.