No Broken Bond

by Angel Payne

  “Think you can stand up now?” he asked softly.

  I sure as hell wanted to try. Though nausea hit me in another strong wave, remaining on the floor was not going to help. Despite really wanting to gag again, I struggled to a standing position.

  “Good girl,” he praised, kissing my forehead while continuing to support my weight. The contact of his lips lightning-bolted me with a new awareness. I was still sweaty and gross.

  “I-I need to splash some water on my face.” Andy reappeared with what Fletch liked to call ‘movie timing’. A cast member in the right place, at the right time—like the movies. “Is there a restroom nearby?” I asked him.

  “Down the hall, on the left,” he replied.

  As I peeled away from Drake, his face tightened with new concern. “You want me to come with you?”

  “I’ll manage. Thank you.”

  I needed some time alone. Some space. Some minutes just to breathe.

  In the bathroom, I leaned close to the mirror. Hell. I’d aged five years, too. My face was pale, my normally olive tone looking closer to green. My hair was a mess. My eyes were dull.

  I sucked in a cleansing breath through my nose then turned on the tap. The cool water ran over my hands, refreshing me instantly. I splashed my face numerous times, letting my mind go numb as the water calmed me in visceral ways. As much as I could be calmed right now, at least.

  After patting my cheeks and forehead with some paper towels, then gently clearing off any makeup I hadn’t sobbed away yet, I turned and leaned against the counter with my hip. Took more full breaths, hoping they brought my courage back along with the oxygen.

  You have to get your crap together, Talia. Fast.

  There was literally no time for wallowing. I had to get back out in the hall. The thought of receiving an update about Fletcher, or even getting the opportunity to see him, had me tossing the towels in the trash then bursting back out of the door.

  Drake and Killian had moved back to the waiting room, and were now in tense discussion with another very tall man. The stranger’s stance was firm, his composure arrogant and his face formidable. In short, he fit in just fine between Drake and Killian. Transport the three of them back in time a few hundred years and they could have been a trio of noblemen in some medieval court. The newcomer’s haircut, a spiky style, probably would’ve fit in at court, too. His hair, like his thick eyebrows, was dark, though his was an ashy brown, contrasting to Drake’s mahogany and Kil’s ebony.

  Really? Hair color is the most important thing going on in your brain right now?

  My approaching footsteps made Drake look first. He walked over, grabbing my hand once again. “Feel better, baby?”

  “Yeah.” I stood on tiptoe, kissing the underside of his jaw. “Thanks. How about you?”

  “Much better, now that Kil’s cousin is here.” He tugged me back toward the two other men before announcing, “Dr. Maclain Stone, this is our fiancée, Talia Perizkova.”

  My head snapped. My gape ensued. It was weirdly satisfying to watch the same thing happen to Killian. “Wh-what?” I finally blurted.

  Killian wasn’t so subtle. “Dude. You just said the f word.” He scooped up my left hand. Flipped it over with flourish. With the same dramatic flair, he looked back up to Drake. “Uuuummm. You missed something.”

  “Not at all.” Drake took back my hand, bringing up to his lips for a lingering kiss. As his lips pressed over my knuckles, his stare reached out to me with midnight promise. “It’s just a matter of time, my friend.” His words were for Killian, but his velvety tone was for me. “Saying ‘girlfriend’ isn’t right anymore.” He paused, letting that zip through my bloodstream like rockets of joy, before challenging Killian. “Did you ever consider Claire just your girlfriend?”

  Killian snorted. “Not for a single moment.”

  “Okay, then.” Drake brought his other hand up, meshing mine between his two wide palms, once more giving the sounds on his lips to Killian but the adoration in his stare to me. “We understand each other.”

  Dr. Stone watched the two of them volley back and forth, boredom and impatience defining his face. Finally, he stretched his hand toward me and smiled. Okay, it wasn’t really a smile. The expression reeked of forced formality, likely the result of practicing it for years.

  “Dr. Stone,” he murmured. “Pleased to meet you.”

  I made sure my smile was sincere. Wasn’t hard, considering why he’d come. And was about to do. “Thank you for coming, Doctor. I mean it. We are so grateful. I heard your conversation with Killian while we drove here earlier. I know this isn’t something you elected to do, but I want to—need to—let you know how grateful I am that you came.”

  All three of the men pulled in harsh breaths. I’d expected as much—but wasn’t about to let the bad water under his bridge with Killian destroy his concentration on the man I loved. They’d have plenty of time for their pissing match later. Much later. Fletcher was the only thing that mattered right now.

  Without much of another beat, the doctor cocked his head, planted hands on his lean hips, and raised one brow with much the same talent as his cousin. “Ms. Perizkova, I’m a doctor,” he drawled. “I fix people. It’s what I do. Whether my douchebag cousin initiated the call or not, if there is someone I can help, then that’s what I will do.”

  I nodded. “Well, still.” Entwined my hands in front of me, showing him deference. “Thank you.”

  Mac Stone folded his arms and shrugged. “Hey. It pays the bills.”

  His steel-blue eyes danced with mischief. He knew he was being an ass—and seemed to thrive on it. Dear God. This one was more full of himself than Fletcher.

  Fletcher.

  I needed him back. All of him—even that insanely cocky attitude. I needed his waggling brows and mischievous eyes. His outrageous swagger and his magical kisses. His passion and drama and life…

  Furiously, I blinked against the tears. They welled and spilled, anyway.

  He has to be all right. He has to be!

  Dr. Mac Stone was a vital key to getting us there. If it meant kissing his boots and putting up with his cavalier act, that was what I’d do.

  But Drake had clearly had enough of the guy’s bit. He whooshed out a heavy sigh before asking, “So, what’s next? What will happen now? The game plan?”

  Mac raised both hands. “Easy does it, slugger. One thing at a time.”

  I dared a glance at Drake. Yep. As I expected, a vein pulsed furiously in his jaw. “Slugger?” he snarled.

  “Hey. No disrespect, man.”

  “You sure about that?”

  Mac chuffed. Rolled his eyes. “Cool your jets. There’s a game plan, okay? We just can’t put anything in motion yet. We’re in a holding pattern until we see how your brother’s body reacted to the trauma. Once that piece falls into place, we react with the proper play.”

  Though Drake relinquished the tic, he didn’t lose the growl. “Right. So, we’ll just ‘cool our jets’ until then.”

  Mac’s hands shot back up. “Again, no disrespect. Metaphors are required for what I do. Unless you prefer the twelve-letter explanations for everything?” After he got a new nod of deference from Drake, he jogged his chin back over to Killian. “I also can’t help it if golden boy over there puts me on edge.”

  Killian’s face darkened like a sudden thunder cloud over the lake. “Really, asshole? You’re going to go there? Now?”

  Mac dropped his hands. At his sides, they became fists. “Screw you, Kil-joy.”

  “God damn it, Mac.”

  “Hey.” Drake planted himself between them. If words could turn into blows, the cousins would’ve been at it like the Hatfields and McCoys, right here in the trauma wing waiting room. “Is this going to be an issue with you and this case, Dr. Strange?” he gritted at Mac. “Because I won’t have you taking pot shots at my friend, in front of my woman, and—”

  “I’m a professional when it comes to my patients.” Mac’s jaw hardened in
to a near-perfect square. “I just don’t particularly care for his presence.” His gaze turned the same texture, once more honing on Killian. “Is there somewhere I can speak to you two in private? There are some decisions that must be made and paperwork needing to be filled out. Consent forms, that kind of thing. You said you’re his brother?”

  Drake’s battle-ready stance slumped into an uneasy shuffle. “Yes.” He darted a fast glance my way. “And no.”

  “And…no?” Mac echoed.

  “We’re not…blood.”

  “But she’s his fiancée?” He motioned toward me with a new jerk of his chin.

  “She’s our fiancée.” Drake’s spine re-straightened. His shoulders squared.

  “Interesting.” As a beat passed, I realized he meant it—though his curiosity in our ‘situation’ seemed more clinical than insidious. “You have medical power of attorney, then? Either of you?”

  Drake and I exchanged a panicked glance. We’d been so prepared with the emergency cards. Why hadn’t we seen this coming? “No,” we answered in unison.

  “Hmm.” Again, his reaction was damn near dispassionate. “Well, does he have living relatives?”

  “Fuck.” Drake muttered it nearly beneath his breath, dropping his nose to the brace of his fingers.

  “Yes.” I sucked it up and issued the answer. “His parents and sister…” Are on a barge in the middle of the Antarctic, where I wished them last night after their stupid party. “Live here. In Chicago.”

  Seemingly from nowhere, Andy rematerialized. His face was red, his mien feverish. “There was no information about them in his wallet.”

  “You don’t say,” Drake growled.

  “Well, someone needs to get them here, pronto.” Mac smacked his hands together along with the last word. “Hate to be the bearer of shitty news, but without a legal paper saying otherwise, you all don’t have jack to say about his treatment. Hopefully, you’re tight with the family and they’ll let you hang out.” He shrugged like it was the least of his concerns, instantly tripling the stiffness in both Drake and Killian’s postures. “So, guess I’ll be in the attendings’ office. Someone come find me when the family gets here.”

  As he strode away, digging in his coat for his cell, I honestly didn’t know whether to be furious with him or sorry for him. Callousness was probably as necessary as metaphors in his line of work, but I couldn’t imagine another result for it other than loneliness. Who was he calling on that phone? Did they mean anything to him? Had he ever known a moment like what Drake and I endured now, letting love in even when it hurt?

  We’d likely never know—nor did Drake and Killian seem to care. Remarkably, Drake was the one who gave the moment its best sound bite. The mix of snarl and grunt from his throat was an ideal expression of helpless rage. Killian tacked on with a sound equally as low but not as vicious.

  “Mother. Fucker,” he pronounced. “I hate that cocky bastard. I always have.”

  Drake shot out a glower. “Then why’d you get him involved?”

  “Because he’s the best,” Killian retorted. “And right now, that’s what Fletch needs. I’d have called Satan himself”—he glared at the dwindling figure of his cousin—“though I’m beginning to think Mac might be hiding retractable horns.”

  Drake pushed out a bitter laugh. “You’re right. I’m sorry, man.”

  Killian groaned. “Stop with the apologies already.”

  “I’ll apologize if I fucking want to.”

  “Dick.”

  “Ass.”

  It was hard not to repeat my giggle as Killian hauled Drake into a gruff man hug. When they backed up, Drake’s eyes were glassy with unshed tears. Killian didn’t make his effort at containment any easier with his next words.

  “He’s going to be fine, D. He’s strong and healthy and now he’s in the best hands possible. We all have to believe that.”

  “Yeah.” Drake nodded hard, taking advantage of the chance to duck his head. “Yeah, man. Okay.”

  Killian, sensing Drake needed more than those two seconds, rounded toward me. “Claire is boarding the SGC jet in San Diego as we speak. Taylor’s with her. Claire says to tell you that the Girl Power Brigade is on its way.” He nodded then grimaced, as if congratulating himself for remembering it all right but then wondering what the hell he’d just said. “I guess Taylor insisted on coming along. That little firecracker wouldn’t take no for an answer, and we figured you could use the support.”

  For long moments, I could only vigorously shake my head. The world had crashed down so hard and so fast, I hadn’t even thought to call anyone. Now, to learn two of my closest friends were flying across the country for me…another tidal wave of emotion drenched me so completely, I couldn’t speak. Didn’t even try.

  When Drake made his way over to me again, pulling me into his chest, that was it. The dam burst. The sobs escaped. Ugly tears, filled with so many different things. Gratitude for our friends. Uncertainty for our future. And the fear, so real it was like metal shavings in my mouth, that we’d never see Fletcher alive again.

  I had no idea how long I cried. By the time I was done, Drake’s shoulder was drenched. I looked up to behold the tears streaking his face, too—which meant I really wasn’t done. My sobs began anew, driven by even different emotions. Lingering guilt about the hand I’d played in Fletcher’s funk, which might’ve distracted him in the car this morning. Racking anger at my emotional baggage, which had to sap my men sometimes. Brutal fury for not being stronger for them when they needed me the most.

  That had to end. Right now.

  I could do this. I could be a better fortification for them, starting this instant.

  I began with a few steadying breaths, forcing them to pull up my spine and strengthen my voice. With that renewed energy, I moved ba far enough to directly meet Drake’s reddened gaze.

  “We need to call his parents.” There. I did it all in one piece, without a hitch or a sob. The next part would be tougher, but I was ready. “I think you should do it, Drake. I know it’ll be unpleasant, but Richard and Francine have known you for years. I’m not trying to push this off or anything—”

  “Ssshhh.” Drake palmed my jaw, holding me steady for his reassuring kiss. “I don’t think that at all. Your logic makes sense.” He stepped back, letting his hands slide down over my wringing ones. “I’m going to use the closet of doom.” He nodded toward the awful tiny space Andy had used for our little meeting. “Will you be all right out here for a bit?”

  Killian stepped over. “Consider it done, buddy. I’ll regale her with my sparkling wit. Maybe a few card tricks…”

  There was an insult on the tip of Drake’s tongue, ready to fly free, but I watched as he reeled it back in at the last moment. After grabbing my nape and taking my mouth in one more fast kiss, he disappeared back into the room though left the door open.

  Carefully, I inched over to a spot where I could watch him. At first he just paced, as if waiting for someone to pick up on the line. When someone did, he turned swiftly. I couldn’t see his face anymore but watched his head fall forward. With his free hand, he rubbed the back of his neck. Though I was only an observer, I felt every drop of his conflict, grief, frustration. This was probably one of the hardest calls he would ever have to make.

  Suddenly, he twisted to lean over the table, supporting his weight on the back of one of the plastic chairs. A few nods. His shoulders sagged. Finally, he disconnected the call.

  When he came back out, I opened my arms at once. He took me up on the embrace, sucking in his breath hard, almost as if inhaling me. It fed a need in me, too, knowing I could comfort him like this. I truly would give him all the air in my lungs, if that was what he needed.

  “Christ, that sucked,” he finally murmured into my hair. In return, I stroked a gentle hand through his.

  “Who did you talk to?”

  “Francine,” he supplied. “She’s hysterical, in her perfect socialite way. I’m sure the Women’s League wi
ll get a call about it before Richard.”

  “Drake,” I admonished.

  “You think I’m joking?” he rebutted. I almost bit on that one but was too afraid he wasn’t bluffing. Instead, I threaded fingers through his hair again, lending wordless support until he continued. “Anyway, she said she and Dick would be here as soon as possible. She’s taking care of notifying Sasha as well.”

  Since that felt like a good excuse to sit down, we did. Andy was busy assisting another family, and now that Drake had returned, Killian swiftly excused himself, making a beeline down the same hall his cousin had taken. There was only one other family in the sitting area, watching a Friends re-run with shell-shocked gazes. If someone was camped out in this waiting room, Ross and Rachel probably beat the midday news for entertainment.

  It all still felt like a nightmare to me.

  As soon as Drake and I settled, I reached for him again. He readily twined his fingers in return. We couldn’t be near each other right now and not touch. Even the three minutes he’d taken to call Francine had been unbearable. Staying physically connected seemed the very key to our survival right now. It was strange, but I didn’t want to even try to figure it out. It just was.

  Finally, I attempted to speak again. “I…wish…”

  Drake pushed closer to me. “You wish what, baby?”

  I sighed. “I wish I could just wake up. That I’ll somehow open my eyes and learn this was all a horrible nightmare.”

  He swallowed deeply. “It’s a nightmare, all right.”

  On the TV, the Friends gang played a contrived game of Trivial Pursuit. The laugh track was like buzz saws on my nerve endings. “So now what?” I ventured, trying to block out the boob tube. “We sit here…impotent? Now that they know we aren’t married, we can’t even find out anything new about his condition. You think…maybe…his parents will tell us when they know?” I winced, hating to level my last question. “Was his mother nasty to you?”

  “No.” His answer brought a stunning flood of relief. “I wouldn’t describe her attitude as nasty,” he went on, “but she was definitely cool. This’ll sound bizarre, but she’s a lot more maternal with me than Fletch. It drives him crazy, because he knows it’s all for show.”