by Aiden Bates
Sam recounted the tale as if the entire thing were just a humorous anecdote, and not the story about how he became a paraplegic.
“So then I decided I was going to make Raff’s life hell. I was going to run this little white boy ragged. Really make him pay, you know? Sent him to the store for cigarettes, which I didn’t even smoke. Told him he got the wrong kind and sent him back. And made him pay for them. Made him buy me Penthouse Magazines, just to embarrass him. Though I did look at those. Once I told him I needed a butt-cheek massage!” Sam laughed loudly again, and people in the corridor turned to look. His laughter was spectacular. “He turned all pale and looked like he was going to throw up, but he came at me with his hands like this; like he was about to massage my butt. I stopped him just in time.”
Chris compared what he was hearing to the man he knew today. “You did all that to make him feel better.”
“Not at first. But when he was busy, when he thought he was helping, he stopped crying. And then, when I got out of the hospital, I actually did need help. Raff knew how to use a hammer and nails, and he started making my apartment wheelchair-accessible. Built little ramps over all the stoops and rails to help me use the bathroom. He’d go to work all day at the construction site, then hit the library and print out instructions, then come to my place and build stuff. For a solid year, Raff was there for me, but he wasn’t just doing stuff for me, he was helping me become independent. And there’s nothing more important to someone in a wheelchair than independence.”
“Sounds like the Raff I know. He’s always looking for ways to make my life easier.”
“And of course, I had to feed a big kid like that. So we’d make dinner together and tell jokes. Despite hating him in the beginning, despite wanting to hate him, I liked the kid. He was dealt a bad hand, yet somehow, he turned into a great guy. That deserves a lot of respect. And of course, he helped me get my wife. And she is a beautiful woman.”
“So I hear.”
“He convinced me to get a cheap computer and internet connection so we could download plans, and he taught me how to use it. Next thing you know, I’m addicted to the thing, trying to figure out how it works. So I started studying computer shit. Got me to go back to school. Software developers do pretty damn well, and they don’t need legs.” Sam shrugged. “Not a bad life. And Raff helped me build it.”
They were back at Raff’s room, just in time to see him being wheeled to his CT scan. Chris stopped the tech who was pushing him away.
He leaned over his husband and brushed his lips with his own. “I love you, my alpha.”
Raff’s grin was still lopsided. “Love you too, my omega. See you soon.”
“Oh, Sam,” Chris said, when Raff was out of earshot. “I hope he’s okay.”
Chapter Seventeen
Raff’s head was just fine, and the doctors assure him that the rest of his body probably would be, as well.
Of course Raff didn’t have to testify in Trick Daniels’ trial back in Manhattan. Chris contacted the New York District Attorney and explained that their star witness was wrapped in plaster and attached to IVs. They’d just have to nail the bastard without Raff’s help.
Once he was more clearheaded, Raff was discouraged about the state of affairs. Before his accident, he felt as though the one thing that could make all the hassle—the constant presence of the press, the inconvenience to his family, friends and coworkers—worth it was to help put Trick behind bars. Now he didn’t even get to do that. The jury was deliberating now and had been for three days. It was in their hands.
His best friend’s presence softened that blow a bit. Sam rented a condo at Stellar Landing and stayed for a week, spending each day with Raff at the hospital before heading back to the building. Sam’s companionship helped pass the time; even the nurses loved him.
Sam claimed that he hadn’t been on a vacation by himself in years, and that he deserved it. As it turned out, however, Sam hated Alaska and thought that the people who lived in Stellar Landing were insane to voluntarily “live in a goddamn sardine can,” as he put it. Aaron took him out in his Jeep, hoping that some of the beautiful natural sights would win him over, but Sam wasn’t much of an outdoorsman. He did make some pals in the building though, and had dinner a few times with his new friends at the café or played cards and had a drink at James’s condo. As soon as he knew that his buddy was being released though, Sam booked his flight home. He said he missed civilization, but Raff knew he missed his wife and kids.
Raff was excited and nervous to be headed home. He missed Elizabeth terribly. But the press was still lying in wait outside the hospital and Stellar Landing, hungry like wolves, ready to chase him down.
“You have to get into the chair,” Chris said, for the third time. “I know you can walk. You know you can walk. But it’s hospital policy. They will not let you walk out of here.”
“I’m so tired of sitting and lying down. I need to stretch these legs.”
“Don’t make me reach over there and smack you,” Sam said. “Stop whining and sit in the damn chair.”
Raff looked ashamed and folded himself down into the wheelchair.
He was still wearing the trunk and arm cast, and would be for several more weeks, but the road rash on his legs was healing well. There was no brain damage at all, miraculously. When he saw photos of his bike, twisted and unrecognizable, he cringed knowing he got lucky.
As soon as they stepped out into the sunshine, cacophony broke out. But it wasn’t what Raff expected. He thought it would be reporters rudely clamoring for a statement.
Instead, the sound of motorcycles, at least twenty of them, filled the air, that familiar two-piston/one-pin pop-pop . . . pop-pop . . . pop-pop of Harley Davidsons. Raff looked around at all the men and women on their bikes, and he didn’t recognize any of them. He didn’t even belong to a club in Alaska!
Who are these guys?
He looked at Chris, who just shrugged.
Sam rolled up next to them. “I knew you needed a safe way to get home, so I called your friend Buzz. He made some calls and got in touch with a club up here. Meet your escorts. Pretty chill dudes.”
The bikes had temporarily blocked off the small hospital parking lot, keeping the press from swarming around Raff and Chris, so that they could get to their car. Once buckled in, bikes led the way to Stellar Landing, riding two by two in front and behind, for miles. All of the riders wore black jackets, black helmets and mirrored aviator sunglasses, looking like a stern military. The press couldn’t even be seen from the center of the motorcade. It was truly impressive.
“I’ve done this before,” Raff said, looking out the front and back windows from his spot in the backseat. “It takes some work. Thank you, Sam.”
Sam turned to his friend from the front. “Friends look out for each other, man.”
The Stellar Landing parking lot looked like a carnival. There was the human fence, once again fronted by Gladys, and behind them, tied to residents’ antennas, trees and stuck to stakes in the ground, were a myriad of colorful balloons. The residents looked surprised and delighted by the motorcycle motorcade, and parted to let the bikes and Chris’s car into the lot.
As it turned out, the press didn’t even bother following them all the way from the hospital. The bikers scared them off several miles back.
As the bikers turned off their machines and pulled off their helmets, the stony looks turned into smiling faces. Sam rolled around the lot, thanking some of the bikers, and Gladys skipped around, introducing herself and inviting them to come inside.
Raff wanted to thank the riders himself, but he was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion.
“You okay?” Chris sensed something was wrong, and ushered him inside so they could speak quietly. Just inside the lobby doors were more balloons and a huge Welcome Home banner, along with more of the residents, smiling and waving. “Wow. Okay. In here, Raff.”
Chris pulled him into the chapel; a small, peaceful room that was always o
pen but rarely occupied except on Sunday mornings.
Raff sat heavily in the wooden pew.
“Too much? I knew they were going to do something . . . it was kind of hard to say no.”
“It’s not the party. That’s nice, actually. I wouldn’t mind some non-hospital food for a change.” Raff sighed. “I just don’t deserve this.”
Chris was confused. “What does that mean?”
“I messed up. I tried to escape from the silver hatchback and I wrecked. And before that, I was the one that attracted the press. Now Sam is up here, and he got these other people involved, and I feel . . . responsible.”
“Ohhh, okay. I see what Sam was talking about now.”
It was Raff’s turned to look confused. “What?”
“He mentioned that you have a tendency to feel sorry for yourself.”
“I’m not—wait—what?”
Chris stood. “I’m heading out to the party that your friends and neighbors planned for you. They worked for two days to plan this. And I don’t even know how long it took Sam to get the motorcycle club. If you think they were motivated by anything other than kindness and concern, then you’re not giving them very much credit. Come on out when you’re ready.” Chris turned and walked out.
It was like a slap in the face—a welcome, refreshing slap in the face.
“Wait, wait!” Raff called. He was glad that Chris stopped and turned, because he was still moving a bit slowly. He pulled Chris in for a hug. “Thank you. I needed that.”
Chris pulled back and smiled. “You’re welcome. Come on. Your daughter is waiting for you.”
Sure enough, Elizabeth’s little bell-like voice could be heard calling for him. “Papa? Papa? Gramma, where Papa?”
She raced for him when she saw him, and would have tackled his legs had Chris not swooped down to grab her first, lifting her to her alpha-father’s face for a smooch. “Gotta be gentle with Papa for now, Bizzy,” Chris explained, and Elizabeth leaned down and gently kissed her father’s cast.
The waiting group burst into coos at her adorable actions.
Raff was given a comfortable seat, and his friends and neighbors welcomed him home in turn. Sam brought over some of the bikers to meet him and they were a friendly bunch. The leader of the group, who introduced himself as Cranky Craig, said he and Buzz went way back, and that any friend of Buzz’s was a friend of his. They were a clean and sober group, Cranky Craig told Raff, who made it their mission to help the community however they could. They talked bike for a little while, and Craig promised to invite Raff for a ride when he was feeling better.
It was interesting to see the mostly typical suburbanites that lived and vacationed in Stellar—professionals, parents, retirees and even the mayor—meeting and interacting with the bikers, who were wearing all-black leathers and shirts with rock bands or rude sayings. At first, there was a split down the room: the Stellarites and the bikers on separate sides of the room. It was Chris and Gladys who started to encourage them to mingle. Chris met a biker who enjoyed cooking and then he called Holly over to meet her. Gladys discovered that one of the motorcycle enthusiasts collected rare books, so she flagged down Celia the librarian to discuss her own collection. Soon bikers were giving the resident kids piggy-back rides, and their parents were writing down their emails to keep in touch with their new friends.
“Look at all this,” Sam said. He was taking a break from his own socializing to eat a piece of Gladys’s homemade cherry-apple pie. “Look at what came out of your accident. New friends, good pie.”
Raff gave him a sidelong look. “I think you’re polishing the turd a bit, friend.” There was no way Raff was going to claim this as a victory, no matter how nice it was.
Sam finished another bite and then turned to his friend. “Sometimes you surprise me, Raff.”
It was unusual to hear Sam speaking so seriously. He was known as a straight shooter, of course, but there was usually a hefty dose of humor or sarcasm in his voice.
“What do you mean?”
“You are someone who has chosen to live on the very edge of danger. And please take that as a sincere compliment. You ride a Harley. You work with addicts. You live in Brooklyn during most of the year, and the fucking wilderness of Alaska during the summers. You’ve been in more severe motorcycle accidents than anyone I’ve ever met, and only one of them was alcohol-influenced.”
“Okay?” Raff wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that, living on the very edge of danger, but he respected Sam too much to argue.
“If you’re going to choose to live differently, you have to own it. Revel in it. Embrace the positive impact that you have on others. Otherwise, you’re just a negative weirdo.”
Sam gave him a wink and rolled off to get another piece of pie.
By himself for just a moment, Raff considered his friend’s incongruous words. While no one could deny that he had caused his family and neighbors some anxiety and inconvenience, they all did seem to be enjoying themselves. No one was focused on Raff’s mistakes. No one was angry that his past had interrupted on their present. They just wanted to do something nice for their friend. Whether or not that meant that Raff had made a positive impact on any of them, he couldn’t say, but he decided to follow their example and stop focusing on his mistakes. At least for the night. He got up, stretched his legs, and walked around, thanking the people who made it all possible.
It was getting late, and Raff was feeling the effects of his last pain pill wearing off. Chris saw him and said it was time to go.
As a litigator, Chris was an excellent public speaker, and Raff was grateful when he saw his husband tap a spoon against a glass so that Raff didn’t have to do it. Chris briefly thanked everyone for their help—the bikers for the motorcade, the Stellar residents for the human fence and the party, and everyone for their friendship.
Raff could barely manage to rasp out a “Hear, hear,” and then they headed to the elevator, with their little girl in her omega-dad’s arms.
Chapter Eighteen
The trial was over.
Trick Daniels was going to prison for a nice, long while.
No one who lived in Stellar Landing even mentioned it, most likely because they had all moved on to bigger and better, or at least other, things. It wasn’t until Chris and Raff started to tell their Alaska friends that they were heading back to New York City that anyone even seemed to remember that this was a temporary thing. The press hadn’t been a problem since Raff’s hospital homecoming. It was a little joke that the bikers had successfully scared them off for good.
Occasionally, one or another of the bikers from the motorcycle club was seen in the halls or the lobby of the building, visiting a new friend. In fact, in a surprising turn of events, Gladys was dating Cranky Craig.
“It’s Craig,” she corrected, every time someone called him by his club moniker. “No one actually calls him Cranky Craig. And he’s not cranky at all. He’s really sweet.”
Her friends refused to stop. It was too good a name to not say at every opportunity.
Cranky Craig was actually a great guy, and he and Gladys made an attractive couple. She was tiny and spritely, with more than a little punk rock running through her veins. He was tall and steady, and wore black eyeliner and heavy silver rings. When he parked in the lot before their dates, he could be seen combing his hair in his rearview mirror, and he held doors open for Gladys (and whomever else was around). It was clear he worshipped his tiny, blue-haired girlfriend and she constantly looked up at him with adoring eyes.
Even Elizabeth loved Cranky Craig. It was almost Halloween and Gladys invited her down for one last fitting of her kitty-cat costume. Craig got down on his hands and knees and started meowing right along with the little girl and, just like that, they were best friends for life.
Raff was glad that he gave in and asked Gladys to make the costume after all. The building was so much more welcoming and safe now, and he knew his daughter would have a great time trick-or-treating.
They booked their flights home for the next day, so that Elizabeth would have one last hurrah with her friends, and so Chris and Raff could say goodbye to their neighbors.
They were just waiting for Raff’s cast to come off. He told anyone who would listen that the thing was driving him nuts and, if he had to fly with his arm sticking straight out from his side, he would promptly jump off the plane. It was to everyone’s great relief, then, when the doctor cut the cast off at the next visit.
Raff’s left arm was now pale and relatively scrawny, and all the kids in the building asked to touch it on Halloween. He took great pleasure in dramatically rolling up his sleeve and watching as the kids’ eyes grew large with wonder. It was as if he had the best costume of all. Elizabeth acted proud of her father and, when someone did not ask to look at his arm, she would pull on it and demand, “Wook!”
It was the best possible way to end their extended stay in Stellar. There was no need for a goodbye party—even though Gladys offered—because everyone was celebrating in the halls; kids and adults alike. As Raff, Chris and Elizabeth went from door to door, they were able to say goodbye to their friends and neighbors, and receive their wishes of continued good health and good luck, along with enough candy to last Elizabeth well into the next year.
Chris watched his husband out of the corner of his eye all night, appreciating the genuine happiness he exuded.
“See you next summer,” Raff said, over and over, and Chris was relieved. He wasn’t sure if, after all that had happened, Raff would want to return.
The next morning, they locked up their summer home and began the long journey that would get them to New York early the next morning. When the bright lights of Manhattan appeared in the blackness, they gave each other a kiss.
