Saving Him

by Drea Roman

  Clicking off the penlight, Dr. Jones slips it into the breast pocket of her white coat and cups Tyler’s face to tilt his head up. “Blink for me. Then roll your eyes from side to side, then up and down.” She ignores my question for a few more seconds as Tyler complies. “Good. Thank you, Tyler.” Only now does she drop her hands from his face and turn to look at David and me as we sit in uncomfortable chairs against the wall of the exam room. Tyler sits stiffly on the exam table, his hands clenched tightly in his lap.

  When the doctor begins to speak, I can tell she is barely reining in her anger at us. “As you probably realized before you let him beg off of seeing a doctor last night, Tyler has a severe concussion. He should have been hospitalized for monitoring.” Her words are sharp and the frown lines around her mouth indicate just how pissed off she is, though her voice struggles to remain neutral.

  Returning her attention to Tyler, she softens her tone. “Given how much time has passed, we won’t know if a hospital stay is necessary until we find out the results of your tests. However, I would recommend it no matter the results. To be on the safe side, I am ordering an MRI and a CT scan. These tests reveal structural damage. Since everyone waited to seek treatment, I am being doubly cautious. So you are definitely not experiencing double vision?”

  When Tyler gives a little shake of his head, she continues in a motherly tone, “I can tell by way you are holding your head that you have a headache. On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it? Please be honest. I cannot treat you properly without honestly.”

  Tyler clears his throats, then responds, “A seven or an eight. It was off the scale when I first woke up this morning, but it has died down a little.”

  “I’ll prescribe you something for that.” She takes up the chart lying beside Tyler on the exam table and scribbles some information down. “Considering your current condition and the amount of time elapsed, tentatively I think you will be okay, but I can’t make any promises. The tests will help us discover any current damage so we can anticipate and prevent future issues. I hope you understand it was very dangerous to put off coming in, especially considering you were unconscious for nearly 72 hours.”

  Tyler’s expression, which was already apprehensive takes on an edge of fear. She must notice as she softens her voice further and pats him gently on the shoulder. “In the end, I don’t blame you for that choice. Head injuries interfere with our cognitive abilities and we all have different responses to pain. Some people, like you, would prefer to hide away. You were injured and clearly afraid for your life. You took the course of action which seemed safest to you even though it was the most dangerous medically speaking. That being acknowledged, you cannot avoid treatment again. If your pain increases, your vision becomes blurry, or you feel dizzy or disoriented, you must come back immediately. We have two options after the tests are completed. You can be admitted for observation, which is what I recommend. Or, you may leave but only if you have someone who will sign for you and be with you to monitor your condition for the next several days. I think you have been very lucky so far. Let’s hope the tests confirm my thoughts on that.”

  This time she pats him affectionately on the knee, smiling kindly down at him. After making a few more marks on his chart, she clicks her pen closed and slips it into the same pocket as her penlight.

  “Nurse Bells will by in about five minutes to take you down to radiology for the CT and MRI.”

  Turning her gaze back to David and me, she narrows her eyes again, giving herself the appearance of a pissed off owl. “I will be back to speak to the two of you.”

  She steps out of the room and Tyler sighs, his body relaxing a fraction since he is no longer under her scrutiny. As promised, a young brunette nurse in Disney scrubs bustles in with a wheelchair and efficiently packs Tyler up into it. After he wheels Tyler out the door, Dr. Jones steps back in, giving David and me a stony stare.

  “Going forward, Tyler will likely have headaches for at least another week. Concussions have been known to trigger migraine syndrome in some patients. You must record all headaches, their intensity, duration, and other affects such as auditory or olfactory distortions, nausea, vomiting, and light sensitivity. These records will be invaluable if Mr. Henderson does develop a migraine condition due to his injuries. I assume one or both of you will be helping to take care of him?”

  I nod immediately, and hear David stifle a laugh, which he tries to cover it up as a cough. I not so discretely elbow him in the ribs, earning myself a scowl. Dr. Jones ignores our interaction in favor of continuing to lecture us on the error of our ways.

  “Tyler has a headache even now, though as you saw, he was reluctant to admit it to me. I understand you care about your friend and his wishes, but in the case of a head injury, you overrule them, every single time. People die from untreated head wounds every day. Right now, Tyler is practically a walking miracle. Being unconscious that long does not bode well for his recovery, but his responses to the physical exam were very encouraging. As long as the scans come back showing no structural damage, I will be fine with letting him go home, but only under the care of a responsible adult.”

  Her emphasis on the word responsible would normally rankle me, but this time I deserve the shaming. I nod, in complete agreement with her concern that I may not be an appropriately responsible adult.

  “I know you said he objected to coming in last night, but you did him no favors by allowing him to wait and sleep on it.” Her attention shifts to focus solely on David. “Detective Derricks, you definitely know better.” David squirms in his seat like a naughty school boy in the principal’s office. “Concussions make people confused and addled. Your friend was not in his right mind to object to treatment. You know better,” she repeats, pointing at him.

  “Objections or not, you should have found some way to bring him to a hospital or at least an urgent care center last night. With the reactivity of his pupils being within normal ranges, I am optimistic that Tyler will recover well. And, if he does, he is a very lucky man. You’re also lucky because even after surviving for 72 hours after injury, he could have taken a turn for the worse in the middle of the night.” She pauses. “Did you at least check on him every few hours, waking him up to evaluate his condition?” Now it is my turn to squirm.

  “Well, I checked in on him several times overnight, but I didn’t wake him up,” I provide, without looking her directly in the eye.

  She sighs, wearing an annoyed parent look. “That is barely better than nothing, Mr. Montgomery.”

  Since I know I deserve the censure, I do nothing more than nod again before asking what I really want to know. “So he will be able to leave the hospital?”

  Dr. Jones huffs out a sigh and rubs her forehead a moment before answering. “The short answer is yes. Beyond his severe concussion, he has sprained ribs, various abrasions on his wrists, face, and one hand, as well as a slightly swollen neck and throat due the strangulation attempt. His left eye has a fading shiner, and the split in corner of his bottom lip is already healing nicely. It’s not severe enough to require a stitch. He appears to be afraid of hospitals for some reason, so he will probably want to leave.” She turns her attention to the chart for a moment, clearly checking on something before venturing any more conclusions about Tyler’s condition and his release from her care.

  I venture a glance at David who nods slightly. We know why he is afraid of hospitals. David took Tyler’s statement at my apartment before all three of us ventured down to Saint Francis Memorial, assiduously avoiding Oakland General and a possible run-in with Eric. My skin had crawled as Tyler once again described the final fight with his then-boyfriend. Though he had relayed much of the same information to me last night, it was more horrific to hear the second time around.

  Eric’s name had rung a bell with David, though he did not let on to Tyler. When Tyler visited the restroom while we waited for the doctor, David informed me that the good Dr. Stevens’ name has come up a few times in relation to domestic vi
olence incidents and even one disappearance. My heart had dropped to my stomach then and has not stopped fluttering since.

  Dr. Jones’ voice brings me back to the present when she asks, “Since the two of you seem to be taking care of him, are there any arrangements for someone to monitor him for at least the next three days?”

  “He can stay with me.” The corner of David’s mouth quirks up, and I know I’m in for some annoying ribbing once the doctor leaves. The doctor nods and tears a sheet off the prescription pad on which she had been scribbling. “Take this then. He can have one every four to six hours as needed for pain. He is not to exceed six doses in a twenty-four hour period. If his pain increases, or he seems especially groggy or disoriented, do not hesitate to take him to the emergency room.” She sighs as she drops the prescription into my outstretched hand. “Fill this at the pharmacy downstairs. I swear, gentleman, if his condition worsens because you care more about his feelings than his physical well-being, I will not be responsible for what I do to you.”

  With that threat, she turns on her white sneakered heel, and steps out of the room. Silence ensues, both of us seeming to be afraid that the good doctor will return to give us another round of chewing out.

  Once we are alone again, David turns in his chair to look at me with an open smirk. “You know, all of this is your fault.”

  Sighing, I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. “And exactly how is that?”

  “I let you lead with your dick.”

  “Oh my God, David. You know me better than that.” Turning my face toward him, I give him a death glare.

  That just makes the asshole smile wider. “Don’t lie. I see how you look at him.”

  “Like what?” I ask even though I know better.

  David’s deep voice holds a rumble of laughter. “Like you want to eat him up.”

  Sighing, I decide to be honest with my stupid friend. “David, you aren’t the best at picking up on subtlety, especially of the emotional variety. Yes, I find him attractive. But he’s hurt, and I want to take care of him. Face it, David, you don’t do that. You don’t want that kind of care so you don’t understand it when you see it in others, especially not friends like me. That’s why we have always been more than friends, but never lovers. You have to know by now that I have always wanted more than that.”

  When David looks embarrassed and even a little hurt, I reassure him. “Not from you, David. I never expected it from you because I know you far better than you think I do. And you know me better than you are acting like you do right now. No matter what does or does not happen between Tyler and me, I need to take care of him right now. I’m not going to fight it. It’s what I want. Even if I receive nothing in return, I need to be the soft place he lands. And I’m going to give him that. I’m giving it to myself, too.”

  David smiles softly at me, warmly, with far more affection than he has ever shown me before. “Just don’t get yourself hurt, Montgomery. Like you just said yourself, I’m no soft place to land.”

  Rolling my eyes, I tease him back, though I am in earnest. “Just wait, someone is going to need you some day, and you’re going to shock yourself and the world when you realize you want to give him whatever he needs, no matter the cost to you.”

  David scoffs. “If it hasn’t happened in the first forty-one years of my life, I doubt it will in the second.”

  Laughing at his ever-present resistance to any emotional attachments, I reply, “Only if you don’t let it, David.”

  Now I get the warning look I’m so used to seeing. “Roger.”

  Winking at him, I turn the conversation to safer topics, and we chat comfortably as we wait for Tyler’s scans to be over. Tyler returns half an hour later with negative results for structural damage to his brain. No tears, no bleeds. Dr. Jones is relieved, and so am I. I couldn’t bear if I did Tyler irreparable harm because I put his emotional well-being over his physical health.

  When David asks where I plan to go when I leave the hospital, I am at a loss.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I reply honestly.

  David speaks in a rumbly, deep voice and it occurs to me that I don’t find it nearly as comforting as Roger’s. Or as sexy. “Roger is a good guy. His place is the next best thing to protective custody,” David continues. “Plus, I will know exactly where to find you when I catch the bastard who did this to you.”

  I look between the two of them as I sit stiffly on the exam table again. We are waiting for the discharge paperwork. I insisted to Dr. Jones that I must leave. She wasn’t surprised but was clearly displeased by my choice. She does not understand, but luckily Roger and David do. I have to leave. Sure, there are HIPAA laws, but I don’t trust that Eric won’t find out I am here and hunt me down to finish the job he started.

  I see Roger and David exchange a knowing side glance in the way only ex-lovers do. At least, I hope it’s ex. Unsure of how I know, I am positive they were once more than friends. It’s unclear what makes me think the situation is past. But something about their comradery suggests a connection both intimate and old, comfortable and familiar, but not alive in a romantic way. If there is anyone able to spot a ‘non-traditional’ sexual or romantic connection, it is me. Being demisexual, I have learned to read other people’s clues, hints in their interactions that indicate desire and affection. Seeing them and reacting to them does not come naturally to me unless I’ve known someone a long time. It’s not that I don’t have those feelings, too. It just takes so long to develop that I’ve learned to detect them and even fake them just so as not to be alone. That was my nearly fatal mistake with Eric. I must have spaced out because I am suddenly glancing up at the sound of my name.

  Roger looks worried, and David holds him in his seat by the shoulder. He also looks concerned, but it seems to be for Roger, not me. A tendril of jealousy winds its way through my chest. Not that I should be thinking anything close to that right now, given the circumstances of this moment, as I decide what to do next after my brush with death. I open my mouth to decline both the invitation to protective custody and Roger’s house, but instead my tongue betrays what I foolishly want. “I’ll stay with Roger.”

  Roger sighs and settles back into his chair, giving David a dirty look until he drops his hand from Roger’s shoulder. I don’t need David to tell me what I already know about Roger Montgomery. He is a good guy. He has proven that by how he has cared for me since he found me like a drowned rat on his doorstep last night. That probably explains my inappropriate attraction to the bearish tattoo artist. Never one to warm so quickly to anyone, I’ve been accused of being rigid, and not in the good way. I need to get to know a guy before I want to go sticking my tongue down his throat. Roger, though, is warm enough for the both of us. Now I am imagining sticking my tongue down his throat, something I have never imagined doing to anyone before in my life. I blush and drop my chin so I’m not meeting either of their gazes.

  A little coughing noise, then Roger clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Tyler. I should have insisted on bringing you in. You were so adamant, and I didn’t want to cause you more distress after what Eric did to you. At the very least, I should have woken you up a couple of times overnight. I did check on you,” he makes a point of reassuring me, the look on his face intense and apologetic. David is leaning to the side in his chair now, turned toward Roger with an amused and inquisitive look. Roger glances over at him with an annoyed expression and rolls his eyes, before returning his gaze to me.

  “I thought I was supposed to wake you up, and WebMD agreed, but once I saw you sleeping peacefully, I couldn’t bear to disturb you.”

  “So you didn’t wake me when both you and the internet thought you should?” I’m smiling softly, overwhelmed with gratitude and some desperate and more raw emotion I cannot name. Roger sighs, looks away a moment, then fixes me with his hazel gaze.

  “You’ve had enough control and choice taken from you. I will not do the same thing to you unless I have absolutely no choice in the
matter.”

  Astonished by the intensity and care in his declaration, I study his face, trying to discern my own feelings about what he just said.

  “That reminds me,” David interjects, and Roger gives him the dirtiest look I have yet seen on his face. It makes me smile even though my head still feels like it went through a rock tumbler.

  “What? He has to be aware of what’s going on,” David insists to Roger.

  “What is going on?” I ask, fear pumping once again through my veins.

  “Dr. Eric Stevens has a history of domestic violence incidents,” David continues as Roger slumps back in his chair, an apprehensive look on his face. “Beyond staying with Roger so he can monitor your health, I need you to stay there so you are out of harm’s way. It would be unsafe for you to return to your own home until after he has been arrested. It may take a while, depending on how the investigation progresses. I cannot share too much with you, but this case may connect with another unsolved crime. As such, you would be staying with Roger for the foreseeable future.” David eyes me, and I’m not really sure what the look on his face means.

  “Okay,” I murmur. A soft smile curls my lips, and I feel a little thread of hope for the first time it what seems like an age.

  Chapter 5

  We fall into an easy routine as I settle in for an open-ended stay in Roger’s guest bedroom. I found out later Roger has Sunday and Monday as his off days; therefore, it wasn’t too hard to be around to watch over me like a mother hen, which he did. He also took the following Tuesday and Wednesday off, claiming he had no scheduled appointments. He put a “Gone Fishin’” sign in the door, which he found incredibly amusing. As I come to know him, I see beyond the expectations general society has of men who look like him. With his colorful tats and bearish appearance, people expect certain things: sexist views, biker gangs, a bad temper. Roger has none of these things.