by KC Burn
“Calm down. What’s wrong?” This was his stop-panicking cop voice. He was bringing out all sorts of official tones tonight. “Take a deep breath, hold it for a second.”
Kurt listened closely, making sure Davy followed his instructions. “Okay, let it out slowly.” He waited a moment. “Now, what’s wrong?”
“Sandra. She’s bleeding, and she’s having strong contractions. It’s too early for the baby. She’s not due for a couple of weeks.”
“Have you called 911?”
“No, not yet.”
Warmth spread in his chest, knowing Davy had called him first, expecting Kurt to help or because he knew Kurt would take care of things. Davy didn’t think he was a useless squirt.
“It’s going to be fine. The baby’s not that early, but Sandra’s probably going to have a difficult time.” He hoped he wasn’t lying about the whole going to be fine thing. “I’m going to hang up now, and call 911. I’ll talk to the dispatcher, find out what hospital she’s going to, and I’ll meet you there, okay?”
Davy’s breathing sped up again.
“Davy. Breathe. Slowly. Or you’re going to pass out, and you need to help Sandra.”
He didn’t like using such a sharp tone with Davy, but he needed to cut through the panic.
“Good. I’m hanging up now. They’ll be there soon.”
Kurt grabbed his coat and keys and sped past Erin. “Gotta go, sis. Talk later.” Much fucking later if she was going to grill him about an imaginary girlfriend.
At least his job meant she didn’t question him leaving, didn’t protest. He was barking instructions into the phone as he started his car.
Minutes later, he was making his way to the hospital, keeping a sharp lookout for kids.
Traffic was crazy; it was a shitty night for driving and a shitty night to need emergency services. Although it was early enough that the ER shouldn’t be full of drunken mishaps and overdoses. Yet. When he finally tore into the hospital, the placid nurse at the desk directed Kurt to where Davy was waiting. The man was almost as pale as the day Kurt first laid eyes on him.
“Hey, you heard anything?”
Davy turned wide, unseeing eyes toward him, taking a second before any hint of recognition appeared. Relief spread across his face, and he took a step toward Kurt before he halted, hands clenched at his side.
“They sent her in pretty quick. She’s in with the doctor now. I… I don’t know anything else.”
“C’mon. Sit down before you fall down.” Kurt guided Davy into a chair and sat beside him. He wanted to hug Davy. He’d hug any of his brothers in the same situation, but he was wary of more than just Davy’s reaction. He wasn’t sure if he could trust himself not to broadcast his bizarre obsession to everyone.
For the first time, he felt an unwilling sympathy for Ben and the way he’d handled his relationship with Davy. But Ben was gay. If Kurt were gay, he’d have no problem admitting it.
Or would he? He’d managed to avoid any sexual thoughts about Davy—recently. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?
Davy began to tremble. Kurt shoved his worries aside and wrapped an arm around Davy’s shoulders, squeezing briefly.
“I’m going to go grab you a coffee. Warm you up a little.” Kurt looked around. “Where’s your coat?”
Davy turned his head, lost. “I don’t know. I don’t think I wore one.”
“Okay, we can worry about that later. But you definitely need something warm to drink. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Kurt dashed to the cafeteria and back again. The ER wasn’t crazy yet, so while Sandra may have gone in first, her condition might not be as serious as Davy feared.
He thrust the cardboard cup against Davy’s bloodless fingers, which curled around the cup in an automatic reflex.
Tilting his head over the cup, Davy inhaled the fragrant steam before taking a careful sip. He grimaced. “It’s very sweet.”
“You need the sugar. So drink up. Besides, I’ve had the coffee here. It’s total shit, so trust me, the more sugar the better.”
His words prompted a fleeting smile, and the little-boy-lost look faded from Davy’s face. After he’d swallowed a few more sips, Kurt probed a little more.
“Have you had a chance to call Sandra’s husband? Or her friends?”
They hadn’t often spoke of Davy’s much older sister, but Kurt knew her husband, William, was deployed overseas, and the other military wives were helping her out during her delicate pregnancy.
“William’s supposed to be on leave in two weeks.” But Davy took Kurt’s unspoken suggestion and pulled out his phone. He gripped the coffee tightly in one hand and pressed the phone to his ear with the other.
Kurt wandered around picking up magazines and flipping through them to give Davy a bit of privacy. When Davy tucked his phone back in his pocket, Kurt returned and sat down beside him again.
“I wasn’t able to get William, but I left a message with his CO. And I called Sandra’s best friend, Liz. Umm….” Davy ducked his head away, attempting to hide his face from Kurt.
“What?”
“She asked if I needed her to come down.” Davy spoke to a potted plant in the corner. “I said no, and I’d call her when I heard more. You’ll… you don’t have to stay. I’m glad you’re here, but I don’t want to ruin your night. I could be here awhile.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Davy.” Kurt slipped off his coat and draped it over the back of his chair.
Davy closed his eyes and bit his lip before letting out a huge sigh. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, Davy, you know that.”
Davy took a quick glance around. He patted Kurt’s arm for a brief second before snatching his hand back with another guilty glance. Not a single person was paying any attention to them, mired as they were in their own worries. They settled in to watch whatever mindless nonsense was playing on the TV bolted to the wall.
A couple of hours later, Davy had fallen asleep against his shoulder. Stress and boredom was a killer combination. Kurt’s eyes were a little gritty, too, although the sitcoms were marginally more interesting than sitting on stakeouts.
A young doctor in purple scrubs spoke quietly to a nurse at the registration desk, who pointed at Davy. The doctor headed their way, and Kurt nudged Davy awake, relieved to see a smile on the doctor’s handsome face.
“Mr. Grey? You’re the father?”
“No, no, I’m Sandra’s brother, Davy Broussard.”
Davy shook hands with the doctor, who then turned a questioning look on Kurt.
“Not me, either. I’m just a friend.” He waited for a moment, but Davy wasn’t offering up any further explanation. “Sandra’s husband is overseas. Even if he gets emergency leave, it’ll be several hours before he’s back.”
Comprehension lit the doctor’s face. “Well, Mr. Broussard, your sister is fine. We had to do an emergency C-section, and we’ll have to keep her at least a few days. She’s asking for you, although she’s still a little groggy.”
“And the baby?” Davy asked.
“He’ll be fine. You should be able to see him tomorrow, after he’s settled into the ward. He’ll be here a little bit longer than your sister, for observation.”
Davy’s grin came back in full force, dimples flashing. Kurt didn’t have an effective gaydar—he’d never needed one—but he didn’t miss the doctor’s appreciative gaze at Davy’s mouth. Just the thought Davy might return the doctor’s interest was enough to send a stab of jealousy through his midsection. He’d never been jealous of anyone in his life, and he shook it off.
Davy turned back to Kurt and opened his mouth.
“Don’t worry. I’ll wait here until you visit your sister.” Because Davy would need a ride home, and he wasn’t going to let him take a taxi in this cold without a fucking coat.
Davy nodded and followed the doctor through a sliding door.
Ten minutes later, Davy returned, looking more relaxed than Kurt had seen him in a long time.
>
“All good?”
“Yes, all good. Liz or I will pick her up when she’s released. I can’t wait to see my nephew.” Davy had a spring to his step that was at odds with the deep shadows under his eyes. The man needed to fucking sleep. But Kurt remembered the first time one of his sisters gave birth… he remembered all of them, actually. There was something special, something humbling about it, and he didn’t begrudge Davy his excitement.
“What’s his name? Have they picked one out yet?”
“Oh, yes. Oliver Alain, for our parents. Mom was Olive and dad was Alain.”
Davy didn’t talk about his parents much. Kurt knew they’d died in a car accident when he was a teenager, and Sandra, eleven years older, had been granted guardianship. Probably the pain of that loss had faded in comparison to Davy’s more recent loss, but it had been the lack of support network, especially with Sandra having her own issues, that had worried Kurt so much when he’d first met Davy.
“I was hoping you’d show up tonight.”
“Oh?” Kurt’s heart sped up as he unwound his scarf. He’d stayed away for thirteen days after Sandra’s emergency room visit, and hated himself for counting the damned days. When he couldn’t take it any longer—which was actually three days ago—he still needed an excuse, and there hadn’t been a televised hockey game at a reasonable hour until today.
Davy never had to know what he thought about in the middle of the night. Hell, Kurt tried not to think about it, ever. This was curiosity or a fucked-up, out-of-hand crush. It would go away. Eventually. And he wasn’t about to give up his friendship with Davy because his cock had suddenly become unpredictable in its preferences.
“Yeah, I bought stuff to make some of those burgers in the cookbook you got me.”
“Oh, cool.” He’d thought it was a dumb present, but they both liked burgers.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll just whip things together.”
Kurt sauntered into the living room and turned on the TV. As he settled on the couch, a flash of color teased the corner of his eye. He pushed himself to his feet to inspect the mantel.
Heat crept into his cheeks, but that didn’t stop his smile. The picture frame he’d given Davy, with the photo of Davy’s birthday party, occupied a central position atop the mantel. Davy looked so damned happy.
And the photo wasn’t alone. Kurt inspected the others, placed without any appearance of symmetry. He didn’t recognize anyone except Davy and Sandra, but it was gratifying to see Davy resurrect some of his prized possessions. There was a picture of a tiny, red-faced baby, whom Kurt assumed was Davy’s new nephew, Oliver, but despite his previous experience with nieces and nephews, he never picked up the knack of distinguishing between babies. They all looked the same to him, and the photos Davy had already texted him didn’t help.
At least Sandra’s husband had finally returned. He’d gotten home six days after Halloween, delayed by several winter snowstorms, both here and across Europe. Even with the help of Sandra’s friends, Davy had been run ragged trying to help out with the newborn.
He’d been hard-pressed to join in Davy’s exhausted joy, although it made it easier to avoid seeing Davy. What he should have done was ask his sisters, mom, and sister-in-law to help out. They’d have done it, simply because Kurt asked, but every time he pulled out his phone, shame and guilt warred with fear that his family would figure out he cared more for Davy than he should.
Turning around, he surveyed the room. Davy’s patchwork quilt, one his mother made, was draped across the back of the sofa. Which also sported plump, fuzzy red pillows he’d never seen before. The bookcase now had several books, instead of catalog-style knickknacks. From the well-worn spines, it was obvious Davy loved to read. Kurt didn’t remember Ben ever talking about books.
He strode over to the shelf to peruse the titles. Some were cookbooks, and there was a distinct gap, in the middle, about the width of the burger book he’d given Davy. Others were novels, some authors he recognized, some he didn’t. Primarily fantasy, sci-fi, and a few thrillers. One of the ones he didn’t recognize, he pulled out. His face flushed when he saw the two nude male torsos on the cover. Carefully he slid that back into place and stepped away from the shelf.
This room had transformed into a living room where someone actually lived. The pristine, sterile neutrals of walls and furniture were somewhat mitigated by the new touches Davy added to the room. Had to be a sign of healing—the place was no longer a shrine to Ben’s compulsion to remain hidden. Good for Davy.
Adding a fire to the fireplace would be a nice touch. Did Davy have any firewood?
Davy bustled into the room bearing a couple bottles of beer. “Here, dinner will be ready in about ten minutes.”
“Smells good.” And it did. Kurt couldn’t distinguish the scents, but Davy brought with him the delicious scent of meat cooking. Davy smiled, dimples flashing, sending an unexpected and unwelcome spike of heat to Kurt’s groin. God. Was that going to happen a lot as Davy steadily let go of his grief and smiled more and more? Getting over this insanity couldn’t happen too soon, and judging by the number of nights he’d jerked off to thoughts of Davy, it was getting worse.
No. Not worse, exactly. Just working through its course. Worse before it got better.
They sat on the couch and listened to the announcers listing the starting lineup of players.
Yet another commercial started. There were always too damned many of them. “You got any firewood?”
“Firewood? No, are you cold?”
“Not really, just wondered if you ever used the fireplace.”
“Never. Ben didn’t like the smoke—too dirty—and he said firewood was filled with bugs.”
A muscle in Kurt’s jaw tensed. Who didn’t like fires? They were especially great on snowy days where it was cold and blustery but there wasn’t quite enough accumulation to require shoveling. Days where there was nowhere you had to be and nothing to do but relax. At least there was a screen and utensils, but it seemed a pointless waste if you were never going to use them.
“We’d have to check the flue, make sure it’s clear, but if you want one, let me know. My brother Dylan has a huge spread outside the city and always has deadfall for firewood.”
Kurt glanced at the plush white rug in front of the couch. Davy didn’t like having a coffee table in front of the couch for some reason, so the low table they used when they needed one occupied a corner with a couple of chairs, creating a little nook by the bookshelves. Since neither of them had dragged the table over in front of the couch yet, the area in front of the fireplace was open. He envisioned a warm orange glow emanating from the hearth, the stark white of the rug softened by the fire’s light. Against his will, he imagined a lithe, naked Davy spread out on the rug, basking in the warmth. Oh, God. This had to fucking stop.
He hunched over, hoping to hide the twitching of his stupid, brainless cock. Of course, he was assuming Davy was looking. Which he wasn’t. The man was in mourning, and he’d never given Kurt any indication he was attracted or anything. Which was good. It was. Davy knew Kurt was straight.
“Thanks, I’ll think about it.”
A high-pitched beep had Davy slamming his beer on the end table beside the couch and rushing out of the room. Kurt let out a sigh. Maybe the fire thing wasn’t a good idea. Not until he was through this phase, anyway. He sure as hell wasn’t going to bring it up again. Dinner was almost ready, so he stood and pulled the table over in front of the couch. Good thing it wasn’t too heavy.
Sinking back into his seat, Kurt stared at the TV, but not really seeing it. The clatter of a tray on the table made him jump.
“Hell, I could have helped you with that.”
Davy shrugged. “No problem. I used to wait tables during university, like you. Never really lost the knack.”
“So, what are we eating?”
Davy arranged the plates to his satisfaction. Kurt loved eating in front of the TV, and he bet Ben would never have allo
wed it.
“They’re Greek style. Ground lamb, stuffed with feta and topped with tomatoes and some very garlicky tzatziki.” The accompanying salad looked Greek also, filled with olives and tomatoes and feta cheese.
Ooh. “Homemade tzatziki?”
Davy nodded.
Fantastic. Whenever he went to a Greek restaurant, he slathered everything in the tasty cucumber-yogurt sauce.
Davy snatched up a plastic yellow bottle. “Now, I brought this out for you, but will you at least try it without mustard first?”
Kurt snorted. “Okay, okay, I know I like mustard on burgers. But most places don’t have tzatziki to put on them.” Although he might put a little mustard on anyway, just to exasperate Davy.
