Safe House

by Charley Descoteaux

  “I know. I didn’t, well, I was going to go back to another party, but I never got out of the car, I swear. Until it wouldn’t start. I should’ve replaced that battery. Oh, man, I’m so screwed.”

  Brandon smiled in spite of himself and stayed silent until he could wipe it off his face. “We’ll talk about it later. Don’t worry, you’re not in any trouble.”

  “You won’t have it towed? Because the guys at the garage—”

  “No. I’m not going to call them. I’ll pick you up after practice, and we’ll see if we can get the car jump-started.”

  “Thanks, Coach.”

  “After we have a little chat.”

  “Okay.” Relief and distress came through just about equally in Jason’s voice.

  Brandon closed the connection and walked toward the camp building. Eric had emerged from the double front doors and seemed to be waiting for him to finish his call. As they walked toward each other, Brandon took the opportunity to study Eric. He’d first seen him over two years ago when he and Nathan had visited the property, but he hadn’t paid much attention to him then. Brandon had never been attracted to redheads or to men his own height. Or, come to think of it, to men who weren’t as invested in their gym time as he was. As recently as a year ago, Eric had been slim, almost to the point of being skinny—but not anymore. He’d seen Eric and Tim working out together at the gym a couple of times, and the effort they were putting into Eric’s physical development had started to show. Not only were his shoulders a little broader, he was standing straighter and walking with more confidence.

  And why not? He was married to an unbelievable man. Even though Brandon was over Tim, he couldn’t tamp down the memory of the jealousy he’d felt watching Tim lovingly directing Eric’s workout. The way the Tates looked at each other…. He wanted that for himself. Not with Tim, but with someone.

  “Hi, Brandon, thanks for coming out.” Eric smiled, and Brandon’s unease with his own feelings disappeared. Eric was too nice, too sincere and friendly, to be angry with. Especially when it was Brandon’s own fault he was lonely.

  “Not a problem.”

  “Do you know whose car this is?”

  “Yes. It should be gone by the end of the day. Unless you want to have it towed?”

  “No, that won’t be necessary. Is it someone local?”

  “Yes.” Brandon debated how much to tell Eric. He would much rather have this conversation with Nathan. But he would rather have any conversation with Nathan, even though he was married and even more unavailable to Bran than he’d ever been. There was just something about talking with Nathan that made him feel better about himself. And that’s not pathetic at all. “One of the kids I coach. He heard about Buchanan House last summer at Pride, and also through the grapevine. Some of the locals have been crashing your parties here.”

  “Yes, we know.” Eric didn’t look happy about it, but also not alarmed. “So far nothing has happened, so we’re inclined to let them. It’s not worth the negative PR to try to stop them at this point.”

  “Okay, that’s your business. But this kid is really a kid. He’s seventeen.”

  Eric blanched, almost making his freckles pop and reminding Bran of one of those Magic Eye pictures. “Oh, no. I—we—I’m sorry. We’ll start watching more carefully.”

  Before Bran could offer his help with that, which would be the “in” he’d been hoping for to get him back to a party without being obvious, he heard a shout from the direction of the road. He and Eric turned to look. The road was empty, but they heard a loud crash. Brandon ran toward it, even though he didn’t see anything or anyone except for the trees and the first few drops of rain. He reached the road and heard shouting again. It was coming from the river. Looking down, he froze for a second—the sight of the current slamming a man in a bright life jacket against the rocks didn’t track right away. It’s fucking February!

  Brandon shouted for Eric to call 9-1-1 and ran down the bank to the river as fast as he could—maddeningly slowly even though the river was high, since the bank was clogged with brush and blackberry vines and had slippery rocks in between. On the way, he stripped off his radio and belt and dropped them without a second thought. Someone was still shouting, but Bran couldn’t spare them even a glance—he kept his eyes on the man, who needed to get out of the freezing water and away from those rocks before he was seriously injured.

  The steep bank was slick beneath Brandon’s shoes, and as he reached the waterline, the sky opened up. Rain came down like a cow pissing on a flat rock, and he almost slid right into the river along with—Shit, that’s Kyle.

  Brandon reached for him just as a wave pushed Kyle into the rock again. Blood bloomed on the side of Kyle’s forehead, and he appeared to be unconscious. It would be much easier—and safer for them both—if Brandon didn’t have to go too far into the river to pull Kyle out, but the current wasn’t cooperating.

  “Kyle!” Brandon yelled. He barely heard himself over the pounding of the rain. “Kyle, give me your hand!”

  Shock and relief flooded Brandon’s limbs as Kyle reached toward him. His eyes were still closed, and his body was all but limp against the rock, but he was conscious. Kyle was bobbing at the mercy of the current but held above the water by the garish life jacket, and Brandon tried to grab his hand. His gut clenched when he missed and Kyle’s arm disappeared beneath the water. He shouted again, but for a moment it looked as though Kyle wouldn’t respond at all. Bran stepped into the water and sank into the soft mud on the bank, the water lapping at his knees and threatening to push him off-balance. He and Kyle reached out at the same time, and Brandon’s hand closed around his wrist.

  Brandon pulled Kyle toward him and was almost dragged against the rocks by the combination of Kyle’s weight, the current, and his own shoes sliding in the mud. He startled when someone pulled him from behind, grateful his reflexes responded by tightening his grip on Kyle. Their combined strength had him out of the water within a few seconds. Bran lifted Kyle into his arms and tried to ignore the moan of pain.

  “You’re okay. You’ll be all right.” Brandon made sure he had a good hold and then turned to go up the bank. Eric stood there, his eyes wide with fear, but ready to grab Brandon again if he needed the help.

  “I called 9-1-1!” Eric shouted over the sounds of the river behind them and the rain that was still pouring down. His posture sagged a little when he heard a siren in the distance.

  “Get a blanket!” Brandon shouted back and started climbing the bank. It shouldn’t have felt like a long trip with the river so high, but every step was more difficult than the last. It didn’t help that the way he was carrying Kyle was obviously causing him more pain—he grunted or groaned with each step. Brandon wished he could stop and see how badly Kyle was hurt, but he couldn’t exactly put him down on a bed of dead blackberry vines. No leaves or berries were visible, but plenty of nasty thorns were clawing at Brandon’s pants.

  Brandon’s legs and arms were shaking by the time he reached the parking lot. The ambulance was still a few seconds out, so he stayed outside to wait for them, holding Kyle. Kyle shivered, and his breathing seemed too slow—hypothermia. Maybe shock. “Kyle, can you hear me?”

  Kyle groaned. Bran was afraid that was the only response he would get, and he looked up to see Eric and Alex running toward them with heavy gray blankets in their hands. Kyle said, “Bran?” before they were both enveloped in scratchy wool.

  “Where’s Derek?” Alex shouted, practically screaming his name. She bolted toward the river, but Eric caught her. She pushed at him, but he held on and wouldn’t let her go.

  Then things started happening too quickly for Bran to process, and he wondered if he had a touch of hypothermia too. The ambulance arrived, a tall, buff EMT lifted Kyle from Brandon’s arms, and Derek was there asking if Kyle was okay. He was having trouble matching voices to the people he knew were there, and he wasn’t clear on the order in which everything was happening, so he didn’t argue when the hunk
y EMT’s partner sat him down and took his vitals.

  “Did he lose consciousness at any point?”

  Bran focused his attention on the man in front of him, Vance. “Maybe. Not for long, if he did. Maybe a few seconds.”

  “How about you?” Vance flashed a light in his eyes and made Bran track his finger.

  “No. I’m good. Just cold.” Bran pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “How is he?”

  “Looks good. Nothing seems to be broken. He’ll be hurting for a while, but he doesn’t seem seriously injured. We’re taking him in to get warmed up and make sure he doesn’t have a concussion. You should come too, Brandon.”

  “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

  Vance took a step away but then turned back. “Crazy to be on the river today. Maybe we should do a seventy-two-hour hold on this one.”

  Brandon stood, feeling the urge to shout. He was able to rein it in, but his voice came out sounding more like a growl than any tone a rational man would use on someone who’d just helped him. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Hey, it was only a joke. Take it easy.” Vance studied him for a quick couple of seconds. “We’re taking him to Sam North.” After another moment of scrutiny, Vance turned and headed back to the van.

  It only took another minute for the van to leave with Kyle inside, and by then Brandon was almost warm. Warm enough. Eric approached him, holding his belt and radio, and Brandon realized the camp had emptied into the parking lot. He struggled to remember the names of the two new guys but gave up before he got that far.

  Nathan held out a towel, and Eric placed Brandon’s dripping equipment on it. “Are you sure you’re okay, Brandon?”

  A nod was all the answer he could spare. He was too busy planning the fastest route to the hospital—a thought that shocked him so much his body jerked, forcing him to take a step to the side in order to keep his balance. Paulie steadied him with a hand on his shoulder and then rubbed his arm. Brandon needed to get into some dry clothes but wanted to get to the hospital more.

  Derek broke away from Alex and looked to be heading for the cars in the lot. He appeared uninjured but highly agitated. “Who knows where that hospital is? What did they call it? How far away is it?”

  “Samaritan North,” Brandon answered. He aimed a quick nod at Nathan and took his belt and waterlogged radio. “It’s less than ten minutes away. I’ll drive.” Brandon caught up with Derek, which wasn’t difficult because he’d slowed considerably. Maybe at the thought of riding in the patrol car? “What were you two doing out on the water?”

  Brandon hadn’t intended to bark the question out in full cop voice, but he couldn’t exactly call a do-over. He briefly considered apologizing, but playing on the river in February with a storm in the forecast had been a stupid thing to do.

  “It’s been so warm, even this morning was nice….” Derek shook his head and watched the gravel below his feet for a few steps, then stopped. “It was fucking stupid. I didn’t think it would be so hard. I’ve been on the river before and nothing happened. It was supposed to be fun, an adventure….”

  Paulie caught up to them, hugged Derek, and rested a hand on Brandon’s shoulder. “We can take my car. I know where the hospital is.”

  Brandon didn’t want to relinquish control of the situation any more than he wanted to admit how badly he wanted to get to the hospital, but he didn’t want to make anyone ride in the backseat of his car either. He took a moment to radio in and then joined Paulie and Derek at Paulie’s brown Volvo. Brandon protested when they gave him the shotgun seat, but only for a moment. Anything more would only delay their arrival at the hospital.

  The drive took six minutes, during which Derek barely kept it together. He apologized and berated himself in a nonstop stream that tested Brandon’s patience while propelling him back in time to the day Tim had been hurt. He’d felt the same helplessness and self-loathing Derek battled against, the same guilt. The fact that he’d done so without an audience—for the first day at least—gave him no comfort at all. Was this why he’d kept from forming any romantic attachments since Tim? Had he been so afraid of fate stealing another man from him that he’d cut himself off from even the possibility of getting close to anyone, just to save himself from the potential for being hurt?

  Brandon kept himself from checking Paulie’s speedometer, but it wasn’t easy. They’d wasted enough time already, time Brandon had spent thinking about Kyle limp in his arms, the way he’d groaned in pain and hadn’t once opened his eyes. Brandon also replayed the way Kyle had said his name—Bran. He’d barely heard it, Kyle’s faint voice hardly able to compete with the sounds of the river and the rain. But he had heard it.

  He almost wished he could unring that bell, because whatever emotion he’d heard in that single syllable had gripped his heart and still hadn’t let go—which made it excruciating as he waited for news on Kyle’s condition. Brandon managed not to pace the nearly deserted waiting room. Derek was doing enough of that for all three of them and was still on his feet when a nurse Brandon had gone to school with—Darcy—came out to tell them Kyle had been set up in a room. Bran wondered if anyone else would have told them. He hoped they would. Lincoln City was a liberal town, but things like patient confidentiality laws could test anyone’s idea of “I owe you one” or the bounds of friendship.

  By the time Bran reached Kyle’s room, Paulie and Derek were already at his bedside. They had run ahead, but Brandon had forced himself to walk. Derek apologized, his voice strained and cracking, and couldn’t seem to keep his hands off Kyle.

  “It’s okay, Dare.” Kyle opened his eyes and even managed a fuzzy smile. “I’m okay. They’re making me stay overnight, but nothing’s broken.”

  “I’ll stay with you.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I’ll just be sleeping.”

  Derek dropped his face into his hands and seemed to be having a rough time keeping it together. Kyle’s arm shook as he raised it, and Bran felt a strange constriction in his chest when Kyle massaged Derek’s scalp. Bran remembered the way that gesture had felt—the tingles it had sent shooting throughout his body. He tried to push the memory away, but it wasn’t as easy as it should have been.

  And then Kyle looked past Derek and at him. Bran considered himself lucky he didn’t gasp out loud, because he wanted to. Even though he was battered, bruised, and swollen, the intensity in Kyle’s eyes threatened to overwhelm him. Kyle looked exhausted, his head was bandaged where he’d needed a few stitches, and he was obviously on painkillers that might or might not have been doing the whole job, but he was still a handsome man.

  “Thanks.” Kyle smiled with the right side of his face—the portion that wasn’t swollen beyond the ability to smile—and swept his gaze down Bran’s body. “Are you okay, Bran?”

  A curt nod helped Bran detach. His uniform was still wet, and that helped, but it was mostly the nod—one he’d practiced for years and that had enabled him to regain control at the worst accident scenes because he’d had to. Now he had to again, but for a different reason.

  “Just doing my job. I’m glad you’ll be all right.”

  A brief expression of pain might have crossed Kyle’s face, but it was difficult to know for sure, especially once his eyes fell closed.

  Bran didn’t stick around and risk making things more uncomfortable. He nodded again—a good-bye to Paulie, who saw it, and Derek, who did not—and left the room. Before he reached the end of the corridor, Paulie caught up to him.

  “Let me give you a ride to your place so you can get into some dry clothes.” Paulie squeezed an arm across Bran’s shoulders, then quickly removed it. “And then I’ll take you to pick up your car.”

  “No need.” Bran punched the button to call the elevator, a little harder than he needed to. “I’ll make a call and—”

  “I know you don’t need me to do it, Brandon. But I need to do something. Please let me do this little thing for you.” Paulie looked so earnest, he couldn’
t say no. He found he couldn’t say yes either, so he nodded again.

  Why am I a bobblehead all of a sudden? I’ve fished other people out of the river, and in worse shape, and it didn’t affect me this way.

  Okay, maybe it did.

  Almost.

  They rode the elevator in silence, and as soon as Paulie started the car he turned on the heater. He sent a quick text—presumably to Nathan—and then pulled out of the parking lot. Carefully, like he didn’t want to jostle them too much. Neither spoke until Paulie, stopped at an intersection, asked where he lived.

  “Head northwest, and then right at the light.”

  The Volvo’s heater had warmed Bran through, but he shivered at the idea of Paulie pulling into the parking lot of his apartment complex. Bran had never felt the urgency he’d seen in his peers to nest, to buy a place of his own and settle down. Not until that day. He knew sharing an apartment with two other men wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, but he still couldn’t make himself invite Paulie up. Which, luckily, didn’t seem to be a problem.

  “I want to call the camp and give them a full update on Kyle. Don’t rush—I’m fine out here.” Paulie’s smile was subdued and unreadable, a far cry from his usual ebullient manner.

  Bran wanted to tell him to go on back to Buchanan House and deliver the news in person, but he didn’t have the heart. If anyone understood the desire to repay someone who’d helped them, it was Brandon Smith. He’d reached the end of adolescence feeling as though he owed a debt to half the town, a debt he could never repay. He thanked Paulie and went inside to change.

  By the time he made it back to the station, his shift had technically ended. He stayed another few hours, though, struggling through half the volume of paperwork he should have been able to complete in that time. More than once, he talked himself out of calling the hospital to check on Kyle’s condition. Even if he could say his interest was purely official, that wouldn’t have made it true—wouldn’t have allowed him to keep the emotion that was roiling in his gut out of his voice while he did.