He gave Jaime the numbers and names of some clubs and chatted with him for several more minutes. After the call ended, he pulled off the headset. Noah was on another call, and Brandon checked his cell phone to see if he’d heard from Tash. Nothing. No missed call and no text. His fingers flew over the keyboard to send Tash a message.
Everything ok? Where are you?
It sent but didn’t show as being read, even as Brandon stared at the screen until it swam before his eyes, frustration growing with every passing second.
“Nothing?”
Startled at Noah’s voice, Brandon jumped. “No.” He raked a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t make any sense; Tash is the most conscientious person I know.”
“Yeah.” Usually lighthearted and smiling, Noah’s brow furrowed with concern. “Why don’t you go check on him now? The others will be here soon.”
The sound of footsteps tramping in the hall reached his ears. “There, see? Go on. Let me know.”
“I will. Thanks.” Brandon grabbed his jacket and raced past the people coming in, giving them perfunctory greetings. He had no time for niceties. Not if Tash was in trouble.
Throwing aside cost, he ran down Van Brunt street and hoped for the best in finding a cab. Luck was with him for once as one happened to be discharging its passengers a bit down the block. With the wind cutting through him, Brandon raced toward it, his hand outstretched. He hadn’t even bothered to zip his coat, he realized, as he slid into the back seat and shut the door. The penetrating warmth soaked through him and he shuddered.
“I gotcha. Don’ worry ’bout it.”
Huffing to catch his breath, Brandon nodded. “Love Lane and Henry Street.”
“No problem,” the cabbie said and drove off.
Not ten minutes later, Brandon paid the fare and exited the cab in front of Tash’s pretty carriage house. He raced up the steps and knocked on the door, then rang the bell over and over again. He could hear the chimes reverberating inside, and he made out the unmistakable sounds of the cats meowing loudly, but no voice shushing them to be quiet.
Tash had mentioned in one of their conversations that he left a key outside in case of an emergency, but there was no doormat, and Brandon had no clue where to find it. He descended the steps and began looking in the front garden, picking up various rocks. One felt a bit different than the others, and triumph surged through him as he noticed it was a fake rock with a button on the bottom. He pushed it, and two keys fell into his palm.
Brandon pocketed the rock and took the stairs two at a time back to the front door. He unlocked and opened the door, keeping his body in front so the cats didn’t run through his legs. An eerie silence filled the air, and Brandon wondered if he’d made the right decision to invade Tash’s home without any reason other than his—and Noah’s for that matter—unease when he heard coughing from the living room.
“Who is it? Val?”
Unmistakably, it sounded like Tash, only weak and hoarse. After hesitating a moment, Brandon walked into the living room, greeted by the sight of an unshaven Tash laying on the sofa. His pallor and glittering, feverish eyes left no doubt he was ill.
“Randy?” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “Are you here, or am I hallucinating with fever?”
“No, it’s me. What’s wrong? I mean, I see you’re sick. Why didn’t you let anyone know?”
“My phone died, and I don’t have the strength to climb the stairs to get the charger. The only thing I’ve managed to do for the past day is feed the cats.” His weak laugh led to another bout of coughing.
“Don’t you need medicine? You’re a doctor. Here.” Brandon pulled out his cell phone. “Call the pharmacy and get a prescription. I’ll pick it up for you.”
He handed his phone to Tash, but he was too weak to hold it himself. Brandon curved his palm around Tash’s and held his slightly trembling hand while he called in the prescription. As if that simple effort expended all his remaining energy, Tash fell back onto the sofa pillows with a groan.
“I feel like shit.”
“You look like it too. We were worried when you didn’t show up today, and neither Noah nor I could reach you. Oh, damn. Let me tell Noah you’re not dead. He was concerned.” He pulled out his phone and sent Noah a quick text.
A wry smile touched Tash’s lips for a second. “I’ve been doing nothing but sleeping on and off for the past two days. I totally forgot it was Sunday today.” His expression softened. “Thank you for coming to check on me. I’ll be okay. You found the key I left outside?”
Brandon nodded. “You shouldn’t be alone; you could get pneumonia. When did you last eat anything?” Brandon surveyed the coffee table which had nothing but a tissue box and a bottle of aspirin on top of it. “I make a mean chicken soup.”
Tash gazed back at him with a sober expression. “Don’t be silly. You have better things to do than play nursemaid to me. I’ll be okay.” His voice caught, and he began that throaty cough again, leaving him sweating and gasping for air.
“I know you will. Because I’m going to stay and make sure. I have nothing to do that’s more important.”
Their eyes met, and Brandon managed to keep his expression steely and hard until he saw the surrender in Tash’s gaze.
“Fine. I’m sure once I get the medicine, I’ll be better—most likely by tomorrow.”
He took off his jacket and tossed it onto the club chair. “Do I need to go shopping? Is it okay if I look in your fridge?”
“Have at it.” Tash waved a hand but didn’t make an attempt to get up.
Brandon walked into the kitchen, the two cats running back and forth. When he pulled open the refrigerator door, Brandon winced at the sorry sight inside. Tash’s refrigerator was almost as bad as his own. He made a mental list of everything he needed and headed back to the living room, but not before checking the cats’ dishes to make sure they had, in fact, been fed, and Tash wasn’t dreaming.
“When I go to pick up your medicine, I’ll pick up some stuff at the supermarket and make you chicken soup.”
“Who knew you were such a chef?” His eyes remained closed, but he smiled and Brandon was able to study his face, wincing at the dark circles under his eyes.
“I’m going to go now. Why don’t you try and get some sleep? Do you want me to get you your cell phone charger? I will if you tell me where it is.”
Without opening his eyes, Tash responded. “Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind. It’s upstairs next to my bed. Second door on the left.”
“Sure.” Brandon took the stairs to the second level and entered Tash’s room. It was so personal to enter someone’s bedroom without them being present. He spotted the cord next to the huge king-sized bed and rapidly scanned the room, eyeing the fireplace and the mantel with more family pictures. It was a beautiful, cozy retreat. Brandon sighed and left, shutting the door quietly behind him.
“Here. I can plug it in for you.” Brandon plugged it into the charging hub on the table next to the sofa. “I’m going to run out now and get everything. Just rest and I’ll be back in a little while.”
Tash nodded, his eyelids fluttering with fatigue.
As promised, Brandon sped through the supermarket and picked up Tash’s prescription, making it back to Tash’s within an hour. Entering the carriage house, he spied Tash, now sleeping in the same position, the two cats lying beside him like sentinels. What would it be like to come home to this every day? Brandon walked into the kitchen to start cooking. He wondered why a man like Tash, one of the nicest people he’d met, and successful, wasn’t with someone. He never even mentioned dating.
Bemused, he set the bags down on the marble countertop and quietly, so not to disturb Tash, took out a big pot he found and proceeded to heat the water, then set about chopping the vegetables while waiting for the water to boil. When that commenced, he slid the chicken into the pot and turned the flame down to a simmer. He’d learned to cook as a young teenager while his foster mother was gone at her innumera
ble church meetings. He’d found it soothing and a way to forget about his problems, even if only for a little while, but living alone for so long meant he rarely had a chance to indulge.
Once everything was in the pot, he went back out to the living room and stretched out in the club chair and picked up a magazine. To his surprise, Tash opened his eyes.
“Hi.”
“Oh. I thought you were asleep.”
“I was, then I started to smell something wonderful.” Stretching, he arched his back. “God that feels good.”
“That’s the chicken soup. Here, I have the medicine.” He jumped out of his chair, fished the bag from his pocket, and got Tash a glass of water. Brandon handed the pill to Tash and helped him hold the glass while he took a sip. Their fingers brushed, and Brandon’s face heated at the warm sparks of gold in Tash’s eyes.
“Um. How do you feel?”
“Like shit. I hope the meds kick in; I have a busy week ahead.”
“Uh, I don’t think so, doctor. You’re going to need to stay in bed for at least another few days. It’s cold as hell out there, and you need the time to recover after you start feeling better.”
“Listen. My mother lives in Florida; I don’t need another one.” Tash joked as he struggled to sit up. Brandon helped him by propping the pillow behind him. “And if you’re volunteering to be my nurse, you could try dressing up in a cute outfit. That might make me feel better.”
“Obviously, your illness has made you delirious.” Brandon tucked the throw around Tash so his chest wouldn’t be exposed. “The soup will be finished in about an hour.”
“Sounds good.” Tash coughed again and Brandon wondered how he would be able to leave him alone that night and the next day as well. “Seriously. Thanks for stopping by. I appreciate you caring enough.”
The sweet, sad smile tore at Brandon’s heart.
“Of course, I care. You’re my friend.” And Brandon realized it was true. For the first time, he had a real friend. Over the past few weeks, between spending time with him at the Center and sharing his vision for the mentoring program, which Tash not only encouraged but insisted upon, Brandon had grown to look forward to their daily conversations and Sundays spent at the call center.
“How about I make some tea?”
At Tash’s nod, Brandon went into the kitchen and put the kettle up to boil. He rummaged around and found a large selection of herbal tea bags.
“What kind do you want?” he called out. “You have a million varieties.”
“I don’t care; surprise me.”
At Tash’s voice, right over his shoulder, Brandon almost jumped out of his skin. “Oh, shit. You scared me. What are you doing up?”
“I have to pee.” Tash shuffled past him toward the powder room next to the kitchen.
Brandon watched him sway on his feet and stop to brace himself on the counter. Immediately, Brandon turned down the boiling water and raced over to Tash’s side to slip a bracing arm around his shoulder.
“Here. Lean on me.”
“I can do it.”
Tash tried to shake him off, but Brandon held firm.
“Don’t be stupid. It’s not showing weakness. You’re sick. Let me help you.”
With Tash leaning heavily on his shoulder, Brandon walked him to the powder room then returned to the stove to make Tash his tea. He heard the water running, and after about five minutes, Tash reappeared, face freshly washed, his eyes clearer, and he seemed somewhat less tired and worn out.
“Feeling better?” Pointing to the mug of tea, Brandon kept his voice neutral. “I made you a cup of tea. Be careful. It’s still hot.”
His bare feet made no sound on the tile floor as he walked to the large table and sat heavily in the wooden chair. “Thanks. I’m sorry I snapped at you before. You’ve been really great to me, and I was stupid. I’ve been by myself so long I forgot how to act.”
Curious as to Tash’s past, Brandon didn’t feel like spoiling the moment to question him about it. “Don’t worry. Are you feeling better?”
Cradling the cup in his hands, he took a sip before answering. “A bit. At least my head is spinning less.”
Brandon liked Tash’s kitchen with the wide counters and gleaming oak table. The chairs had pin-tucked cushions in a brightly checked yellow-and-blue pattern tied to the back with matching placemats at each setting on the tabletop. A basket filled with eucalyptus rested in the center and was the source of the fresh scent perfuming the air.
“If you feel like a nap, I can wait on the soup. The longer it sits, the better it tastes.”
“No, God. I’ve been doing nothing for two days but sleeping. My brain is so fuzzy I feel like I have a sock over my head.” His eyes shone with appreciation. “Besides, it smells so damn good in here I can’t wait to have it.”
Brandon lifted the lid on the pot and stirred the soup then dipped in a spoon to taste.
“It’s done. Let it cool a bit and then I’ll give you a bowl. Do you like carrots and celery in it?”
“Anything. I haven’t eaten since…” He hesitated for a moment to think. “Huh. I can’t remember. Well, I’m hungry. So that’s a good sign.”
“Yep. Where are your soup bowls?”
Tash pointed to a glass-front cabinet over the counter with the coffeemaker on it. “Over there. Take one for yourself, too. I’m not eating alone.”
“I’m not too hungry.” That was a lie; he’d had nothing since the bagel in the morning at the Clinic, but he wanted the soup for Tash. “I’ll take a little, though.”
He ladled the fragrant soup with its carrots and celery into the deep bowls and set them on the table. While Brandon went to get the spoons, Tash pushed one bowl in front of him and took the other for himself. It occurred to Brandon when he returned to join Tash: this was as close to companionship as he’d had in his whole life. Anxiously, he awaited Tash’s opinion on the soup.
“Delicious,” said Tash and he took another bigger spoonful. “Wow. You’re hired. You can cook for me every day.”
I wouldn’t mind. I wouldn’t mind being here all the time.
The unbidden thought popped into his head, shocking Brandon. He finished his soup in silence, and when Tash’s bowl was empty, he took their dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Brandon poured the soup into two containers he noticed in the cabinet then put them in the refrigerator and re-joined Tash at the table. The mellow overhead light spilled golden on Tash’s hair and glinted off his glasses, but Brandon also noticed the deep lines of fatigue etched in Tash’s face and the sleepy look in his eyes.
“How about if I take you upstairs and put you to bed?”
Tash blinked, sleepy-eyed, his body slumped in the chair. “Hmm? Yeah, sure. I gotta take my meds later on. You’ll wake me up, right?”
Startled, Brandon thought for a moment. He hadn’t planned on staying; he didn’t have his clothes or anything for work, but he could make a trip to his studio and back while Tash slept. For at least one night, he could pretend to be a part of this special man’s life.
“Sure. I’d be happy to.”
With Brandon holding Tash around his waist, they slowly made it up the stairs. He forced himself to ignore the solid muscles pressed against him or the way his body aligned perfectly with Tash’s. When they approached the door, Tash turned around and faced Brandon, who at an inch or so shorter, had to tilt his head up to look into his face.
“Thank you for caring. I don’t know why you do, but thank you.”
Tash bent down and kissed his cheek, the palm of his hand sliding around to the nape of Brandon’s neck to hold him close. And for once, Brandon didn’t pull away. Standing there in that hallway with Tash, safe and warm in his arms, Brandon had no desire to ever leave him.
Chapter Eight
It took Tash over a week to kick his cold, and though he hated being sick, there had been one bright spot: having Randy stay with him. One day had merged into two, and before he knew it, Randy had spent almost a whole
week, and he had to admit, it felt good to have another person with him. It helped when the person was kind, sweetly generous, and gorgeous.
There was no misunderstanding on his part; Tash knew Randy was staying with him while he recuperated as a sort of payback for Tash introducing him to the help line and the Clinic in general. But for a little while, Tash allowed himself the fantasy of having a lover like Randy, and it enabled him to sleep better at night than he had in years.
On Friday he thought about going back to the Clinic and had texted Noah, who responded immediately.
NO. Stay home. It’s cold and you could use the rest.
He laughed to himself.
Yes, mother.
He hadn’t told anyone Randy stayed with him this past week; it had become their own personal little refuge from the world. After his work at school had finished for the day, Randy would make dinner, then they’d talk about Tash’s program and maybe watch a movie until Tash couldn’t stay awake any longer, and he’d drag himself off to bed. Randy slept in one of the spare bedrooms down the hall from him and couldn’t know how every evening Tash wanted to invite him into his own bed and hold him all night long.
Coming down the steps, Tash stood and surveyed Randy, standing by the stove, a glass of wine in hand, making them dinner. A painful throb rose in his chest for what he once had and could never have again.
If only this could be real.
Scolding himself for that ridiculous wish, Tash forced a smile on his lips and descended the last two steps.
“Good afternoon, or should I say evening? I don’t think I’ve slept as much in years as I have this past week.”
Looking up from the stove, Randy waved his spatula. “Hi. Yeah, you were sleeping like the dead, so I didn’t want to wake you. I went out, got the newspaper and some fresh juice for you. I’m making an early dinner; pasta with chicken and vegetables. I figured you missed lunch so you wouldn’t mind. Is that okay?”
Almost choking on his laughter, Tash joined Randy at the stove and gave an appreciative sniff. “Is that okay? You’re asking a man who subsists on milk with a past-due expiration date and cheese that waves hello when you open the fridge. This?” He pointed to the pan. “This is paradise.”
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