CARTER'S SHADOW
Chapter 28 - By Christopher Patrick Lydon
West opened his eyes, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling,
the fluorescent lights over his head. The smell of bleach and industrial cleaner
tickled his nose as he lay there, feeling the coarse sheets, and that was
when the pain returned.
He ached, everywhere. He felt like he had gone ten rounds with
a Mack truck and had lost; he couldn't even manage to lift his head, only
continue to lay there, feeling the cool air of the air-conditioned hospital
room blow over him gently as he mustered his strength.
He started with his toes--they moved, which was a good sign
in his opinion; his ankle rolled-again, this was progress. But he didn't have
the strength to lift his leg, his fingers could move, barely, but the second
he tried his arm, he let out a gasp as pain shot up the entire right side
of his body.
"You should lie still," the nurse admonished, as she
fiddled with the bandages wrapped around his head to make him feel more comfortable.
He hadn't been able to turn his head fully to see her standing there, but
he smiled up at her as best he could.
"Where am I?" he croaked, his voice dry and cracked.
"You're at the hospital," the nurse said, pouring
him a glass of water. "Your parents are here in the next room talking
to the police, and the man that brought you here is in the waiting room.
West would have nodded, but that would have hurt; he just chose
to offer her a weak smile of thanks as she helped him to take a drink. The
cooling water soothed its way down and he had never appreciated a simple drink
of water the way he did that one.
He sank back to the pillow again as his eyes drooped a little.
When he opened them again, his parents were standing over him.
His mother was tightly pressed up against his father, drawing strength from
him, worry etched across her beautiful face. His father had a stony expression
on his face, but his eyes showed the relief that West was awake.
"Oh thank god!" his mother sniffed, breaking away
from her husband to grasp West's hand, and West held back from whimpering
as the pain lanced up his arm from the movement. His mother needed this simple
gesture.
"Martha," West's father said, taking her arm and gently
making her let go of her son's hand, "his ribs." He nodded to West.
West smiled upwards in thanks as the pain subsided back to a
dull ache. And he swallowed back the lump in his throat as he blinked. "Wh-hat
happened?" he murmured.
"The police are outside, they're going to have to ask you
that," West's father continued, an edge to his voice. "You're going
to have to do your best to remember and tell them."
West nodded a little, feeling so much like a little boy--helpless.
The shock of what had happened to him still lingered with him, the memory
of... he swallowed and nodded firmly. "Y-yes," he stammered.
There was a quiet settling over them, his mother still looking
as though she blamed herself, and all West wanted to do was to wrap his arms
around her and tell her it wasn't her fault, it was his fault, his fault for
being different, his fault for...
He stopped; his fault? Anger seeped through the guilt; his fault?
Why the hell was it his fault? Just because he was gay, and that was his fault.
That he was in a hospital bed because they couldn't accept it? That was his
fault?
He seethed, his hands balling up into fists as he lay there,
staring up into his father's eyes, trying to deal with the waves of anger
that were flowing through him. His father just stood there and nodded, glancing
at his wife, before looking back at his son. His eyes saying what he couldn't
out loud--I know.
The police officers came, a friendly sergeant who seemed sympathetic,
continually looking at her partner to ensure he was taking the full statement
as they listened carefully to West describing what had happened to him. At
the end of it she gave him a serious look, "You are pressing charges,
right?"
West hesitated.
The sergeant caught this and shook her head; "The only
way to stop this from happening to someone else is to press charges."
She looked firm, "You have the power to stop this from ever happening
again, and that's to make it clear that they can't get away with it."
West closed his eyes. "It was a fight..." he said
hesitantly.
"A fight," the sergeant said folding her arms, "is
one-on-one. Five-on-one, I call that assault."
West nodded; he wanted to sit up, a little voice inside him
still defiantly stating that they hadn't beaten him, not as long as he could
stand. He was angry and he could feel it, but did he really want to...
Then he thought of Peter, little Peter facing down five guys.
"I'm pressing charges," he said firmly, his old strength
filling his voice as he winced, sitting upright in bed. His mother made to
fuss over him, but her husband held her back, shaking his head for her to
let the boy be.
The sergeant nodded, "Good, you're doing the right thing."
"Yeah," West nodded, "I know."
* * *
West should have been resting, but he didn't feel much like
sleeping, laying there gingerly prodding the bandage with the stitches on
his forehead. He'd been lucky, really lucky. His ribs hurt like hell, and
his arms were bruised, and it had taken ten stitches to close the cut on his
head, but it could have been far worse.
He coughed and winced again at the pain, looking up as a knock
came at the door, and Coach Highmore leaned his head around the door.
"Can I come in?" he asked, keeping his voice low,
his blue eyes sparkling.
West nodded; his parents were off getting something to eat,
and West was steadily growing bored--he could use the company.
He smiled as Highmore ambled into the room; hands into his slacks,
looking calm and relaxed as ever. Nothing seemed to bother the man, he always
seemed to treat life as inevitable and just accepted it with a calm nod. West
guessed that was what made Highmore such a good coach: he never had to raise
his voice, as he just earned respect naturally.
West's eyes drew to the bloody handprint on the front of Highmore's
white shirt, and West realized with a start that it was his own blood. He
stared at it in shock, a stark splash of colour darkened now to a dull brown
as the blood had dried.
"How are you doing?" Highmore asked, sitting on the
end of West's bed and looking at him sympathetically.
"I've felt better, Coach," West admitted.
"Andy," Highmore corrected, "my friends call
me Andy."
West nodded, "Andy."
Andrew nodded, "I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner..."
"It's not your fault," West said, shaking his head.
"It's not yours, either," Andrew said, meeting West's
eyes. Recognizing something there he took West's hand and squeezed it reassuringly,
"You can't blame yourself, you've done nothing wrong."
West glanced away. "I know," he said, closing his
eyes and taking a ragged breath, "I..."
"Yeah," Andrew said knowingly.
"Did you...ever have these problems?" West asked,
opening his eyes and looking up at Andrew.
Highmore smiled; all things considered there was nothing really
stopping him from talking to West openly. "I had a few problems,"
he said, "but my boyfriend had the most; they realized they couldn't
really pick on me and went after him."
"Mister Carter," West assumed.
"Will, yeah." Andrew looked up towards the waiting
room, where Will was no doubt still trying to wangle a decent cup of coffee
from the machine. "But he was a fighter, like you. Decked Todd Gadreau..."
"The bouncer at 'phods?" West asked.
"That's the one," Andrew nodded.
West blinked, Will was a thin scruffy-looking guy, hardly the
type capable of decking the huge bouncer that stood dutiful guard over the
bar on a Friday night.
"Yeah," Andrew nodded, "though getting him to
stop rolling up his sleeves every time someone pisses him off ..." Andrew
chuckled fondly, shaking his head, "So you're pressing charges, right?"
West nodded his head, "Yeah."
"Good," Andrew said, "that's the responsible
thing to do; at least they can't hurt anyone else now."
"But they're all on the team..." West said, looking
down at his hand still in Andrew's and feeling the bond between the men who
had shared similar experiences.
"Not any more," Andrew said shrugging. "Thorburn's
going to have a fit, but we can't keep them on the team when they've done
this."
"That's an entire line," West insisted, struggling
to sit up, and groaning again feeling the pain in his side.
"An entire line and one team captain," Highmore said.
"Needless to say that's probably the end of our season, but that's not
your problem, you just need to get better and let me worry about the team."
West nodded, falling back to his pillows, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Andrew said, shaking his head again and
smiling at West. "You've done the right thing, the responsible thing.
Don't let anyone tell you differently."
"Thanks," West nodded.
* * *
"Must be nice." Mel's voice woke him up from the light
sleep he was in, and he opened his eyes to look up at her sitting on the edge
of his bed picking at a bowl of Jell-O that he hadn't touched at supper.
"What?" West asked, shifting to get comfortable.
"Spending a day in bed. You skipped out on Mrs. Therriault's
test," Mel said, suggestively sucking on the spoon before she stopped
and drew it out of her mouth slowly.
"I should get beaten up more often," West remarked
dryly.
"Nah, next time they might harm that pretty face of yours,"
Mel dipped the spoon into the pudding again. "Do you think the food's
this bad on purpose? You know, so bad you have to get well just to avoid having
to eat it?"
"Like airline chicken?" West asked.
"No, that stuff is designed to keep you in hospital,"
Mel smirked. "So, I heard you beat up five people, tough guy."
"No, I was beaten up by five people," West corrected.
"Yeah?" Mel grinned. "You should have seen them,
black eyes, cuts..." she shook her head. "Even that pretty boy Jensen
was sporting this big black eye," she held her hands apart.
"Cool," West said, looking at his rapidly disappearing
dessert in amusement. "What are you doing here?"
"Visiting you, what do you think?" she asked smiling.
"I work downtown, this was on my way home, so I figured, sneak in after
visiting hours and keep you company. All it took was me flashing my breasts
to the security guard and he let me right in..."
West choked, "You're joking..."
Mel smiled a toothy grin, which was to say she wasn't going
to confirm or deny anything.
"You're here to keep me company, then?" he asked.
She shifted around. "Budge over," she said, stretching
out on the bed beside him as she looked up at the ceiling. "Wow, this
is boring."
West stared at the tile she was looking at. "It has one
thousand two hundred dots," he said with a nod.
She glanced at him, "Cool." Her eyes travelled down
over his gown-covered chest to the sheets, "So this is what it takes
to get the infamous West Harding into bed; I should pass this info on to Jenny-Lynn."
"Not that it would do her much good," West replied,
"I'm a bit too tender."
"I'm sure if we get little Peter "pumpkin eater"
in here you wouldn't feel so sore," Mel gave a roguish grin.
"Not you as well," West groaned.
"It's the blond mushroom-cut hairdo--he looks like a choir
boy," Mel nodded. "Or the freckles on his nose..." She looked
up at the ceiling tile, grinned then looked back at West, "How many on
his nose?"
West folded his arms, "I don't know."
"You know how many dots are on a hospital ceiling tile,
yet you don't know how many freckles are on the nose of the boy you are so
obviously in love with..."
"I'm not in love with him," West said laughing at
her.
"Oh come on, you follow him around like a lost puppy."
She shook her head, "You know, I have dated most of the hockey team from
this year, and most of last year's as well. I know when a hockey player's
in love, you all get this whole macho, I'm-not-in-love attitude, till the
person walks by, and then your jaws hit the floor and you go all doe-eyed."
Mel nodded, her earrings rattling, "So how many freckles."
West sighed. "Twenty three, and they're faint," he
commented.
"Right," she said with a nod. "So, you know he
likes you too, right?"
West blew out a long sigh, "Nope, we argue and fight all
the time."
"The most passionate relationships are the ones where you're
always fighting," Mel shook her head. "Have you never read a good
romance novel? Jackie Collins special?" She rolled her eyes, "Dumb
jock."
"Bitch," West grinned.
"Yeah," she agreed. "So, dopey little Peter,
huh?"
West blushed a little, "I don't know, I like him I guess..."
"The vacant dreamy look in his eyes, the fact he's oblivious
to nine-tenths of what goes on around him, and he gets freaked out by his
own shadow..." Mel nodded, "... the guy that probably weighs a hundred
pounds, wet." She shook her head.
"Hey," West said turning his head slightly, "he's
okay, he's got this small chin, and this little nose, blue-blue eyes and he
kisses..."
"Yeah?" Mel asked leaning up on an elbow. "How's
he kiss?"
"It's amazing; he opens his mouth and he explores, a deep
and full kiss...he's not shy at all when he's doing it." West sighed
again, "Wow, I do like him."
"Whiney, insecure and probably bi-polar, what's not to
like?" Mel grinned.
"It's not me liking him that's the problem," West
said, scratching at his bandage, "it's..."
The door opened and a nurse stood there, her hands on her hips.
"Visiting hours are over!" she said firmly. "Are you a family
member?"
"I'm his wife," Mel said, sitting up in the bed and
meeting the nurse's gaze evenly, "and unless you plan to throw me out
of here, I'm staying at my husband's side!"
"Oh," the nurse said uncertainly, "I'm sorry,
Mrs. Harding, I wasn't aware Wesley was married."
"It's West," Mel corrected, "and yes he is, happily
married for a week now; now if you don't mind, my hubby bubby needs a sponge
bath!"
West coughed, "Er?"
"I'll go get..." the nurse began.
"No you won't," Mel warned. "No one touches my
hubby bubby but me, clear?"
"Yes, Mrs Harding," the nurse said apologetically.
"I'll leave you two alone."
Once the door was closed West looked up at Mel, "Hubby
bubby?"
"Yeah, you have that hubby bubby look about you."
She settled back down on the bed, "Now you were telling me all about
Peter."
"Are you sure it's a good idea for me to be discussing
a potential gay lover with my wife?" West joked.
"Absolutely," Mel said. "I think it's kinky.
You wait till I get one of the nurses to give me a sponge bath."
"You're as bad as Matt," West grinned.
"No, he's desperate, I'm just a slut," she nodded,
as she settled in again to ease West's boredom.
