A red tainted Silence (54 page)

But I had a head start.

I’d only left the house a couple of times since we’d moved in, feeling no need to explore Durango, though I’d promised myself I would as soon as I could. This seemed as good a time as any. I followed the winding street down, past our closest neighbors, and turned onto the street that eventually hit the highway.

At the intersection, I paused to consider what to do and glanced in my rearview mirror -- Mutt was in the Denali behind me. Fine. I headed toward downtown, realizing as I did so that my hands were sweating and my heart was pounding. Fuck fuck fuck. I’d thrown up? Nicholas claimed I’d thrown up, and I didn’t even remember?

Thrown up blood?

That scared me, I admit it, but that didn’t mean I was about to head for the nearest shrink and have him analyze my childhood. Tell me all my problems were because of my

“unnatural” lifestyle or because my dad hated me or my brother had tormented me or some 316

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other shit. No way. All I needed was some relaxation, to take it easy for a few days. The worst was behind us. The detective was taking care of finding our tormentor. I was ... I was ... fine. Fine. I was fine.

Tears streamed down my cheeks. I wiped them away. My stomach burned. I clasped one hand to it, a moan escaping me.

Shit shit shit.

The highway into Durango sliced through a long alley, past small ranchlike estates, restaurants, hotels for the skiers and other tourists. A nice little community that I hoped to get to know better. Eventually, the highway led straight into downtown, which, even during that time of day, bustled with activity. Ski season was well underway, the holidays were approaching, and the area was packed with tourists.

I smiled grimly to myself and glanced in the rearview mirror again. Mutt, the bastard. I approached a yellow light and slowed -- then gunned the engine as it turned red, knowing damn well what a fool I was being as my car leaped ahead, leaving Mutt behind.

Shame for that would come later, too.

I turned down a street and saw the nose of the Denali coming after me. I found a parking lot, pulled in and went to the back, then found a space, parked my car, and got out.

Damn, it was cold, though at least the buildings blocked the wind. I’d seen an Italian restaurant and decided that sounded good. I was actually hungry. Fettuccini Alfredo, perfect.

No one noticed one coatless guy with a broken foot as I hobbled up the sidewalk --

guess in a ski town, broken legs and such weren’t so uncommon. I kept my head down, wishing I had my coat as I headed for the restaurant, expecting by now Mutt had found my car and come after me on foot. I looked over my shoulder, but didn’t see him yet. I accidentally bumped into someone, muttered an apology, then looked up and saw the restaurant’s sign across the street. I waited for traffic and headed across toward the restaurant’s blue door ...

I slowed, stopped. My vision clouded. I blinked. Hot tears ran down my cold cheeks.

My stomach clenched, and I held my hand against it. A horn blared at me. I stumbled backwards, my blood freezing in my veins as I stared at the restaurant --

“Hey, you idiot, get out of the way before you get hit! Damn tourist.” A stranger’s hand fell on my arm, an old man, his blue eyes -- Nick’s eyes -- peering up at me. “Son, you all right?”

My stomach roiled. I pressed a hand to my mouth as my head pounded, my heart thrummed in my ears. The old man with Nick’s eyes pulled on my arm, tugging me toward the blue door, that door ... The world began to spin, my knees gave way, and the pavement rose up to meet me.

I reached for the ground, grateful for its existence. Take me, swallow me, sear away the burn. The shame.

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Arms came around me from behind, holding me up, pinning me tight. I cried out, fought to get away, hysteria punching me in the gut.

“Brandon! It’s me. Cut it out!”

Mutt’s voice. I collapsed, my weight propelling me to the filthy snow at the side of the street. My stomach heaved and I retched; a sea of faces watched in disgust. Mutt yelled at them to get back and leave me alone.

“Oh, sweet Jesus.” The old man, his hands on me, patting me -- Nick’s eyes, watching me, accusing me, “See? Told you! I told you! You’re sick sick sick!”

“Let’s get him over there, to that bench. He’s very sick.”

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” I wailed, then was sick again, feeling a giddy gratefulness that it was over quickly this time. I wiped my hand over my mouth and pulled it away.

Stared at the red.

So why did I find blood on your shirt?

I hadn’t been sick last night. I hadn’t been. I would’ve remembered --

“Brandon?” Tightly controlled anger in Mutt’s voice. “Come on, let me help you. We’ve got to get you out of this street.”

“Is he okay? Bring him inside.” A woman’s voice.

I looked up as the hands hauled me to my feet. “Not in there, no,” I whispered.

“Just help me get him to that bench.”

The sea of faces again, a cold, hard bench. A warm, damp cloth was pressed to my mouth, my stomach clenching over and over again, threatening to erupt. I folded down, covering my head with my arms, like a soldier in a battlefield.

“Isn’t that Brandon Ashwood?” A girl’s voice, fascinated horror.

The old man again. “Where is your car, son? You need to get him out of here.”

“Not far. Can you stay with him while I get it?”

“Of course.”

Then I threw up again.

“Dammit, call 911! Quick!”

I’m sorry. I’m sorry ...

* * * * *

Warmth cloaked me, dripped into my wrist, up my arm. I opened my eyes, staring in fascination at the IV hooked into me. It whirled and twisted, making me dizzy. Was I dreaming? Dreaming I was back in the hospital? I felt loose, strange, removed. I closed my eyes again. Had to be dreaming. I’d left this place already and wasn’t back, no way. I was 318

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home in my bed with Nicholas asleep beside me; we’d just screwed again like rabbits, me on top, him on top, all twisted together this way and that way. Like pretzels.

My stomach hurt.

Sounds echoed in my ears. Hospital sounds, hospital smells. Voices, familiar and not.

“The sedative we gave him might make him confused when he wakes up.”

“How much longer will he be out?”

Nicholas?

“He should be coming to soon. I think he is now.” Nurse Goodall?

I reached out blindly, groping the air. Warm fingers found mine, lifted them, and pressed them against something soft. Nick’s lips. I opened my eyes again, willing the room to not spin. This time it cooperated a little better. His eyes widened and he smiled at me -- a worried, tense smile. His eyes were red. He’d been crying? I pulled my hand from his and cradled his cheek, brushing my thumb over his eyelashes. A tear escaped.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

Nicholas let out a sharp laugh, then took my hand and kissed it again. “You gave us quite a fright.”

Nurse Goodall moved into my line of vision. She reached out and wiped my face with a warm cloth. “You’re in the hospital, Brandon. You were brought here yesterday after you collapsed downtown.”

Collapsed? Yesterday? Then today was ... Monday? Something important about today --

I couldn’t remember. Something about Nicholas.

My face must’ve shown my confusion. “You don’t remember, do you?” Nicholas whispered.

“No.”

“It could be the medication, Nicholas.”

“I want to go home.” I started to shake, my lower lip quivering like a child’s. I couldn’t stop it.

“Brandon, Brandon, don’t,” Nicholas murmured, gathering me close. Louder, he said,

“Is this the drugs, too?”

“Could be. We need to let him go back to sleep now.”

“Can I stay with him?”

“Of course you can. The doctor should be here to discuss the test results with you fairly soon.”

Tests? What tests?

“Can you scoot over a little, Brandon?”

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I couldn’t. I was too weak; my stomach hurt too bad. Strong arms slid under my shoulders and knees and pulled me over. Mutt. Nicholas slid into the bed with me, and I folded against him, cradled in his arms.

“Go to sleep, Brandon.”

I did.

When I woke up, it was dark outside, and in my room only a single light shone. I was alone except for a shape in a chair near the door. I turned my head to try to see who it was.

“Who is that?” I asked.

The figure stood. For a minute my heart beat wildly, but when my guardian drew closer to the light, I realized it was Jeff. Where was Mutt? Why wasn’t Mutt here?

“Hey, boss, how you feeling? I’ll go get Nicholas.”

“Where’s Mutt? Is he with Nicholas?”

Jeff hesitated, then smiled. “Mutt’s gone home to rest. Don’t worry; I have someone with Nicholas.”

Jeff started to turn away, but I grabbed his arm. “What happened, Jeff?” He hesitated again, actually looked ... sorry. He grimaced. “You ran off. I’ll get Nicholas.”

I lay back in the bed, trying to remember. Ran off?

Then it came back to me in a flood. The fight with Nicholas, snatching the keys, driving off like some fool idiot with Mutt on my heels. Standing in the middle of the street for some stupid reason, nearly getting hit by a car. My head hurt. I palmed my forehead, willing the pounding to go away, and cradled my stomach with my other hand.

I’d gotten sick. A lot. Crimson on snow.

I’d run away from Mutt.

Shit.

I took a deep breath as the door opened and Nicholas, followed by a man I didn’t know, walked into the room. Nick’s eyes were dry now as he sat on the bed and took my hand. In fact, he looked downright angry. I recognized the signs; something had worked him up, had stretched his patience thin.

Me.

But when he spoke, his voice was soft. Cautious, even. “Better?” I nodded. “Where’s Mutt?”

The door opened. “Here.”

I sighed in relief as Mutt came just inside the room and leaned against the wall, arms folded across his broad chest. In the half-light I could see his jaw was clenched tight, his 320

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shoulders set. Jeff walked over to him, and Mutt bent his head down to talk. I couldn’t hear what they said.

“So,” Nicholas said, distracting me. “Here you are.”

“What happened, Nicholas? I mean, I remember ...” My voice trailed off. “You’re mad at me.”

“No, I’m not,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

“Yes, you are. I’m sorry for getting sick.”

Nicholas covered his face with his hands and sighed, then dropped them in his lap. I noticed he didn’t exactly reach for me. “I’m not mad about that. Turns out the doctor thinks you have a hiatal hernia, and that’s why you were bleeding when you got sick.”

“A hiatal hernia? What is that exactly?” A physical reason for the blood? Then I wasn’t going nuts?

“The doc explained it to me. Part of your stomach pushes up above your diaphragm or something like that and causes blockage or something. Nurse Goodall will have to explain it better. But sometimes when people have them, and they get sick, they bleed because everything is already all irritated. Something like that.” I sighed. “See? I told you it wasn’t anything in my head. There was a reason I was getting --”

“Brandon!” Nicholas cut me short. “That does not explain why you were throwing up in the first place. That just aggravated the hernia, is all.” I sank back into the pillows, drawing my hands close to my chest.

“Dammit, you could’ve bled to death! Do you have any idea how upset that makes me?

If Mutt hadn’t followed you when you ran away like some childish fool, you could be dead now!”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, turning my head away and squeezing my eyes shut. I couldn’t handle this right now. I shifted onto my side, away from him, and curled my legs up.

Nicholas sighed in exasperation and laid a hand on my hip. “Brandon.” He climbed into the bed in back of me, spooning me like he had before, when it’d been him in the hospital bed with IVs in his arm, the dreaded dick monster shoved up his cock. At least I didn’t have that to deal with.

“Brandon,” he whispered again, nuzzling the back of my neck. “I love you. You know that?”

I nodded.

“But you are driving me crazy with this. This time, will you do what the doctor says?

You skipped your medicine, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

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“No more skipping meds. No more running away. No more refusing to talk to me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to go back to sleep?”

I nodded. I looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost eight o’clock. Then it hit me.

“What’s today?”

Nicholas chuckled against me. “Monday.”

“Your single --”

“Being played on thousands of radio stations across the world right now. Hopefully.” Oh, shit. I turned onto my back so I could see him. “I ruined it for you.” He shrugged. “Well, it’s certainly been the most memorable of new-release days. And no, I didn’t do a single interview. Marisa was pissed.”

“All my fault.”

His eyes twinkled. “Of course it was. But as I told her, you’re my number-one consideration right now.”

I looked at the solemn dark shapes by the door. “I pissed off a lot of people, I guess.

Mutt?”

“What.”

Oh, geesh. “Could you come where I can see you? I want to -- to apologize.” Mutt approached the bed, and I fell silent. His eyes flashed dangerously. Jeff stood behind him, looking over his shoulder. The other bodyguard moved outside the door.

“First, Mr. Ashwood, I have something to say to you,” Mutt said. “And I want you to listen closely.”

I swallowed. “Go ahead.”

“If you won’t cooperate with me, I quit. I’m not being paid to take care of a ... a ...”

“Spoiled brat?” Nicholas interjected.

Mutt nodded. “You make it impossible for me to do my job properly by behaving like that, running off like that. If your actions that I can’t control should end up causing you to get hurt again, I would not forgive myself. Do you understand what I’m saying? I’d rather quit now and be done with you. I don’t want to, but I will.” I looked away, unable to stand this. If I hadn’t already felt like shit, I would now. “I’m sorry, Mutt. I -- I was wrong to run from you. Wrong to put you through that. Please don’t leave me.” I swallowed hard, realizing how much I’d counted on Mutt to be there. Hadn’t I kept looking for him in my rearview mirror, over my shoulder, cussing him for being there, damn grateful he was? “Please,” I said, my voice catching. He still looked as angry as I’d ever seen him, jaw clenched, shoulders set, eyes blazing.