For Mac (2 page)

One Friday evening in early December, the brothers found themselves in a local bar to celebrate Branson’s recent triumph of landing an elusive, and lucrative, account when Branson’s attention was captured by a radiant blond at the front door. The only problem—at least as far as Mac would be concerned—was that the blond happened to also be male.

Mac hadn’t noticed at first. Branson was looking at the guy out of the corner of his eye while still talking to Mac. But the more Branson looked, the more the hunk looked back. They locked eyes, and Branson knew that the gorgeous man was not only gay too, but was also attracted to Bran. Just as the guy started across the room, Mac finally noticed.

“Oh crap,” Mac responded harshly. “Don’t tell me we’re going to have to have
that
conversation again!”

Branson honestly didn’t hear him, so enthralled was he by the approaching blond, who seemed equally enchanted.

“Okay.” Mac grabbed Branson’s arm, threw enough cash on the table to cover the bill and leave a generous tip, and pulled him to his feet. “Time to leave.”

“What?” Branson countered. “Why?”

“We’ll talk in the car!”

Mac’s words left no room for argument, and Branson was used to following his brother’s lead, so he trailed behind him, but was still confused. Mac jumped into the driver’s seat and zoomed off almost before Bran could get his door closed. Mac didn’t bother fastening his seat belt before cutting off oncoming traffic and zooming toward home.

“Buckle your seat belt, Mac,” Branson said as he fastened his own, but Mac wasn’t listening.

“What the hell was that about?” Mac spat out.

“I was hoping you’d tell me,” Branson answered. “You were the one who suddenly insisted we leave.”

“Stop being obtuse. You know what I’m talking about!”

“No, Mac, I really don’t.” Branson couldn’t figure out what his brother was so upset about. He had noticed that Mac saw the interplay between him and the cute guy, but it wasn’t like Branson was going to do anything about it.

“You were about to come in your pants just looking at that guy… a
guy
, Bran! What the hell?”

“That’s what this is about?” Branson couldn’t believe his ears. “I was
not
about to ‘come in my pants,’ as you so eloquently put it. He was attractive. Drop-dead gorgeous, actually. I smiled at him.”

“Yeah, you more than smiled at him.” Mac was more disgusted than Bran had ever seen him. This was the first time Mac had seen him attracted to a real live person, let alone seen that person respond in kind. “You were giving him a look that promised he could fold you over our table and take you right there.”

“God, Mac.” Branson was furious, but embarrassed too. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little?”

“No, I don’t.” Mac was driving faster and faster as he got angrier and was looking toward Bran more than at the road. “I don’t think I’m overreacting, dammit! I didn’t put all this time and effort into you to have you become a fuckin’ faggot!”

“Jeez, Mac, did you ever think
you
have become a fuckin’ bigot?”

“Don’t you dare!” Mac was livid and was driving more and more erratically. “How long has this been going on, Bran?”

“How long has
what
been going on?” Branson was becoming irritated. “Nothing happened! I looked at the guy!”

“Are you a fuckin’ queer, Bran?” Mac was beyond reason.

“Look at the damned road and calm down,” Branson spit out. “We can argue about insane things once we get home.”

“We’re talking about this now, dammit. Have you been sleeping with men, for Christ’s sake, behind my back?”

Branson exploded. “Who I sleep with is my own fuckin’ business, brother.” He spat out the last word, and anger made him bolder than he had ever been. “But if you must know,
no
, I haven’t slept with any man. Not yet anyway. But yeah, if I’d ever have the guts to be true to myself, I’d admit that I’m much more interested in trying
that
than I am in sleeping with any of the women you push my way.” Branson knew he was being uncharacteristically pissy, but Mac’s attitude suddenly really bothered him. “What the hell business is it of yours anyway? You’ve always tried to dictate what I do and who I—”

“There is no way in hell that my brother is going to be a goddamned cock jockey!” Mac wasn’t even pretending to look at the road at this point.

“What I am and who I want to—” Branson stopped when he saw lights barreling toward them on the same side of the road. “Mac, look out!”

Mac whipped the wheel at the last moment but overcompensated, and the car careened over the embankment and rolled down the hill, hitting multiple trees. The last thing Branson saw was Mac’s bloodied body crumpled between the front seat and the dashboard. Then the lights went out.

B
RANSON
SHIFTED
in and out of consciousness for an undetermined amount of time. He saw flashing lights up on the road, heard people talking, asking for his name, but for some reason he couldn’t answer them. He remembered asking for Mac, at least he thought he did. No one answered, though, so maybe he didn’t actually say it out loud. He saw lights on the ceiling strobing by as his gurney was raced through the hospital hallway. He recalled a mask coming closer to his face before he blacked out again.

He recalled nothing else until he woke up in a hospital room with a heart monitor beeping in the background. He instinctively reached toward something covering his mouth and nose but was stopped by a feminine hand.

“Hey now, sugar,” the sweet voice said with a Southern accent. “You need to leave that on.”

He tried to answer that he heard her or to ask her what it was and why he needed to leave it on, but blacked out again before he could do either.

He didn’t know how much later it was before he tried to wake again. His head was much clearer this time, and he knew instantly that the offending mask on his face was oxygen and suddenly knew why the voice had told him to leave it on. He looked around the room, noticed the heart monitor, the oxygen setup, and the IV pole. He also noticed he was alone this time.

It took him a while, but he finally located the nurse’s call button and pressed it, careful of the IV in his left hand. His right arm was sporting a cast, so he couldn’t have used that one if he wanted to. He hurt all over, but the only thing on his mind right now was “Where is Mac?”

He found out that Mac was in intensive care, and visitation would be limited. Even if Branson was up to such a visit, he wouldn’t have been able to stay long. He wanted to see his brother so very badly, but he had to admit that he could barely hold his head up right now. He’d never be able to stand, or sit in a wheelchair, long enough to get to Mac. So he had to settle for a verbal rundown of Mac’s injuries from the doctor for now.

D
R
. P
EARSON
SEEMED
TO
HAVE
A
WHOLE
LAUNDRY
LIST
OF
THINGS
WRONG
WITH
M
AC
. “Your brother sustained numerous injuries in the accident. There are cuts and bruises everywhere, and his cheekbone is fractured. He has broken three ribs, bones in his right arm in three different places and in his left arm in two places, probably from bracing against the steering wheel on impact. I’m told the airbag didn’t go off, and he wasn’t wearing his seat belt. Is that right?”

It seemed like the doctor wasn’t going to continue without Branson answering the question, so he replied, “Mac has an older model car that he rebuilt himself. No airbags. And he was insanely angry, so no seat belt.”

“Unfortunate,” the doctor commented and then went on. “They might have kept him from the worst of his injuries. His skull is fractured in several places, which brings me to the most worrying condition: his head injury. He’s got severe injuries to his brain due to being knocked around in the accident itself, and there are numerous bruised areas as well as some bleeding in his brain. We’ve put in a shunt to drain off excess fluid and try to relieve the pressure, and we will continue to monitor that, but he was also reportedly without oxygen for a fair amount of time. The EMTs informed the ER doctor that Mr. Farrell was not breathing when they first got there. He still had an extremely weak pulse, but no respirations. One of his lungs was collapsed, due to the broken ribs. They reinflated it, then bagged him and provided the much needed oxygen, but there may have been additional brain damage from the lack of oxygen prior to that. To add to the problem, he coded several times on the way in. He also coded several times during surgery. And he’s had several grand mal seizures, and numerous petit mal ones, which prompted us to put him on anticonvulsants. All of this has us pretty concerned about the level of impairment he might suffer… if he wakes up.”

Branson was in shock throughout this monologue, but that last sentence woke him up. “
If
he wakes up?”

The doctor nodded. “Yes, there is a chance that he won’t—a pretty big chance, I’d say—at least not for a while. As I said, there is considerable physical damage to the brain with all the bleeding and bruising, not to mention the possibility of damage due to lack of oxygen. If he does wake up, I wouldn’t expect him to ever be the same. He could, in fact, be in a persistent vegetative state for the rest of his life. Of course, I’ve seen some patients with almost this level of damage wake up and regain a bit of their normal function, but I don’t want to get your hopes up. Those situations are not at all the norm.”

“You don’t know Mac.” Branson grinned, but it was mostly for show. “If anyone can beat this, he can.”

The doctor nodded. “We’ll hope for the best, but you do need to prepare yourself for the worst.”

And with that he was gone, leaving Branson in his hospital room to worry about the brother they wouldn’t let him see. He couldn’t imagine not having Mac in his life.
His
Mac. The person who’d raised him all those years. Not a vegetable, not a brain-damaged facsimile. He wanted
his
Mac. He couldn’t do this without his brother.

Andy

“Y
OU
KNOW
,”
Andy said as he entered Branson’s room, “putting each other as your only emergency contact isn’t really helpful!” He came closer to the bed as he talked. “I wouldn’t have known you were here if Amy didn’t work in the ER. Then I had to come up here and use all my, admittedly considerable, charm to get the nurses to let me peek in on you while you were sleeping and to call me when you woke up.”

Andrew Talbot had married Branson’s best friend, Amy, two years ago, and had instantly become another brother. Three years older than Branson, he filled the niche of confidant and mediator for both the Farrells.

“Thanks for coming, Andy.” Branson held out his nonbroken arm for a handshake but stopped when the IV pulled at the back of his hand.

“Try to keep me out, bro,” Andy joked and sat down beside the bed. “Oh, I called Mac’s business and told the manager what was going on. She said she’d take care of everything and told me to get you to call her if you or Mac needed anything.”

Branson just nodded as he took that in. He hadn’t given a thought to the pizza place. He was glad Andy had, and was grateful to Mac’s staff for being willing to handle things for now.

“Have you seen Mac?” Branson turned the conversation to the more pressing issue.

Andy’s mood instantly changed. “Yeah, Bran, I did.” When he realized Branson wanted more, he continued. “Doesn’t look real good, brother.”

They talked about anything and nothing for a long time, both wanting to avoid the topic of how badly injured Mac was, but finally Branson brought the conversation back around to Mac anyway.

“Andy?” Branson asked tentatively. “Why has Mac always been so homophobic?”

Andy was taken aback at the change of conversation but allowed Branson to continue.

“That’s what caused the crash. He saw me looking at a guy and he went nuts. He was yelling at me, and I guess I was yelling back, and he stopped looking at the road.”

Andy was having a hard time deciding whether or not to tell Branson what he knew. He had been sworn to secrecy, as Mac had confided in him. Finally, however, he decided Bran needed to know all the information possible. Andy decided he’d gladly take any ass reaming Mac wanted to give him; in fact, he was looking forward to it, because Mac would have to wake up and recover to do it.

“How much do you remember about your dad?”

“Huh?” Branson seemed puzzled by the apparent subject change.

Andy went on anyway, “Mac told me about his talk with your dad about the ‘birds and the bees.’ Apparently, the man was adamantly against homosexuals. The ‘talk’ with his fourteen-year-old son included how filthy and sinful simply looking at another man was. He tried to scare Mac into heterosexuality and then would give the kid pictures of women and men in bathing suits. If Mac so much as glanced at the man, your dad would backhand him across the face and preach to him—loudly—about the evils of homosexuality and how he was going to hell for looking at that picture and other crazy stuff in the same vein. He did this every day for weeks, possibly months, Bran. By the time Mac passed the test, or whatever the hell the old man was looking for, Mac was so dead set against anything to do with homosexuality, he was paranoid about it. He refused to dress for PE at school unless he could use the bathroom and lock the stall. He wouldn’t go out for football, even though he had an obvious talent for it, because they smacked each other’s butts, and that was gay, and he didn’t want to burn in hell. He confided that he also didn’t want to have your father beat him up anymore. He never hit him other than for that.”

Branson seemed to be in shock. “Dad thought Mac was gay?”

“I don’t know. According to Mac, he never had any interest in men. Your dad was afraid he would and wanted to make sure he wouldn’t,” Andy answered. “Of course, Mac was so indoctrinated by the time I met him, that might not be the complete truth. For some reason, though, your father thought he needed a heavy hand… literally.”