Tipping the Balance (46 page)

“For what?” Brad demanded. It was time to shut this down for keeps.

“What d’you mean, for what?” Pete demanded.

This guy’s homophobia was off the charts, even Brad could tell that. “Exactly what I said. So far as anything
official
is concerned, Nick Bedford’s in the clear. There literally is not a case here that you can support, and you can’t fire people at CalPac for being gay, unless you want the school breathing down your neck, that is.”

At Rancilman’s shocked look, Brad shook his head. “So in addition to not checking with the crews about Coach Bedford, I’m guessing you haven’t looked at the policy and procedures manual for a while? Honestly, if this is how I’d done my homework, I’d never have graduated. I had to go into all of this before the school would even let me be a part-time assistant coach. If you try to fire Nick without an official reason, that school may well drop the crew.”

“That damned school sure puts the
liberal
in liberal arts,” Pete snapped.

“Liberality has nothing to do with it. It’s basic personnel management,” Prissy declared, sparing a wink for Brad. “To say nothing of fairness.”

“Given all that, we’ve spent enough time on this,” Steve declared. “I move we drop this until such time as either the school finds that Coach Bedford did anything wrong, or we hear from one of the regulatory bodies. We’ve got other, more important things to deal with, like the urgent need for a bigger boathouse. That’s going to cost a fortune and….”

Brad pretended to listen, but his mind was on other things.

This did affect him. Between the word in the locker room and Rancilman’s witch hunt, Brad knew he couldn’t hide forever. He might not be marching in any parades, but he was gay, and it was time he admitted that without shame, even if only to himself. It didn’t make him queasy like it had, and that helped.

Besides, hiding meant no Drew, apparently, and that…. He just couldn’t go there right then. He pulled his attention back to the meeting, even though he longed to be anywhere but there, anywhere Drew was.

Brad
drove home, taking the longest, least direct route he could devise. Slow pokes? Not a problem. He was thinking. He did his best thinking behind the wheel. Some men were toilet men. They only thought on the can. He thought while he drove.

Something had snuck up on him in that meeting. He realized he would have to be out if people were going to go after his friends just because they were gay. That was the job of the big lugs of the world—to be out there in front to protect their friends.

He coached because he missed crew, not because it was his career. If the committee fired him, it was no big deal. If Rancilman wouldn’t let this issue die after tonight, Brad would tell him point blank he was gay just to see the reaction.

He might not be entirely comfortable with his sexuality, but homophobia was definitely a problem he faced. He recognized that now.

Brad figured out something else there in the dark. He’d let Drew down, and not just with the dancing thing. Morgan had been right. What he did and liked in bed didn’t change who he was.

And what he’d done in bed—or over a sawbuck—he’d kind of liked it. It felt weird at first having another man’s dick between his legs, but he’d sure come and come hard. All those intense physical experiences with Drew, to say nothing of the emotional ones, had been telling him one thing: “Get over it.”

But he hadn’t heard from Drew all day, and it was killing him. Drew’d been pretty pissed when he’d left Brad to lock up his house, but he’d also said the next step was Brad’s. So at a stoplight, he hit Drew’s mobile number, since he had his douchetooth headset in. He hated it, but it was easier than a ticket for driving and talking, and he knew that sooner or later the cops would crack down on the scofflaws.

“Hey, babe, it’s me. It’s Tuesday night,” he said when it went to voice mail. “I’m… I’m really sorry. You were right. About a lot of things. I miss you. I just got out of one of those jack-off alumni oversight meetings, and that asshole’s still after Nick. I could use your advice…,” he trailed off lamely when he realized he was babbling. “Anyway, I miss you. Wait, I already said that. I hope you’ll call me.”

Brad felt about as low as he could after disconnecting the call. Drew must really be mad.

When Wednesday passed without a call back, Brad grew more worried and even depressed. When he checked with security at the job site, they told him no one had seen Drew. Bob Miller did tell him, however, that someone from Drew’s real estate office had come by looking for him.

Scared, he bit the bullet and drove to Drew’s house, but it was as dark as when he’d left it, newspapers littering the driveway. He left the papers stacked neatly by the front door behind a planter so it wouldn’t be quite so obvious that no one was apparently home.

It was late the night before Thanksgiving, but Brad didn’t have a whole lot to be thankful for. Tomorrow promised to be an ordeal, a sullen meal and pretending to be a happy family, since Randall only demanded the appearance of a functional family.

Brad left a message for Nick before he left Drew’s house. Maybe they’d all gone to Morgan’s parents’ for the holiday?

But first thing Friday morning, when other people were hitting the sales, if he hadn’t heard from Nick, he was hunting him down. It was time for answers.

Nick
and Morgan trudged back to the ICU the day after Thanksgiving. Nick hadn’t been feeling very thankful, but as Mrs. Estrada had pointed out, Drew was alive and slowly improving. That should be reason enough.

“Don’t push this ‘brother from another mother’ thing too far,” the ICU nurse had cautioned them that first night. Fortunately, Jerry Fortier was an ex of Drew’s and knew and liked Nick. He’d spoken in the hushed tones that seemed part of the standard protocol in the ICU. “You’re in here because I know you and because you’re the first person on the ICE list in Drew’s wallet. Just be glad he had that much, because his cell phone was apparently broken during the assault. Legally, until or unless we can track down any advanced directives naming you, that’s worth less than a bucket of warm spit. Him,” he’d said, indicating Morgan with a wink, “I don’t know from Adam.”

But then Drew’s parents had arrived the next morning and told the hospital staff in no uncertain terms that Nick and his boyfriend were to be admitted to their son’s presence, if only, as the dramatic Claire St. Charles had said, “Because that’s what Drew would want, and woe betide the man who makes his best friend sit in the waiting room.”

“Trust me, it’s not worth the racket,” Drew’s father, Edward, had told the attending physician.

“What’s his condition this morning?” Morgan asked. He leaned over the desk and set a large latte down next to Jerry.

“Thanks, sweetie. Unchanged from last night,” Jerry told them, looking up from the terminal where he was synching vital information from a tablet computer to a patient’s file in the hospital’s main computer. “He’s stable, but until he wakes up, we won’t know how bad the head trauma is. The swelling in his brain’s almost gone, and that’s always a good sign. You’re clear to go in.”

“Thanks, Jerry. Drew’s parents should be here soon,” Nick said.

Jerry’s eyes went back to his work. “One at a time, though. Morgan can stay out here and flirt with me.”

“Go on in, Nick. I think I’ll be safe enough. Nurse Ratched talks a good line, but we both know that’s all it is,” Morgan said.

“That might be funny if I hadn’t heard it, oh I don’t know, a billion times already in my young career,” Jerry said dryly.

Morgan smiled. “You just bring it out in all of us.”

“I’ll bring it out, all right. A great big paddle to whoop your lily ass. Now get in there, Nick. I’ve got work to do if this child you snatched from the cradle will let me get to it,” Jerry harrumphed good-naturedly.

Morgan laughed softly as he sat down to wait. It was good to hear him laugh, Nick thought. They hadn’t had much to laugh about in the last few days. Morgan had been even more upset than he at seeing Drew’s crumpled body on the cold pavement outside Aspects. He sometimes forgot about the years separating them. It wasn’t that he wasn’t shaken, but those seven years between them tempered him a little.

He pushed aside the curtain from Drew’s bay and stepped inside. The barely audible hiss of the oxygen flow and the louder beep of the monitors faded to a background buzz as Nick focused entirely on the form on the bed.

Nick still cringed seeing Drew like that. In its own way, it was every bit as shocking as the immediate aftermath of the assault. He pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down and held Drew’s uninjured hand, despite the restraints meant to keep him from worrying at the breathing tube. He was careful not to disturb the IV and set the monitors to screaming.

“Wake up, you drama queen. You’ve scared us all more than enough,” Nick whispered, more to himself than anything. He couldn’t tell sleeping from the coma Drew’d been in after surgery in the wee hours of that first terrible day after the beating.

Then Nick stared at Drew. He must’ve imagined it. But no, he saw movement. Drew opened his eyes.

“Unh,” Drew whispered. He tried to move his hand but the restraints did their work well.

Nick stood so fast the chair flew back and clattered to the floor. “Jerry!”

He grabbed his best friend in his arms, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Thank God!”

“Out of the way!” Jerry commanded, shoving Nick aside.

He didn’t mind. He joined Morgan outside the bay, hovering as people came running, a doctor and another nurse from elsewhere in the ICU. Then he thought of something.

“We need to call Drew’s parents,” Nick said.

“And Brad,” Morgan said. Standing not ten feet from a sign forbidding the use of cell phones, Morgan pulled his smart phone out and dialed. “Mrs. St. Charles? It’s Morgan. He’s awake.” He held the phone away from his ear, and Nick could hear her hysterical sobbing quite clearly. When it cut off, a male voice spoke. He held the phone closer. “Yes, Mr. St. Charles, we’ll see you soon.”

Nick pointed to the sign. “You’re such a rebel.”

“If I let other people’s rules get in my way, we wouldn’t be together,” Morgan said.

“Ouch.” Nick pulled Morgan into a hug. “I love you so much. Thanks for being here.”

“Where else would I be?” Morgan replied.

“Not everyone would be so understanding of my devotion to another man,” Nick said quietly.

Moran shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m not everyone.”

“No, you’re most certainly not,” Nick said.

By the
time the doctors finished prodding him, Drew had nodded back off again.