Tipping the Balance (48 page)

“You worry worse than an old woman,” Randall said placidly.

“Somebody has to,” Beltran muttered as he stomped out of the room, almost knocking Brad over.

Beltran gave him a long look that probably meant something, but Brad couldn’t figure it out. The beers didn’t help.

Brad knocked on the wall. “Can I talk to you for a moment, Randall?”

“The world seems intent on interrupting me this afternoon. What is it, Bradley?” Randall said.

He hadn’t thought to prepare any kind of justification. “I need my old job back,” he mumbled.

“Yes, I suppose you do. I’d imagine that ridiculous renovation’s on hold, now that one of the principals is in the hospital for the foreseeable future. Yes, Bradley, you may have your job at Suburban Symphony back starting tomorrow.”

Relief washed over him. “Thanks, Dad.”

“And Bradley?”

“Yeah?”

“If it weren’t for the family business, you’d be working as a personal trainer in a third-rate gym in the suburbs.”

Brad shuffled back to his room. Randall was right. He was a failure. But how had Randall known about the assault?

“
Hey
, former roomie,” Morgan said, bending down to hug Stuart, who was seated at a table in the now-deserted student commons at school. “How’s it going? Sorry I haven’t been around much.”

“No worries. I know you and Nick have been spending all your free time with Drew,” Stuart said. CalPac was on break for the winter holidays, but he still had books open, studying ahead of time to compensate for the demands crew would place on his life this spring.

“Not having to listen to me whine also freed up your time for Jonathan,” Morgan said, setting a bag containing a sandwich, apple, and bottle of water down in front of his friend.

“He’s gone home for the holidays, and what’s this?” Stuart said.

“Lunch. I knew you’d be studying and thought you could use some,” Morgan replied, digging into his own sandwich. He’d stopped on the way to meet Stuart, figuring that Stuart had skipped lunch and knowing funds had something to do with it.

“So how is he?” Stuart asked, poking around in the bag.

“Better,” Morgan said. “I mean, compared to a month ago… there’s no comparison. He’s awake when he’s supposed to be and sleeps when he can. You know, with all the prodding and checking of vital signs. I honestly think it’s the breathing tube that pisses him off the most. Well, that or the feeding tube.”

“He’s still on that?” Stuart gasped. “That’s not good, not good at all.”

“They weaned him off the breathing tube already, but I guess they leave the tube in, just in case he backslides,” Morgan said.

Stuart shook his head. “I don’t know him like you do, but even I can tell the man needs to express himself.”

“He does that plenty well, believe me,” Morgan said. He made a face. “His parents must be doing well for themselves, because on their last day here, his mom gave him an iPad.”

“You’re kidding,” Stuart said flatly. He took a bite of his sandwich.

Morgan shook his head. He himself was never at a loss for spending money, but he knew it was an issue for Stuart, and he never flashed cash in front of his friend and now former roommate. He also never let on to Stuart that he knew the shorter man was strapped for cash. “Nope. I guess watching him scribble notes on a steno pad with his non-writing hand was too much. She said, ‘Think of it as a gift to all of you. He’ll be unbearable if he has to communicate that way one moment longer.’ Mrs. St. Claire’s kind of a bitch, in my opinion.”

“So Drew comes by it honestly?” Stuart said. “Okay, sorry that was bad.”

Morgan laughed but soon fell silent, considering. “What I’m about to tell you is for your ears only. No one else’s. Not Jonathan’s. No one’s.”

“All right. You’ve succeeded in making me curious,” Stuart said.

“Nick’s getting out of coaching,” Morgan said.

Start stared at him. “I couldn’t have heard that right. The crew’s never done this well.”

“No, but he’s quitting all the same,” Morgan said. “The investigation by the school and trouble with the oversight committee, to say nothing of the possibility of investigation by USRowing hanging over his head like the sword of Damocles… it’s worn him out. You know physical therapy’s always been his plan B?”

Stuart nodded.

“Well, it’s now his goal. Seeing what Drew’s going through and knowing what’s to come… that’s given my Nick a lot to think about.”

“He thinks too much,” Stuart said.

“I know, but that’s who he is. We’ll both finish up this June, and then….” Morgan shrugged.

“Looks like that spreadsheet of yours will come in handy, after all,” Stuart said, referring to the file he’d seen on Morgan’s computer that correlated credentialing programs for him with schools that offered courses in PT for Nick.

“Guess so,” Morgan said.

They ate in silence for a few minutes.

“Does Drew know? That Nick’s quitting coaching because of him?” Stuart asked.

“No, that’s the last thing he needs. He’s pretty depressed right now.”

Stuart paused in taking a drink. “Wouldn’t you be?”

“Yes. He’s got reason enough just with the hate crime and then that huge renovation project being put on hold by the city council. I mean, it’s great that they’re so understanding, even if the politics of a gay bashing forced them to do it, but there’s the Brad situation too,” Morgan said.

“I thought they were going at it hot and heavy,” Stuart said.

Morgan nodded. “They had been, right up until the night of the assault. They had a huge fight, Drew walked out, and Brad went home. Other than calling Nick the day after Thanksgiving, no one’s heard from him since.”

“Maybe he feels guilty,” Stuart said. “Who knew he had it in him?”

“Brad’s deeper than you think, and coming to terms with being gay’s been hard for him. I guess with his family in construction, it’s pretty homophobic. That’s got to be hard to put behind you,” Morgan said. “But this vanishing shit? While Nick doesn’t have the time to deal with it right now, I’m not particularly happy.”

“I can see that,” Stuart said. “So let’s talk about something else, now that I’ve finished shrinking your head. Again.”

“I… you… I’m not that bad,” Morgan yelped.

“I told you once that most of my time’s spent dealing with the drama you freakishly tall men dish out,” Stuart reminded him. “I wasn’t lying, and it hasn’t changed.”

“So let’s talk about you. Tell me how it’s going with Jonathan.”

“It’s complicated,” Stuart said.

When several moments ticked by without follow-up, Morgan said, “That’s it?”

“Yes, It’s complicated. What do you want me to say?”

“And you wonder why we never talk about you,” Morgan said. “So changing topics again, since this one died on the vine, are you still coming home with me? Mom’s expecting you.”

“Absolutely. I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Stuart replied with a big smile.

That warmed Morgan. “I may not stay as long as usual. Nick’s staying here, only coming up for Christmas Day, and I want to be here for him.”

“That’s really sweet,” Stuart said. “You can come get me before school starts up again.”

Drew
couldn’t show the holidays, to say nothing of the trauma nursing unit, his backside soon enough. His life would be so much better if people would just stop wishing him a happy new year. It was a week ago. It wasn’t happy. At least he’d been declared strong enough to move to a rehab facility.

Still, without Nick and Morgan, he knew it would’ve been so much worse. Their faithful attendance at his bedside was perhaps the biggest reason he was healing as fast as he was. His parents hadn’t been able to stay too long, although he knew they called Nick every day, and that iPad had been a godsend. Even without his voice, thanks to that damned breathing tube, he’d been able to pay his bills electronically. He’d never trusted AutoPay before, but it seemed marginally preferable than having his utilities cut off and his credit rating trashed.

His parents’ gift, which they refused to consider an early Christmas present, had also allowed him to start catching up on his e-mails. But those took energy, and he lacked that commodity. More often than not, checking his e-mail consisted of deleting spam and sweeping the inbox for any sign of Brad, although by the time Christmas rolled around, he knew that was a wasted effort.

Nick had spent part of Christmas with him, even bringing him a Christmas tree in the form of a little potted evergreen with a few lights and tacky little ornaments. Drew loved it, the only holiday cheer he’d had. Or allowed.

The nurses had removed the breathing tube before the move to the rehab facility, but it still hurt to talk, and with his jaw still wired closed, he didn’t try. Based on the latest X-rays, he only needed to endure it—and that wretched gastric feeding tube—another week or three. The therapists told him his returning temper was a good sign. He knew he’d be grateful for their attentive care once he was fully recovered, but for now his irritation needed an outlet.

Not that his therapist and chief antagonist put up with much. Deanne gave as good as she got, even typing pointed barbs back to him on his iPad when she really wanted to jerk his chain.

Right then, Deanne was making him walk to re-accustom his shattered knee to bearing weight. The crutches dug into his armpits and made his barely healed hand scream from gripping the handles.

“Good,” Deanne said. “Now do it again.”

“’Urts,” he grunted through his teeth.

Deanne just tapped her foot and pointed to the floor in front of her.

With a grunt of pain, he started his slow way back. Plant the crutches, take a step, steady himself, repeat.

“Good,” she said. “Now we’re going back to your room.”

His eyes bugged. He’d never gone that far on the crutches before, but she picked up her clipboard and his iPad and held the training room door for him.

He grimaced and bent to it.

Brad
pulled his head out of the fridge in the back room when the bell over the door to the sales office jangled. “I’ll be right out,” he called, cramming more water and soda in. “Sorry about that, I was just… oh. It’s you two.”