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A quick glance at the (hideous) generic plastic clock confirmed that David had been folded into this threadbare maroon—and likely germ-infested—chair for nearly three hours. Three excruciating hours of no news and no updates. David ran a weary hand through his hair, for once in his life not caring that his thick locks were limp and disheveled.
David’s mind kept flashing back to the very memories he was trying valiantly to suppress. Patrick’s handsome face smiling over at him, his right hand reaching over to grab David’s left just as David saw the truck barreling through the intersection toward Patrick’s side of the car. David’s high pitched scream of “Patrick!” mere seconds before the truck made contact. The jarring confusion as their rental car pitched and skidded, both of them being flung about like ragdolls. The silence as the car finally came to a stop. David’s horror when he glanced over to see his boyfriend unconscious, a head wound dripping blood down his face.
The ambulance arrived quickly, and a tag team of paramedics cut David and Patrick out of their jammed seatbelts and loaded them into separate ambulances, David yelling for Patrick and demanding the paramedics tell him what was wrong with his beloved. They calmly gathered information about both David and Patrick, but said nothing about Patrick’s condition. The nurses and doctors took over for the paramedics once they reached the hospital, both in examining David’s wounds and in assuring him that Patrick was receiving the very best care possible.
But no matter how many times he asked or how much snark, sass, or desperation he showed, nobody would give him any information on Patrick’s well-being. After the doctor concluded that David was, miraculously, unhurt save for minor cuts and bruises—he already had the beginnings of a mottled bruise across his chest and shoulder from being hurtled into the seatbelt—they’d released him, and a kind-faced nurse in light blue scrubs had directed him to the waiting area.
The waiting area where, nearly three hours later, he still sat with not a shred more information about Patrick than he’d had when he sat down.
He’d lasted in the seat for about ninety seconds before he approached the nurse at the desk to ask for an update on Patrick. The nurse barely looked up when she asked him how she could help him.
“I need information on Patrick Brewer,” he said, barely masking his frustration. “His ambulance came in at the same time as mine. Nobody will tell me anything.”
“Are you family?” The nurse asked.
“Like technically? No. But he’s my boyfriend, and we’re not even from here—we’re just on vacation—and so I’m, like, literally the only person in this city who knows him.” David attempted a charming smile but knew that it wasn’t his best work. Given the situation, though, he thought his lower-than-normal charm factor was understandable.
The nurse looked up at him now, her face pinched into something resembling sympathy that David was one hundred percent sure wasn’t entirely genuine. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t release any patient information to non-family members without the express consent of the patient.”
David huffed. “Well then get his consent! He’ll want me to know how he is!” David’s voice was rising in both pitch and intensity.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said again. “I don’t have any information I can give you.” Without another glance at him, she turned her attention back to the computer and starting typing.
“Fine, well you just tippy tap away,” David said with a huff and reluctantly sat in the only empty seat available, which positioned him closer than he was necessarily comfortable with to a beefy, menacing-looking man wearing biker leather, a disgusting oil-stained bandana wrapped around his protruding forehead.
It only took a minute or two for David’s frustration with the nurse to dissipate, only to be replaced with concern and fear that was rapidly growing stronger. If Patrick hadn’t consented to David getting medical updates, did that mean he was still unconscious? David slumped further into his seat, picturing his sweet boyfriend lying alone on a cot pushed into a dark, forgotten corner. David’s hands began to shake a little as he considered even more dire situations: what if Patrick was in surgery? What if he had died and nobody would tell him?
David leaped up from his chair and began pacing like a caged animal, afraid that his fear and anxiety would consume him if he remained still. He tried to focus on the romantic, relaxing vacation at a quaint oceanside bed and breakfast they’d been enjoying up until that afternoon. It had been their first real time away from the store they’d had in nearly a year.
David continued to pace, wishing he could call Stevie or Alexis or even his parents. He had no idea where his phone was—probably somewhere in the smashed car, or perhaps it had been flung onto the road when he and Patrick had been removed from the car and was smashed to bits. Even if he were able to borrow a phone, the only phone numbers he knew by heart were the store’s and Patrick’s cell phone.
Patrick.
David’s sinuses began to sting and he used the back of his hand to quickly wipe away the tears that escaped his eyes. He bit his lip, unable to remember a time he’d been more afraid. Dropping back into his chair, he was surprised to see Leather Biker Guy, as he’d dubbed him, extending a tissue he must have plucked from the box on the small end table next to him in his direction.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, embarrassed.
Leather Biker Guy smiled with surprising warmth. “Looks like you’ve had a day,” he said, gesturing to David’s scraped and slightly bruised face.
David sniffed. “We were in a car accident,” he said.
“We?”
“Patrick and me. He’s my boyfriend and he was unconscious and they put him in a different ambulance and whisked him away and nobody will tell me if he’s okay.” A few more tears slipped down David’s face, and he couldn’t help but scoff at how out of character it was for him to be crying, much less in front of a stranger.
“I’m sure Patrick’ll be okay,” Leather Biker Guy said, offering David another smile.
“Thanks,” David said again.
A nurse stepped through the doorway that separated the waiting area from patient rooms. “I’m looking for Jamison Anders?”
Leather Biker Guy stood up, and David found himself mildly amused that this huge, oil-stained guy was named Jamison. He’d been imagining him as a Dirk or Axle or something. Leather Biker Guy/Jamison clapped a hand on David’s shoulder. “I hope you get to see Patrick soon,” he said before disappearing with the nurse through the magical gateway to the patients.
Leather Biker Guy/Jamison’s seat had then cycled through a series of occupants including a shrunken woman wearing a fluorescent orange cardigan that was nothing short of horrendous, a bored teenager, and a young father holding a fat baby whose nose was dripping with snot.
And now, three hours into his vigil, David had stopped noticing who took the seats around him as person after person was called back to see their loved one and he remained where he was, defeated, heartbroken, and terrified.
When a new nurse relieved the one he’d spoken to, he’d tried again for information on Patrick, but she too had zipped her lips when he said that he was Patrick’s boyfriend. “I’m so sorry, honey,” she said. “I really wish I had something I could tell you.”
“But he doesn’t have any family here,” David persisted, his voice beginning to crack with emotion. “We’re just here on vacation and I don’t have a way to contact his family and I’ve been here for hours and I just need to know if he’s okay.” He blinked away tears, shoulders slumping in exhaustion and defeat. “I’m all he has,” he said in a small voice.
“Patrick Brewer, you said?” The nurse said, obvious compassion on her face.
“Yes,” David said.
The nurse typed something into the computer. “He’s in surgery. That’s all I can tell you; I shouldn’t have even said that.”
“Surgery?” David repeated, his voice tight and brittle. “Is it serious? Will he be okay?”
“I can’t tell you anything else, sir. I’m so sorry.”
David had returned once again to his stiff, uncomfortable seat and hadn’t moved since. He ran a weary hand over his face, not letting himself even consider a future that didn’t have Patrick in it. The mere thought made his heart squeeze painfully and brought a fresh wave of tears to his eyes. He couldn’t ignore the irony that throughout his long hours waiting for news—any news at all—about Patrick’s status the thought he kept returning to was that he wished Patrick were there; Patrick always knew how to calm David’s fears and soothe his anxieties. He’d kiss his temple and wrap those strong arms around him and murmur soft words into his ear and make David feel safer and more comforted than he’d ever thought possible.
Patrick truly brought the best out of David; he’d helped him grow from a self-absorbed, closed off man who guarded his emotions and affection fiercely to a man who, though admittedly still somewhat self-absorbed and stubborn, openly expressed his feelings and love with family and friends—but most freely and frequently with Patrick.
The front doors to the hospital opened, and a woman about David’s age rushed in, clearly panicked. “I’m looking for Russell Hayes,” she said to the nurse at the desk. “I got a call that he’d been brought here from work? He collapsed? Oh god, is he okay?” The desperation in her voice made David’s chest clench, as it was a verbal reflection of the panic and fear that’d been roiling around in him since the moment Patrick was taken out of his sight.
“Take a breath, sweetie,” the nurse said. “Russell Hayes? Are you family?”
“He’s my husband,” the woman exclaimed, clutching her shabby purse to her chest.
Husband. That seemed to be the magic word, because the nurse smiled and looked something up on the computer. “He’s in bed four,” she said kindly. “Rita here will take you to him.” She gestured to another nurse, who took the panicked woman back through the magical doorway.
Husband. The word sounded sweet and comforting when David quietly whispered it aloud. Husband.
“David Rose?” Another nurse had appeared in the doorway while David was contemplating the word husband.
He sprung to his feet. “Is Patrick okay?” All the panic and fear returned full force and vibrated throughout ever inch of David’s being.
The nurse smiled. “Mr. Brewer is awake and asking for you. Would you like me to take you to him?”
“Yes,” David exclaimed before the nurse was even finished with her question.
David followed closely behind the nurse as they navigated past the emergency room and down a long hallway of patient rooms. After what felt like an eternity, she stopped outside a door. “He’s right in here,” she said.
David resisted the urge to throw the door open and turned the handle slowly before pushing it open. The small room was a bit on the dimly lit side, but he could clearly see his Patrick propped into a semi-sitting position by the raised top half of the bed.
“There you are,” Patrick said affectionately, a beautiful smile spreading across his face at the sight of David. His face was scratched and bruised, and stitches held together a wound on his left temple. His arms, which rested on top of the hospital blankets were also battered and scratched. Even so, David didn’t think he’d ever seen a more beautiful sight in his life.
In three steps, David had crossed the room and gently perched on the side of the bed, not wanting to jostle or hurt Patrick. A lump caught in his throat, and he was unable to speak as he took Patrick’s face in his hands and lowered his forehead to rest atop Patrick’s. He kissed him gently and buried his head into the space between Patrick’s neck and shoulder, overcome with emotion. With a little more effort than usual, Patrick wound his arms around David’s back, one hand sliding up to squeeze the back of David’s neck reassuringly. “I’m fine, David. I’m going to be just fine,” he whispered, kissing the side of David’s head.
David pulled back, hands returning to cradle Patrick’s face, his thumbs brushing gently against Patrick’s face. “Marry me,” he whispered.
Patrick took a sharp breath, a bit surprised. He knew that David loved him and was committed to him, but he’d always figured he’d be the one to take the sentimental step of proposing. “David, sweetheart,” he said slowly, “It’s been a really long, stressful day—”
“No!” David said, more loudly than he’d meant to. He kissed Patrick again softly. “Yes,” he said. “It’s been a stressful day. But—it’s just—I’ve been sitting out there for hours with no idea if you were okay and nobody would tell me anything and I was scared. I was so scared, Patrick.” His voice quavered and a few tears snuck out of his eyes. “I just kept thinking that I want to always be by your side, and they wouldn’t let me be by your side or even know where you were because I’m not family.”
It was Patrick’s turn to interrupt now. “David, you are my family. You know that, right?”
“Yes,” David whispered. “Yes, but I want it to be official. I want to marry you. I want to be your husband and I want you to be my husband. I want everybody to know that you’re my husband so that I never have to be in the dark ever again. I don’t want anybody telling me I can’t see you. I love you so much, Patrick.” David’s voice broke completely, and he had to take a moment to collect himself and wipe away a few tears before returning his hands to stroke Patrick’s face, neck, and hair. “Please, Patrick. Please say you’ll marry me.”
Patrick smiled a watery smile, blinking away tears of his own now. “Yes, David, of course I’ll marry you,” he said softly, reaching up to draw David’s lips to his.
David’s whole body relaxed for the first time since the moment he saw the huge truck about to hit their car, and he kissed Patrick back, pouring all the desperation and love that had been building up during the past few hours into the kiss. He finally pulled back and ran a thumb across Patrick’s lower lip. “You mean it?” He asked, vulnerability that only Patrick ever got to experience evident in his words.
“Yes, I mean it. I love you, David. I want to be by your side always.” Patrick’s tired eyes shown with love as he ran a hand through David’s messy hair.
“Because I’m simply the best?” David quipped, his usual flippant self peeking through a little now that he knew Patrick would be okay.
Patrick smiled. “Yes, David. Because you’re simply the best.” He kissed him gently. “Now come hold me, fiancé. I just had surgery, and I’m in need of a handsome man to cuddle me while I rest.” Patrick gingerly slid over so that David could scoot in beside him, careful not to jostle Patrick’s IV or his bandaged and bruised body.
Both men were quiet as they held each other, David stroking Patrick’s hair, Patrick holding David’s free hand in both of his. They knew that they were going to have to discuss Patrick’s surgery with the doctor and figure out what happened to their belongings in the rental car and get in contact with both of their parents. But for now, they lay intertwined, breathing deeply, each grateful for the man by his side.