Heart Unheard Page 2

  “If he recovers, we don’t know what sort of therapy he’s going to need, and….” His voice cracked.

  “One thing at a time,” Brent said. “Let’s get him through the surgery, and then we’ll all go from there.” God, he had no idea what was going to happen. “Please call me once you know anything. Any time. It doesn’t matter.” He had to know.

  “Of course. I have your number in my phone now.” Scott’s father was having a hard time talking, so Brent said goodbye to let him go.

  He sat in his car as it heated up in the summer sun, breathing and trying not to beat himself up over and over again. There was nothing he could do now but wait.

  Brent backed out of the parking space and continued the drive home. His phone rang as he pulled into his apartment building. “Hey, Dean,” he answered, seeing his name on the in-dash display.

  “What happened? You sound messed up.”

  “Scott, one of the guys at the garage, was in an accident. It’s pretty serious,” he said, keeping his voice steady.

  “Is that the guy you’ve had a thing for and not done anything about?” Dean asked in his “I told you so” tone. At least it was the one Brent’s mother used when that was her unspoken message. “What? You’ve been talking about him for years now, I swear. Whenever we get together, you slip something that Scott did into the conversation.”

  “Yes, that’s him.” Brent gripped the steering wheel, his defenses rising.

  “I’m sorry, dude. That’s pretty tough.” And just like that, Dean proved he could be human and had a heart. “What do you want me to do?”

  “There’s nothing anyone can do. Not right now.” Brent opened the car door, which switched the call back to his phone. “I guess I have to hope he makes it through this.”

  “Yeah. That’s tough,” Dean repeated. “I was calling to see if you want to go out, but that probably isn’t a good idea. So how about I swing by the liquor store, pick up something good, and we can tie one on? I’ll be at your place in an hour or less.”

  Dean hung up before Brent could refuse. He groaned and called Dean right back.

  “Don’t you dare tell me you want to be alone or some such rubbish. I know what it’s like to feel completely stupid. Remember Dumbfuck? The shithead is getting married to the guy he cheated on me with. So I’m on my way.” He hung up, and Brent knew it was no use calling him back again. Brent couldn’t argue that having some company would be a bad thing. When Dean got something in his bonnet, there was no stopping him.

  Brent climbed the stairs to his second-floor, two-bedroom unit and went inside. It was serviceable but nothing special. He got out the munchies he had in the cupboards, ran the vacuum, and got the dishwasher running after he got the dishes out of the sink. He didn’t worry about the furniture, which was relatively plain. Dean had been here before, so there was no need to try to put his best foot forward or to keep up appearances.

  The doorbell rang. Brent answered it and ushered Dean and his bags inside.

  “Let’s get started.” Dean hurried right into the kitchen, grabbed two glasses, added some ice, and returned to the living room with a bottle of Jack, which he plopped down on the table. He unscrewed the cap, poured the glasses half full, and handed one to Brent. “Now that we have what we need….” Dean gulped from his glass, and Brent did the same.

  “Does Scott?” He stared at the amber liquid in the glass. “He may not survive at all, and God, if he does….” He coughed and swallowed around the lump in his throat. “He’s going to be in so much pain and….” The liquor sloshed in the glass from his shaking hand. The thought of Scott hurting made it hard to breathe for a few seconds.

  “Brent….” Dean leaned forward.

  “What do you want me to tell you? I was such a fucking coward….” Brent drank, the whiskey burning as it went down his throat. Then the warmth spread out inside and he drank again, needing that feeling desperately. “A gutless wonder, okay? I worked with him for two years, saw him all the time, watching him like some perverted old fart.” He emptied the last of his whiskey and poured another. Now that he was getting into this, he might as well get really shit-faced and see if it helped.

  “Is that what you did?” Dean ruffled his hair like Brent was a kid. “Come on. He worked for you, so you wanted to keep things professional.”

  “Fuck that. I thought… think about him all the damn time. I was too afraid to say something in case he turned me down. I’m ten years older than him, and I figured, what the hell would he want me for anyway?” Brent set his glass aside. Suddenly getting drunk and trying to forget everything didn’t hold any appeal. “I’m mooning over a guy who was out of my league. We flirted and had fun with each other, but that was all it was. I was… am Scott’s boss, and that’s the end of it.” He huffed. “The rest is me being an idiot.”

  Dean downed his whiskey and poured some more. “If you’re so sure about that, you wouldn’t be acting this way.” He could be so observant every now and then. “You like him, and somehow you developed feelings for him.”

  Brent jumped to his feet, waving a hand. “Okay, I did. But none of that matters, and I need to get over this… infatuation. He’s in surgery right now, and he isn’t going to want me when… if he gets better.” He began pacing the room. “I’m acting like a teenager. I need to stop.” His head was going in a million directions, and he desperately needed it to settle on something, anything.

  Dean set his glass on the coffee table. “Fuck it all. You know I was pissed and a bit depressed because Dumbfuck was getting married and the asshole is happy. But dammit, I’m more depressed now than I was when I walked through your door.” He snatched his glass and drained it. “I hate shit like that.” Dean leaned back on the sofa, cradling his glass.

  “Let’s eat until we puke.” Brent opened the bag of Cheetos and passed them to Dean because he knew they were his favorite. Then he opened the chips and went to the refrigerator to grab a couple of beers before flopping on the sofa. He’d had enough whiskey, so he popped a beer open and drank. Brent sighed. “Sometimes I think I’m the stupidest man on earth.”

  “Why?” Dean’s speech was a little slurred, or maybe it was the mouth full of Cheetos. It was hard to tell.

  “Because I wasn’t gutsy enough just to tell him what I wanted. I know it won’t make a difference, not now.” Brent drank another sip of beer and then picked up the bag of chips. “I suppose we always regret the things we don’t do.”

  Dean shook his head. “Yeah, I know that. I should have left Chuck long before I did.”

  “You know, maybe it’s time you stop trying to screw every guy in town and find someone special.” Brent set his beer on the coffee table, turning toward Dean. “Every time I go to Trevor’s and see him and James together, I get so fucking jealous that I want to scream. They have what I want, and I can’t ever seem to find it for myself.” He crunched another chip. God, now he was sharing his feelings and shit. It must be the whiskey. “Forget I said anything. Okay? It’s not that important. Let it go.” He turned on the television and found a RuPaul marathon. It gave them something to talk about other than his feelings.

  DEAN CONTINUED drinking well into the evening. Brent watched television, and after nursing his second beer, switched to water. He’d had enough, but Dean seemed intent on getting drunk. When he could barely keep his head up, Brent helped him to the spare bedroom, got him some water and aspirin, and put him to bed. Then he went to his bathroom, where he got rid of the beer he’d rented, drank water himself, and then climbed between the sheets.

  He’d had enough alcohol to easily fall to sleep but woke, with his legs twisted in the bedding, from a disturbing dream where everyone in his life was just out of reach. A vibration on the nightstand drew his attention. He snatched at it. “This is Brent.” His mouth felt like cotton and tasted terrible.

  “This is Reggie Spearman, Scott’s father. You said I should call.”

  “Of course,” Brent said gently. “I’m glad yo
u did. How is he?” His insides clenched, fearing the worst.

  Reggie groaned, and Brent expected that he and Scott’s mother were beyond exhausted. “He’s come through the surgery and they’re sending us home. They said there will be nothing more to learn tonight. They had to pin some bones in his chest, but it was his head that they’re most concerned with. They relieved pressure on his brain and stitched up some bad cuts, but they won’t know for a while if there is any brain damage. They’re hopeful, but the accident was pretty bad.”

  “Has he woken up at all?”

  Reggie sniffed. “No. They’re hopeful that when they reduce the drugs in the morning, he’ll come around, but they aren’t sure. They said…. They…. He could slip into a coma. All they keep telling us is that it will take time and they’ll have to see.” His emotions seemed so close to the surface, Brent found his rising as well.

  “Thank you for calling me. I appreciate it. If there’s anything I can do, just say so.” Brent swallowed as he tried not to picture Scott lying motionless in a hospital bed.

  “Not now.”

  “I’d like to see him.” The thought flashed in his head, and at the late hour, he didn’t have his mental filters working to stop it.

  “I don’t know if they’ll allow it, but I’ll give your name to the desk. It’s only family at this point, but I think I can get an exception. Scott always spoke so highly of you. He loved coming into work every day, and a lot of that was because of you.” Reggie sighed once more. “I need to take my wife home so she can get some rest.”

  “Thank you for calling.” Brent ended the call and put his phone back on the nightstand. He closed his eyes, saying for Scott a silent prayer that he remembered from Catholic school. Brent didn’t know where it had come from—he hadn’t thought about any of that for years—but it came unbidden to his mind, and he recited it as he fell back to sleep.

  He woke to the first rays of sun coming through his window. Working at the garage, the days often started early, and he had gotten used to the hours. Brent got up, checked on Dean, who was snoring like a lumberjack, and headed to the kitchen to make some coffee. After that, he called Trevor and explained what Scott’s family had told him.

  “I want to go up to the hospital to see him, but I don’t know if they’ll let me in.” In the middle of the night, he had made up his mind to at least try to visit Scott.

  “Of course. I’ll open this morning for you. Do what you have to do,” Trevor said, proving once again that he was a great boss and the best friend Brent had ever had.

  “Thanks. I need to get Dean out of my guest room before I go.”

  Trevor chuckled. “What the heck did he do?”

  “He came over to keep me company, I guess, and got really drunk. He’s been doing that a lot lately.” As Brent thought about it, he realized Dean had been drinking excessively for months. “He was drinking Jack like it was nothing.”

  “Well, take away what he brought and get him up. I’ll have a talk with him, and if that doesn’t do any good, I’ll sic James on him. No one can turn him down for anything.” Trevor chuckled. James had a way of getting under everyone’s defenses. Part of it was probably the blind thing, but it was also probably that fact that James had a way about him that made everyone want to talk to him. “Did he say why he was drinking so much?”

  “Yeah. It seems Dumbfuck Chuck is getting married to the guy he cheated on Dean with. I think it’s hit him pretty hard. He needs someone who will care about him, but they’re going to have to bring a bazooka to blast through this fuck-everyone-he-can persona Dean’s developed.” Brent pulled open the refrigerator door and grabbed the orange juice. “Not that I don’t care, but it’s been two years. He needs to move on.”

  Trevor scoffed loudly. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

  Brent groaned, knowing Trevor had a point.

  “I’m just giving you a hard time. Go see Scott and call me when you find out anything. I’m going to see about taking up a collection of some sort at each garage location. There’s certain to be bills that Scott’s family isn’t going to be able to afford.” And that was another reason why Brent and Trevor were good friends. “Call me when you know something.”

  “I will.” Brent hung up, drank his glass of juice, and went to wake Dean, then took a shower and brushed his teeth to get the taste of death out of his mouth.

  “Dean, you need to get moving.” Brent poured himself a mug of coffee, sipped it, and then poured a second. He figured he could use the aroma as a lure.

  “Why did you let me drink so dang much?” Dean shuffled into the room in his wrinkled T-shirt and boxers. The shirt was looser than last summer, and the boxers hung lower on his hips. Dean was incredibly skinny.

  Brent handed Dean his coffee. “Have you been eating?”

  “Of course I have. Lots and lots of salad.” Dean sat down and hung his head. “I need to stop this shit.”

  Brent rolled his eyes. “Yes, you do. You also need to eat… really eat. And something other than just salad and Cheetos. And drink some water—anything that isn’t whiskey or other alcohol.” He went into his bedroom and brought back the stand mirror from the top of his dresser. It had been his mother’s. Brent plopped it on the counter in front of Dean.

  “Oh God.” Dean turned away. “Don’t show me that this early in the morning.”

  Brent stepped behind Dean and turned him to face his reflection. “Morning has little to do with it. You look like this most of the time. Your face is always drawn, and the bags are taking up permanent residence under your eyes. Your clothes hang on you.”

  “But if I’m going to attract hot guys, I need to be able to fit into skinny jeans.”

  Brent groaned. “That isn’t you. This whole thing with Dumbfuck needs to end. So he’s getting married… big deal. You could be getting on with your life if you weren’t determined to fuck it all away, literally. Instead of the bars, go somewhere else, meet someone, say hello, stop fucking around, and maybe you’ll be the next one to get hitched.” Brent leaned closer but jumped back away from Dean’s toxic breath. “God, man.” He waved his hand in front of his face.

  Dean turned away from the mirror. “Would you stop lecturing me? I get that shit from everyone. My parents call me all the damn time to ask why the fuck I’m throwing my life away, and work is crap right now. I thought I’d get some sympathy and understanding from my friends.” He set the mug on the counter and pushed back the stool. “Jesus!” Dean stood and stormed into the other room.

  Brent groaned softly. He’d tried, but there was no use attempting to explain to Dean that it was because he was his friend that he had to say something. Dean wouldn’t hear of it. Shit. Now Dean was mad at him. Not like that was anything new. Dean’s temper had a hair trigger lately.

  Brent finished getting ready, and Dean slumped out of the bedroom. He downed the last of his coffee and groaned. “You don’t need to take your anger out on me,” Brent told him as levelly as he could. “I was only trying to help.” He waited for Dean to lift his gaze and then met it with one as steely as he possibly could.

  “Thank God it’s Saturday and I don’t have to go to work,” Dean growled.

  “Are you okay to drive? You don’t look very well.” Brent wasn’t going to let Dean take off and then have his friend joining Scott in the hospital. “I can take you home on my way out.”

  “I’m fine. Really.” Dean smiled, though Brent knew it was forced, especially with the lack of energy in his eyes. Brent hated seeing his friend like this and wanted to help, but there was nothing he could do as long as Dean wasn’t willing to help himself. “Don’t worry. I’m fine. I slept well and drank lots of water. I really am okay.” Dean’s smile got brighter. “Thanks for looking out for me.” He hugged him and Brent felt much better about him driving. Dean said goodbye before he left the apartment, and Brent got his stuff for work.

  Once he was set, he drove to the hospital, went up to the desk, and explained that he
was there to see Scott Spearman. He was given a wristband, then followed directions to the ICU. Brent told the nurse at the desk who he was there to see, and she took him back.

  Scott was in a small room, the bed surrounded by monitors with a number of tubes and cords hooked to him. His usually robust cheeks were sallow, his normally intense eyes closed, his pouty lips pale.

  “Please remain quiet.”

  “Of course,” Brent said as he pulled forward the small chair and sat next to the bed. He didn’t ask her a bunch of questions about how he was doing because Brent knew she couldn’t really tell him anything without specific written permission.

  The nurse checked Scott over and left the room.

  “Hey, Scott. It’s Brent. I wanted to stop by and see you.” He blinked as Scott’s chest slowly rose and fell. “I read somewhere that people can sometimes hear things when they’re out like this. So I hope you get better.” He turned to make sure no one was around to hear him, then leaned closer. “I should have told you how I felt.” He sniffed and took one of the tissues from the box on the tray table. He reached for Scott’s hand and slid their fingers together. Brent probably didn’t have a right to do that, but he wanted Scott to know he was there.

  To his surprise, Scott’s fingers squeezed his just a little. At first, he wasn’t sure it was real, but Scott did it again. Brent gently rubbed the back of his hand but received no further movement in response.

  “Are you Brent?” a man who had to be Scott’s dad asked. He looked so much like him, only an older, more weathered, and very worried version, with touches of gray in his hair.

  “Yes,” Brent whispered, setting Scott’s hand back on the blankets, his cheeks heating. “I was just trying to make a connection with him. I think he might have squeezed my hand a little.” He wondered what Scott’s dad—and then his mom as she followed him inside—must be thinking with him holding Scott’s hand.

  “He did that last night before we left. It’s the only indication that we’ve had that he’s there and knows we’re here.” Scott’s mother approached, and Brent stood to give her the chair. She sat, gently stroking Scott’s hand. “Is there something between you and my son?” She lifted her gaze, and it was like she was looking deep into his soul. It was immediately evident where Scott got his amazing eyes, even if hers were red and definitely filled with concern. “I heard what you were saying to him before we came in.”