23. Gabe
TWENTY-THREE
GABE
Gabe didn’t remember the accident, but he’d been told what happened. He must have fallen asleep at the wheel. The snow was coming down hard. He hit a tree. No one could tell him what happened to the Prius, but he vaguely remembered the ambulance ride.
He broke his right hand against the steering wheel. His drawing hand. During his senior fucking year. The seat belt bruise across his chest and hips ached all the way through his body.
It was a strange mercy that he was in too much pain to cry by the time Parker and Wyatt got there. Mac and Duncan were on a winter camping trip, but they’d packed up and were headed home. Wyatt was the only person who could drive Parker to the hospital.
“The important thing is you’re alive,” Parker said, holding Gabe’s good hand.
“Everything is fucked,” Gabe said, still feeling just as exhausted as he had for months.
“It was an accident. You didn’t hurt anyone.” Parker knew he’d want to know that right away .
“Your car?”
“I would be shocked to learn she isn’t totaled,” Parker said, sad enough he couldn’t keep his face from falling. “But you’re safe. It’s okay. I have insurance.”
“I’m so fucking sorry, Parks. Fuck.”
“I’m not upset,” Parker promised.
“Brandon?”
“I messaged him on Instagram. He’s on his way.”
“He’s coming here?”
“Yeah, babe. He’ll be here. You’re okay.”
He squeezed Parker’s hand. Parker was safety.
“Thanks for driving him, Wyatt. And for being here.” Wyatt was integrating into the household more slowly than roommates past. Gabe still didn’t know him very well.
“No problem, man. I was also horrified when I heard. I’m glad you’re okay.” Wyatt had a kind face. He stood slightly behind Parker, and maybe it was the throb in Gabe’s head, but he had a distant thought that they’d be cute together.
If Parker would ever let anyone into his heart again.
The ER room they were in had curtains instead of doors, so he could hear the bustle of middle-of-the-night emergencies.
Parker sat at his bedside, Wyatt hovering awkwardly in the corner.
Gabe was grateful Parker was there, but he wanted Brandon there, holding his hand.
He wanted Brandon to tell him everything would be okay.
Gabe heard fast footsteps on the linoleum, someone getting yelled at for running in the halls, and finally, Brandon’s face appeared around the corner.
“Oh my god,” he said, seeing Gabe’s banged-up face. He knew he didn’t look cute. He hadn’t looked in a mirror yet.
“We’ll be in the waiting room,” Parker said, giving Brandon’ s arm a squeeze as he and Wyatt headed out. Quickly, Brandon took Parker’s seat next to him.
“Baby, I’m so sorry,” Brandon said, the weight of responsibility in his voice so inaccurate.
“For what? You didn’t do this. You asked me to stay over.”
“I still feel like I should have driven you home or something. I knew you were tired.”
“I’m always tired, Brandon. It’s not your fault. Hey, don’t cry,” he said, thumbing away the tear that was quietly sliding down Brandon’s cheek with his good hand.
Brandon caught his hand in his own and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. Then he leaned in and pressed featherlight kisses all over Gabe’s face. It felt like heaven.
“Don’t make me grateful I totaled Parker’s Prius.”
“Don’t make me laugh when you’re in the hospital. Is the Prius really gone?”
“Sounds like probably.”
“Tell Parker if he needs help getting a new car, I’ll cover whatever insurance doesn’t.”
“You’re too sweet.” Gabe’s eyes drifted shut, his exhaustion a physical presence.
“I’m so sorry about your hand.”
“And now you have another injured complainer to deal with.” Gabe couldn’t handle thinking about his hand. He’d let himself emotionally spiral about it later.
“Whatever you need—surgery, physical therapy, whatever—we’ll get you only the best. Don’t worry about the cost.”
“It was much more fun when you were buying me giant canvases to paint your naked body on,” Gabe joked, realizing a moment too late the on-call doctor had just peeked her head in. She looked amused .
“I take it this is the boyfriend?” she asked, heading to the computer in the corner of the room and swiping her badge to log in.
“Yup,” Gabe said, no energy to explain who Brandon was to him.
“We’re about ready to get you out of here, Gabe. You’ll need to come back tomorrow to get casted—don’t get your ace wrap wet in the meantime. Does your boyfriend know how to take care of you?”
Brandon shook his head, and she went through Gabe’s discharge paperwork—the meds and care instructions.
Gabe was trying hard to pay attention, but his thoughts kept slipping to how seriously Brandon was taking this, asking questions and writing notes on the printouts with a pen the doctor fished out of her jacket.
Gabe realized this was not Brandon’s first rodeo. He was a veteran of the ER.
A nurse removed Gabe’s IV and went to get a wheelchair for him, then rolled him to the waiting room to find Parker and Wyatt, effectively twiddling their thumbs. Ryan was there, too.
“Ryan drove me,” Brandon explained.
Gabe really didn't want to let Brandon go yet. "Can you come over?"
Before Brandon could say anything, Ryan jumped in. “You can take my car. I’ll get a ride share,” Ryan said, the most generous person on earth. “Really, it’s okay.”
“Thank you,” Brandon said, taking his keys as Ryan explained where he parked in the underground parking. Ryan waved goodbye as he headed toward the front entrance, and the rest of them headed to the elevator.
The four of them found Ryan’s car, like they’d need a team of people to get Gabe into the passenger seat.
Brandon found a blanket in the back to act as a buffer between his bruised chest and the seat belt he still had to wear home.
Parker and Wyatt hovered until Gabe was secure before heading to the other side of the parking garage to Wyatt’s car.
“When do you have to leave for the game?” Gabe asked, as they headed out of the parking garage.
“Four…five?” Brandon said, sounding unsure.
“So four.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have the morning thing?”
“Theoretically. I’m not going.”
Usually Gabe would argue against a choice like that, but he couldn’t make himself.
His body was sore all over. His head hurt.
He was grateful he didn’t live far from the hospital.
He wanted to hold Brandon’s hand, but he was white-knuckling the wheel like he’d never had a more important drive to make in his life.
“I’m sorry,” Gabe said, voice weak.
“Don’t apologize. It was an accident.”
“I feel like a fucking idiot.”
“You’re alive. And we’re going to get through this.”
Gabe wanted him to say together. They would get through this together.
He spent the time between the hospital and his house calculating expenses in his head.
The ambulance ride. ER visit. Whatever drugs they’d sent home with him.
The cast he’d have to get put on tomorrow.
Follow-up visits. The X-ray hadn’t pointed to a break that needed surgery, but he’d have that re-evaluated at his casting appointment.
Brandon said he’d foot the bill for anything he needed, but it could end up being tens of thousands of dollars. At twenty-five, he had one more year left on his dad’s insurance, and he had no idea how good the coverage was.
Mac had talked to Gabe’s dad, and apparently, blessedly, talked him out of coming to see him. Mac had such a calm, reassuring vocal cadence. If anyone could call the parent of someone who had been in a car accident and convince them they didn’t need to show up, it was Mac.
Brandon pulled up in front of Gabe’s house. “Don’t move. I’m going to come around and help you out,” he said, holding his hands up like he was trying to get a dog to obey a command.
“I don’t have enough energy to try anything, so don’t worry,” Gabe mumbled.
Brandon came around to the passenger side and helped Gabe out, treating him like he was spun sugar. A soap bubble. He felt like he was going to pop at any moment.
Slowly, Brandon helped him into the house, the gold greeting of Slater House across the windowpane in the front door catching light from a streetlamp.
Even though Duncan hadn’t baked that day, the house always smelled like bread, and it rid Gabe’s nose of the antiseptic smell of the hospital.
Brandon knelt to help him get his boots off, then took his jacket for him, which was hanging off his shoulders, arms not in either sleeve.
They crept upstairs, Parker and Wyatt coming in the back door at the same time.
By the time Brandon had helped Gabe into bed, Parker was hovering in the doorway, arms crossed. Brandon put his care guide and bag of assorted drugs (for pain, an antibiotic, and a muscle relaxer) on his side table.
“Wyatt is getting you ice,” Parker said, suddenly looking several years older.
It was Gabe’s own fault for looking at Parker and seeing a young person.
Mac treated him like a kid sometimes, despite the two of them being born in the same calendar year.
But Parker was the one who would always be the backbone that anyone in the house needed.
“I’m sorry, Parks,” Gabe said with a moan. Laying his head on his pillow hurt. The pain in his hand beat with his heart.
“No more apologies. I’m not upset with you. I’m a little scared, but our friendship isn’t damaged.”
“You’re too generous.”
“Stop being hard on yourself.”
Gabe closed his eyes. “Should I return the canvases I bought?” They were sitting in the garage, four of them, and Mac had helped him pick them up in his truck. Gabe hadn’t painted anything that big before, but he’d attended years of senior shows at his school, and they loved scale.
They didn’t even fit inside the house.
“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Brandon said. Wyatt appeared behind Parker with a couple of ice packs and handed them over to Brandon. Gabe took one and held it to his chest. He’d been “lucky” he didn’t break his collarbone, but it still hurt like a bitch.