18. Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
Bronx
There wasn’t much about the last couple of days, or weeks, that Bronx could fully remember.
He had vague memories of familiar faces drifting in and out of his hospital room and also the constant flow of medical personnel checking on his vitals.
He was pretty sure he’d spent a great deal of time sleeping.
As soon as he’d notice someone was standing beside his bed, he’d fall back to sleep before he could even acknowledge them.
There were tubes that ran into his arms, one tube was attached to his head that Bronx was pretty sure was draining fluid, and several machines were positioned next to his bed that beeped and hissed non-stop in a precise cadence that it created a nice rhythm.
In his delirium, he was beginning to piece together the beats he was hearing and could possible weave them into a bass line for a new song—if he could stay awake long enough to complete the task.
Kind of hard to write music when the mere thought of moving his body made him want to vomit.
One side of his head hurt like a motherfucker and he wasn’t completely certain what had happened to make him feel like this.
He needed to sort that out as soon as possible.
He also couldn’t manage to keep himself conscious long enough to ask someone his questions—like a doctor.
He wasn’t even sure how long he’d been in this condition or which hospital he was in.
Bronx wracked his brain, searching for any nugget of information he might be able to use that would explain his current condition.
He flicked through his recent memories of the faces he recognized who had visited his hospital room.
Dagger and Fizzbo were in his room almost every day, as well as the guys in his band who’d somehow managed to pop in once or twice.
He remembered catching very muffled bits and pieces of words from their conversations.
Their dialog was mostly about band business and new material they were working on.
There was one other person who visited a lot and stood vigil beside his bed like a sentry guarding the gate to a kingdom.
This person spread warmth through Bronx with every visit and his voice resonated clearly in his head like a symphony or choir music.
His heart beat faster to a point where one time his EKG machine alerted a nurse.
Bronx wasn’t sure why this particular visitor stirred such emotion inside him but he was working hard to uncover a memory that would piece everything together.
It took a while but then a name popped into his head.
Tony Cavalari. The name rang repeatedly inside his mind.
From there bigger pieces slipped into place and the details slowly became clearer.
Tony was special to him and feelings were involved.
That much he was certain of. He saw a bus in his mind and then vague memories flickered about Tony being with him.
There was wrestling involved and then he remembered kissing, bone-melting kisses that nearly burned through to his soul.
As the day wore on, more and more of his memories came back to fill his brain.
Most were wonderful recollections with Tony having a starring role.
The way his body reacted when he thought about Tony had him thinking the feelings he had were serious.
He couldn’t remember the specifics of them hooking up beyond the kissing, but he suspected there were more details locked away in his head.
It was a feeling of familiarity he had for Tony and the kind of intimate knowledge only a lover would know about their partner.
It led him to believe they might have slept together at one point but damned if he could remember much more than a few extremely erotic kisses and groping.
He could definitely recall their first kiss.
Tony’s lips were on fire and his tongue did illicit things inside his mouth that absolutely drove him wild.
The second their lips connected it was like a fuse was lit and Bronx was burning from the inside out.
Bronx remembered touching and grinding against the hard planes of Tony’s body, and those never ending kisses that grew hungrier by the second.
That was the last solid memory Bronx had in his mind before everything seemed to go into a holding pattern of nothingness. He needed to work on his short-term memory more intently—once he could find the strength to keep his eyes open long enough, he’d do exactly that.
Bronx woke hours later from the touch of deft fingers unwrapping the gauze covering the wound behind his ear.
His eyes quickly sprang open while his hand was already lifting to stop whoever was fucking with his bandage.
It didn’t take him long to realize the prodding was from a doctor who was merely doing an exam of his injury.
“Which doctor are you?” Bronx asked and then cleared his throat to get rid of the raspy tone.
“I’m Dr. Feldman, the surgeon who fixed your head,” a slender man with wispy, dark hair and tufts of gray at both temples said. “I’ve been monitoring your surgical recovery for the last week or so and I’m happy to say you’re progressing nicely.”
“I’ve been here that long?” Bronx asked.
“I believe you were admitted nine days ago,” he answered. “We kept you sedated for the first several days to allow your brain time to heal and the swelling to come down. We’ve been slowly waking you up for the last two days’ time.”
“Do you know what happened to me?” Bronx rasped out. “Was I in an accident?”
“I was told you hit your head on a metal pole on your tour bus,” Dr. Feldman detailed while he placed a fresh strip of clean gauze over Bronx’s head wound.
“A metal pole?” Bronx questioned again.
“Between my examination and the CT scans, it showed one point of impact which caused a rather large abscess to form inside your brain right behind your ear. It was quick to grow and began to press on nerves which led to a pretty significant hearing loss, but I’m happy to say recent testing has shown most of your hearing has returned since your surgery. ”
“Hearing loss?” Bronx thought hard about that detail and had vague memories of struggling to hear any sound at all. Visuals began to zing through his brain at high speeds and the missing pieces of recent weeks were snapping into place.
“You had an appointment with a hearing specialist at this very hospital,” Dr. Feldman outlined. “The abscess sidelined that, though, and landed you in the ER instead.”
“I’m in Houston,” Bronx stated.
“Yes, you are,” the doctor confirmed. “You spent a few days in the ICU before you were stable enough to have your own room. Now that you’re alert we’ll get you up on your feet and into a rehabilitation program designed for your needs.
Then we can talk about getting you out of here. Do you remember what happened?”
Bronx nodded. “I’m remembering some details but not all. The last memory I have is wrestling with my guard,” Bronx admitted.
“What I know is you were seriously injured,” Dr. Feldman said. “If you hadn’t been treated when you were, you wouldn’t have survived. Your type of brain bleed is almost always fatal. You can thank your guard for saving your life when you see him.”
“Is he here?” Bronx asked.
“From what I understand, he’s been holding vigil for you since the day he brought you in,” Dr. Feldman said.
“Where is he now?”
Dr. Feldman nodded and smiled warmly. “He’s waiting outside in the hall for me to finish my examination.”
Movement at the doorway pulled Bronx’s attention away from the doctor just as Tony’s head appeared around the door frame.
His dark hair was messy, likely from spending far too much time pulling on the ends from stress.
His steady gaze met Bronx’s and his heartbeat sped up.
Suddenly he felt a whole lot safer, like everything really would be okay.
“Tony,” Bronx called to him in a hoarse voice. “You’re really here.”
Tony began to walk into the room and then stopped, his attention shifting to Dr. Feldman. “Is it okay for me to come in?” he asked the doctor.
“Yes, of course,” Dr. Feldman answered. “We just finished up.”
Bronx held out an arm to Tony. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” Bronx said.
Tony hurried to Bronx’s bedside and pressed a kiss to his forehead, his long digits sifting through his hair. “You are a sight for sore eyes,” he sighed.
“Well, I’m going to leave you be, Bronx, but I’ll be around to check on you again later,” Dr. Feldman stated. “I’ll have the nurse come in and see if we can get you out of bed to take a few steps today.”
Bronx barely noticed the doctor leaving.
His focus was completely on Tony. He reached to trace Tony’s whiskered face with his fingertips, almost in awe, as if touching would make Tony’s presence believable.
Emotion built in his eyes. When he blinked and sent his tears spilling, it was Tony who wiped his cheeks off with the pads of his thumbs.
“Your doctors are saying you’re going to be okay,” Tony whispered. “I’m so fucking relieved, and you have to know it kills me that you were hurt. I never should have let things get so out of hand.”
“We’ve been over this, Tony. It wasn’t you,” Bronx said. “I’m the one who kept goading you.”
“It’s my job to keep you safe and you still ended up in the ER which means I failed.”
Bronx shook his head. “I don’t see it like that and hopefully no one else will agree with your version of events.”
“I’ve already had words with Fizzbo,” Tony said and then wished he hadn’t opened his mouth.
“And? Was he upset or patting you on the back as I have done?” Bronx questioned.
“It’s fine. We came to an understanding,” Tony said and shrugged.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Bronx asked.
“Nothing,” Tony said and smiled at him. “Your focus right now should be on recovering—not what’s going on with your security company.”