Chapter Twenty-Four #2
But he sucked it up and listened to the doctor’s instructions, asked his questions, took the printouts and the prescriptions, and finally wheeled Joe down to the elevator, accompanied by a nurse.
“I could walk,” Joe muttered, but Austin had seen the way he swayed on his feet in the three steps between the bed and the chair, and decided that was a poor idea.
“Liability issue,” said his nurse sweetly. “It’s not personal.”
Austin was fifty-fifty on whether the guy made that up, but Joe seemed to buy it, which was all that mattered.
The health-care supply store was a few blocks away.
Austin ran the prescriptions over to the pharmacy across the street first, then went in to grab an actual oxygen tank—who knew you could get those for home use?
—while the pharmacist worked on filling them.
Joe stayed in the car. He might have better color, but he still looked like one of the kittens might take him out by accident.
Austin purposely didn’t look at the receipt when he handed his credit card over. That was a problem to deal with when the bill came.
Finally he got Joe and his new accessories home and was about to put him to bed when Joe said, “What’s that smell?”
Just… fuck. “Fucking cats,” Austin groaned. He grabbed a blanket and muscled Joe onto the couch instead. “One of them peed in there last night. I didn’t have time to get the smell out yet.”
He shot Linda a text before he started, just in case this was less an accident and more a sign of something wrong with one of the cats. God knew how he’d figure out which one. Smart money was Walker, but it could’ve been any of them. Dallas could be a little terror. He wouldn’t put it past her.
Finally either Austin got the smell out or he went noseblind. He set a fan up in the corner to dry the area and went back out to the kitchen to start on dinner.
He was just taking the meat out of the fridge when his phone buzzed with a reply from Linda.
Probably one of the boys marking his territory. Neuter surgery should fix it. You’ll want to get that scheduled before marking becomes a habit rather than an instinct.
Austin sank down at the table. Great. One more problem they could solve with money, if they had any.
He needed to go back to work. But even if he did—his business was supposed to support him and itself, not him and itself, three cats, a three-legged dog, a teenager, and Joe.
And sure, Joe would be back to work in a week or two, and that would take some pressure off, but it didn’t solve anything now.
The garage had been Austin’s dream, once upon a time. He’d spent his whole life relying only on himself, and that carried over into his decision to own his own business. Austin had been convinced that making it as a business owner would mean he’d beaten his past, or something stupid like that.
Now it was just one more thing to worry about on top of pets and Will and food and his bank balance—and most importantly, Joe’s health.
He couldn’t put any of this on Joe until he was on the mend. Joe was worried enough about needing to be taken care of, for once, instead of doing the caregiving. Austin just had to hold it together for a couple weeks. He’d managed it his whole life.
Right now, that meant taking care of dinner.
Austin stood up and turned around. Pasta wasn’t that hard.
Brown meat in pan, add sauce, boil water, cook noodles.
It wouldn’t be as good as Joe’s, and it definitely wouldn’t touch Nonna’s, but it would feed them, and maybe Will would stop looking at Austin like he was some poser adult.
Austin never thought he’d miss the days Will could barely look at him without flushing.
It took him a minute to register the fluffy orange body on the countertop. “Walker, no!”
Walker ignored him and shoved his furry little face deeper into the tray of ground beef. He refused to give up his prize until Austin bodily hauled him away. Even then, Walker stretched out his neck and tried to grab one last mouthful.
His face was smeared with raw beef, and Austin stared at his “bloody” orange mouth and sighed.
Awkwardly, he managed to keep hold of Walker with one hand and grab paper towels with the other.
Not that Walker really let him clean his face, but at least he managed to get the worst of it.
Then, only feeling a little guilty about it, Austin threw the cat onto the front porch.
Walker gave an indignant “Mreow!” but Austin didn’t budge.
“You can come back into the house once you’ve cleaned your face of raw meat, you menace,” he declared through the glass.
The cat gave Austin such a scathing look, he was grateful looks couldn’t kill, and then settled in to bathe. Or maybe just to get all the delicious flavor from his whiskers.
Back in the kitchen, Austin eyed the mangled beef. Since he hadn’t yet cooked it, it was possible it was no more unsafe for human consumption now, but his stomach turned at the thought.
With a sigh, Austin threw the beef into the trash and cleaned up the mess left by his biggest problem child. Or was that second-biggest? Did Will count?
Mess cleared, he eyed the rest of the ingredients. His minimal desire to cook had been squashed.
Fuck it. What would it hurt now if they ordered out? What was another fifty bucks? He fished out his phone and ordered pizza. Hopefully Will would be less likely to grumble about another night without homecooked food if he saw his favorite on the table.
Will still grumbled, but at least he didn’t stick around for long. After inhaling two slices and asking after Joe’s recovery, he slumped with relief and then took three more slices up to his bedroom.
Austin wasn’t thrilled about the idea of food crumbs upstairs—they only just got rid of mice—but he was less thrilled about the idea of picking a fight. Or spending more time with a moody teen who would probably follow up the fight with pointed and aggressive eating of pizza.
So Austin let him go and instead checked on his patient.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Joe’s first day home set the tone for the next few.
Austin did his best to balance domestic and business needs while also playing nursemaid to a Joe who vacillated between gratitude and adoration to Austin for taking care of him, and frustration and humiliation at not being able to care for himself.
Checking on Joe and fetching him something to drink or eat, or reminding him to take his medication, would either end in Joe asking, “What would I do without you?” or snapping, “I can do it myself!” and then promptly failing to do so.
Austin bit his tongue and reminded himself that Joe was sick and miserable and feeling guilty and horrible on top of that. Snapping back wouldn’t help.
The day after Joe got home, Starling emailed Austin the invoice, and the dread hollowed out his stomach.
His savings didn’t have near enough to cover that amount.
Still, in a fit of optimism, or maybe delusion, he signed into his bank account to check the numbers, and discovered they were worse than expected.
Shit. Looking at the balance and the recent transactions, he spotted the issue—the e-transfer he’d expected last week with monthly rent from his new tenant hadn’t been deposited.
If he didn’t move some money around, the next time the mortgage on the garage came out, he’d be in the negatives.
Shit. Shit.
Letting out the space was supposed to improve his financial state, but it couldn’t if he didn’t get the rent on time.
Though a garage that was never open wasn’t helping him stay solvent either.
Less than half a year ago, that business was a proud mark of Austin’s success and independence. Now it was causing him headaches and had been bumped so far down his list of priorities he wasn’t sure when he would get back to it.
Frustrated, Austin slammed his laptop shut and scowled at the kitchen cupboards.
Restless energy suddenly filled him, and he stood up abruptly. Then paused. What to do with all this energy? He could walk Pepa, sure, but that didn’t actually appeal. He wanted—he wanted—
He wanted Joe to pin him to the bed—or maybe a wall?—and fuck the restless energy out of him until he was a spent puddle of twitching exhausted muscles.
Fuck.
Well, not fuck. That was another problem too far down the priority list to address or even acknowledge, other than the fact that it was making him a little cranky.
Once Joe was settled back to sleep and Austin was sure he was breathing easy and not about to wake again, he turned his focus on dealing with one of the many tasks that needed doing.
He left a note by Joe’s bed saying he was on a grocery and pharmacy run, and then headed out. Maybe he could actually make something edible tonight. If he bought more beef—and guarded it better—he could make pasta.
The drive through Essex did him some good.
Feeling indulgent, he sifted through the change in his cupholder and located the three bucks he needed for a ten-pack of Timbits.
If nothing else, at least he could count on some simple carbs to cover the hard edges of his feelings.
Besides, it was never a good idea to grocery shop on an empty stomach.
But these days nothing he did for himself ever went unpunished.
He turned back onto Main Street out of the Tims drive-through and made it a total of two blocks before he had to hit the brakes.
In front of him, a minivan had stalled. The driver had put her four-ways on and was standing next to the road, tugging at her hair like she had no idea what to do.
Which, yeah, even if she did know what to do, Main Street just before rush hour wasn’t a great time to have a breakdown—mental or automotive.
Austin put his own four-ways on and pulled over. “You need some help?”