Chapter 16
Utah Valley Hospital had grown over the years into a vast, sandstone-colored complex. Much of the development was new, reflecting the relatively recent influx of wealth and people into the state, and the buildings glittered with blue-green glass and rooflines curved to look like cresting waves.
Tean lucked into a spot on the lower level of the east parking garage, which was labeled—for some reason—EAST PARKING TERRACE.
“Everything okay?” Jem asked as Tean reached for the door.
“Yes.”
“Oh. Great.”
Tean got out of the truck.
“It’s just—” Jem began.
Tean shut the door.
Things like that—things that would have pushed Ammon’s self-destruct button and sent the two of them spinning into a massive argument followed by a weeks-long freeze-out—didn’t work with Jem.
Unfortunately.
Which was why Jem got out of the truck, saying, “—you don’t seem like you’re okay.”
“Well, I am.”
“That’s great.”
As Tean started for the entrance, Jem caught up to him. Today’s outfit included a vintage hoodie with Mickey Mouse. Tean was fairly sure he’d caught Jem asking Scipio for fashion advice when he’d gotten home. The conversation—if you could call it that—had cut off rather quickly.
“If I had to put a label on it,” Jem said, checking his hair in the rear window of a massive Suburban, “I might even say you’re upset. Or angry. Or pissy.”
“I’m not pissy!” Tean drew a breath. “I’m frustrated with things at work. I’m not angry at you.”
“I know.”
And since Tean had zero idea what to say to that, he kept walking.
“Do you want to have a fight?” Jem said in what Tean suspected was supposed to be a helpful tone of voice.
“What? No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I hate fighting with you.”
“But it might make you feel better for a while.”
“It wouldn’t.”
“I think you love fighting with me. Secretly.”
“I’m sorry you think that.”
“Mostly because of how you slammed the door a few seconds ago.”
“I didn’t slam the door—” Tean cut off the rising shout. “What is happening?”
“We’re having a fight so you’ll feel better,” Jem said. “Well, I’m kind of having a fight for both of us, because frankly, you’re not doing much of the work. But listen, that’s what having a partner is all about: we help each other.”
“Oh my gosh,” Tean whispered, pushing his hands through his hair as the automatic doors whooshed open for them. “I can’t do this right now.”
Inside, the hospital was a bold mix of off-white, cream, and the lightest of browns.
Accent walls were done in lavender or pale blues that didn’t so much provide color as reinforce the overall blandness.
At the information desk in front of them, two women were arguing: one wore a man’s trench coat that hung almost to her ankles, and she carried a jar of what smelled to Tean like sauerkraut—something definitely fermented, in any case; the woman behind the desk, petite and blond and smiling like she was about to push someone down the stairs, was shaking her head firmly.
When Tean moved to take his place in line behind the woman with the sauerkraut, Jem grabbed his elbow and steered him straight down the hall.
“Hold on,” Tean said. “We need to talk to her—”
“Oh good,” Jem said, “this is something else we can fight about.” His voice took on a gruff seriousness that fell short of sounding anything like serious as he said, “We’re not talking to her, and that’s final.”
Tean made it the rest of the way to the elevators in what felt—to him, anyway—like profound silence.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Jem raised his eyebrows. “I refuse to accept your apology. Actually, you know what? That made me angrier. Double fight.”
Tean tilted his head, considering his boyfriend. “Stuff at work got under my skin. I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”
“You’re allowed to be grumpy.” Jem smiled, exposing the crooked front teeth. “I like you grumpy. Grumpy is cute.”
“Grumpy is not cute. Grumpy is unsettling. Grumpy is upsetting. Grumpy inflicts real and permanent damage on our relationship.”
“Not ours. Because we’re soulmates.”
“Okay, well, soulmates isn’t really a thing—”
“And we’re fated mates.”
“Also not a thing. And it sounds like it’s from a really dumb book.”
“Plus I imprinted on your butt the first time I saw you naked.”
At that point, the woman in the trench coat arrived, sans sauerkraut. She looked at Jem without any attempt to disguise her interest.
“You can’t tell because he refuses to let me buy him cute pants—” he told her.
“I didn’t let you buy them because you kept calling them—” Tean looked around and lowered his voice. “—ass-stranglers.”
“—but he’s got a great butt.” To Tean, Jem said, “What’s another word for scrawny, but, like, in a sexy way?”
Tean pushed the up button a few more times.
In a heavily accented voice, the woman said, “I tell you. Turn around.”
“Uh, no thank you,” Tean said and leaned on the button.
The elevator finally came, and they all got into the car—Tean careful to keep from giving the woman the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree experience. Jem pressed a button, and the woman pressed a button, and they rode up in silence. The woman’s eyes never left Tean.
When the elevator stopped at their floor, Tean edged toward the door.
“Like stoat,” the woman finally said, nodding approvingly at Jem. “Very nice.”
Tean gave up on trying to hide his rear end and ran.
Jem emerged from the elevator behind him. He was grinning, and he staggered, leaned against the wall, slid along it—big, playacting movements of a man dying from how hilarious he found the entire situation.
“Will you knock it off? We’re in a hospital.”
Jem straightened up, but the grin stayed where it was.
“Just say it,” Tean said. “Get it out of your system.”
“Say what?”
Tean wanted to shout, but it came out in a furious whisper instead: “You know what!”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. But I do think it’s nice that you got a compliment.”
Something between a growl and a scream got caught in Tean’s throat, and he turned and started down the hall again. He had no idea where he was going, but that didn’t really matter because Jem caught up with him, still looking way too pleased with himself, and took the lead.
They turned at two intersections before Tean finally said, “This makes absolutely no sense. That was horrible, and humiliating, and—and objectifying. Why in the world do I feel better?”
“Everybody likes being told they’ve got a nice butt.”
That growl-scream, with a hint of a groan, started trying to escape again.
Jem rubbed his back and, without even seeming to think about it, kissed the side of Tean’s head. “Game time, babe. That’s Daniel’s room.”
Tean slowed, considering the door. Nothing marked it as special—there was no police officer on duty, no sign that indicated extra security, no evidence that the person inside had almost been murdered. “How’d you find him?”
“I told you: I made some calls.”
“Hospitals aren’t supposed to give out that kind of information.”
“Oh, yeah, I know.”
It was the voice that gave Jem away—a little too casual, a little too pleasantly surprised.
What worked surprisingly well with an overgrown man-child, in Tean’s experience, was silence. And eye contact. And patience.
“I might have—maybe—let them think I was Ben Doherty.”
“Who is Ben Doherty?”
Jem mumbled something and glanced over his shoulder.
“Jem, who is Ben Doherty?”
“The South Jordan chief of police. But look, I’m not responsible—”
“Why would they assume you were Ben Doherty?”
“I don’t know, babe.” Jem laughed. “Oh! You know what could have happened? Maybe the real Ben Doherty was calling at the same time, and someone put him on hold, and then they picked up my call, and they got confused.”
Tean waited about three seconds before he said, “Is that what happened?”
“Well…not exactly.”
“Jeremiah.”
“Okay, are we going to be grateful for the fact that I found Daniel, or are we going to ask all kinds of judgy questions and do that thing where your eyes look really pointy and I have to tell the truth or I’m going to shrivel up and die?”
“What we’re not going to do is lie— Wait, what do you mean my eyes look pointy?”
“Ready, set, go,” Jem said in a rush, taking Tean’s elbow again and propelling him forward.
The only acknowledgment that Daniel had been the victim of a serious attack seemed to be that he had been given a private room.
It looked like the other hospital rooms Tean had been in: the bulk of equipment, the whiteboard with Daniel’s name and information on it, the sharps container mounted on the wall.
On the little table next to the bed was a plastic cup with the remains of what looked like a smoothie, and a fuzzy BYU blanket lay across the foot of the bed.
Daniel looked older than Tean remembered.
His usually tousled hair was lank and needed to be washed, and his eyes were bloodshot.
Bruises mottled his neck. But worse than all that was the grayness of his expression, the way he sagged in bed, as though his body were empty.
Not quite two years before, when Daniel had tried to kill himself, he had lain like this, staring out at the world from behind the same empty eyes.
Next to the bed, Lucy sat in a chair, a magazine spread across her lap.
Her hair was in a ponytail, and she wore yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt that managed to look both cute and comfortable at the same time.
But her color was bad, and her eyes were ringed with shadows in spite of whatever makeup she’d used to try to cover them up.
She glanced up automatically and seemed to dismiss them just as quickly, returning her attention to the magazine. Then her head snapped up again.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Get out.”
“I’m sorry, Lucy,” Tean said. “We need to talk to Daniel—”
“Get out! Get out of here right now or I’m calling security!”
“I know he’s been through a lot,” Jem said, “but—”
Lucy twisted at the waist and fumbled for the call button attached to the bed.
“Hey, hold on!”