Chapter 15 Wes
FIFTEEN
WES
The photo hits the Internet six hours after I walk into Jamie’s room.
TMZ leaks it first—how do those fuckers always out-scoop everyone?
?—and after that, it makes its rounds on various hockey websites, celebrity blogs, gossip rags and newspapers that really ought to have better things to report on.
Two prominent papers actually feature it on their homepage, where the photo’s thumbnail sits higher on the page than an article about the capture of a terrorist.
I guess the sight of me, Ryan Wesley, kissing the lips of another man, is a national emergency. And at the moment, there’s nothing I can do to put out that fire.
Did I mention I’m in quarantine, too?
Yep, the moment I ditched my protective gear, I signed my own prison sentence.
Dr. Rigel had marched into the room in his quarantine suit with the angry nurse at his side.
He informed me that since I had potentially exposed myself to what might be a dangerous strain of flu, I would be unable to leave the isolation unit until Jamie’s test results came back.
Then his pissed-off nurse took some blood from me and sent it to get tested, too.
Do I have any regrets? Not a chance. I wasn’t planning on leaving Jamie’s side anyway. At least this way, nobody can kick me out when visiting hours are over. And now that some asshole has outed us without our permission, I can’t deny it’s nice having an excuse to hide from the rest of the world.
I don’t know who snapped the picture, but hoo-boy, they’d struck gold with the intimate moment they’d stolen from us.
Me, sitting at Jamie’s bedside, pressing my lips tight to his.
It was right after he’d regained consciousness, and I’d been so overcome with joy and relief to see those beautiful brown eyes peering up at me that I’d forgotten we were in a glass box with the shades open.
He slept for another hour after that, while I held his hand.
Maybe it sounds dumb, but I’d never felt more useful to anyone in my life.
If he woke up confused, I wanted him to know he wasn’t alone.
In spite of the shit swirling through my life right now, I felt calmer than I had in weeks.
Because for once I knew I was doing the right thing just when it needed doing.
And when he woke up for real, he was confused. “Where are we?” he said, startling me.
“In a hospital, babe. You’re sick. You probably have the flu, but they’ll tell us after the test comes back.”
“Okay,” he said, squeezing my hand. But the more he woke up, the more agitated he became. And when he realized what an odd hospital room this was, it wasn’t long before he caught on to the fact that I’d been exposed, too. And now he won’t let it go.
“You shouldn’t have taken your mask off,” Jamie croaks at me. “You’re insane, Wes. You shouldn’t be here.”
It’s not the first time he’s questioned my sanity since he woke up, and now I’m questioning his sanity, because where the hell else would I be? Standing on the other side of the glass watching the man I love suffer?
“You’re gonna catch this stupid sheep flu,” he mumbles.
“First off, we don’t know if you even have the sheep flu,” I point out.
I’m sitting in a chair next to his bed but leaning toward him, my ungloved hand stroking his cheek.
His skin is still burning up, which worries me.
It’s been six hours on that IV, at least. Shouldn’t his fever be going down?
“Rigel seemed to think it was unlikely, remember? Second, if you do have it, chances are I already do too, because I had my tongue down your throat the other night. Third, I should be here. Take a look at this torture chamber, babe.” I wave around at the oppressive space.
“I’d never let you suffer in here all alone. ”
He laughs weakly.
Jesus. I’m so relieved he’s awake. My first glance of him lying in that bed, so still… It scared the crap out of me.
“Coach Hal is going to shit a brick.” He sighs. “What if you miss practice tomorrow morning? And you have a game in Tampa on Thursday night. You can’t afford to get sick, Wes.”
I stare at him in disbelief.
Jamie falters. “What?”
“Do you really think I’m going to practice tomorrow when you’re in the hospital?”
“I might be discharged by then.”
“With all the precautions these fuckers are taking? Yeah, right. They’ll keep you here at least a couple days for observation.” My tone sharpens. “I won’t be on that plane to Tampa, I hope you realize that. I’m not leaving your side until I know you’re out of the woods.”
“I was never in the woods,” he protests.
My jaw falls open. “You passed out at work! You have a hundred-and-three-degree fever! Your skin looks like a boiled lobster and yet you’re shaking like a leaf, you’re so cold. You’re too weak to lift your head!”
Jamie insists, “I’m fine,” and I’m tempted to slug him in the face. I don’t, though, because he’s the one lying in this hospital bed, so I guess I’m the one who needs to act like the adult.
“You’re not fine,” I say sternly. “You’re sick.
” Possibly with a dangerous strain of sheep poison or whatever the hell it is, but I refuse to let myself believe he might actually have it.
Thanks to Blake’s worrisome obsession with sheep, I know that at least sixteen people have died of this flu.
And all I’m going to say is—Jamie will not be number seventeen.
I’d sell my soul to the devil before I let anything happen to this guy. He’s my entire life.
We stop talking when we hear a loud beep. The door latch releases, and the nurse (who now officially hates me) stiffly enters the room. She’s decked out in her hazmat suit and facemask. I can’t see her mouth, but her eyes tell me she’s frowning.
“Mr. Wesley. Please follow me,” she orders, and I’m concerned by the note of unhappiness in her voice. Oh God. Are Jamie’s results back? Does she want to talk to me in private so she can confirm that the sheep got to Jamie?
My heartbeat triples as I stumble off the chair.
Jamie looks as worried as I feel, but he doesn’t protest as I follow Nurse Death into the secondary room.
Once the door closes behind us, she holds out a cell phone.
My cellphone, which she confiscated an hour ago after she caught me sending a text message to the Canning clan.
Apparently electronics are a no-no in quarantine.
Truthfully, I’m glad she took the phone away, because it was lighting up like a fireworks display after the photograph was released.
Jamie had still been asleep at that point.
Yup, he has no idea that as of an hour ago, a shit storm has been brewing outside our glass cage, and I have no intention of telling him. Not yet, anyway.
My sole priority is to help him get better. If he finds out that our relationship is now being discussed and dissected by thousands of people—hell, probably millions of people? Who knows what it’ll do to his already fragile system. I can’t take that risk.
“We’ve been fielding an exorbitant number of calls this past hour,” she says flatly.
“At least two dozen of them have come from a Frank Donovan. He insists on speaking to you, and frankly, my colleagues and I are getting tired of being yelled at. So we’re making an exception for you, Mr. Wesley.
You can use your cell phone, but only in this room and only briefly.
Now please call Mr. Donovan back before I give in to the urge to look into the cost of a contract killer. ”
I snicker. Okay. Maybe Nurse Death isn’t all bad.
I wait until she leaves the room before pulling up Frank’s number, but I hesitate before hitting send.
Fuck me. I’m not prepared to deal with any of this right now.
I had a plan, damn it. Finish out my rookie year, and then come out.
The story would have been controlled by Frank and myself.
Presented to the media the way we wanted it to be presented.
But some greedy, nosy, inconsiderate asshole took matters into his own hands. Or…her hands, maybe? I suddenly think of Nurse Death. What if it was her?
Then again, it could be any of the nurses I’d seen beyond the glass today. Or the techs delivering test results. The doctors popping in and out of the unit. The family members visiting their quarantined love ones.
Anybody could have snapped that picture. Trying to finger the culprit is like playing a nonsensical version of Clue. Nurse Death…in the Isolation Unit…with the Camera!
And does it really matter at this point? What’s done is done, and now it’s time for damage control.
“Ryan, about goddamn time!” Frank’s frazzled voice booms in my ear. “Why aren’t you answering your cell phone?”
“The nurses took it away,” I tell him. “Not allowed to have phones in the hospital.”
“Total myth. Studies have shown the effects of cell phones on medical equipment to be minimal.”
Is this really something we should be debating right now? “Frank,” I say, veering him back to issues of actual importance. “What kind of backlash are we looking at here?”
“Still too early to tell. Most of the media outlets are hopping on the rainbow train—”
I clench my jaw.
“—waving their gay pride flags and commending you for your bravery in coming out.”
“I didn’t come out,” I mutter. “Someone else did it for me.”
“Well, you’re out now,” he says dismissively. “And now we need to make sure we spin it the right way. The franchise is going to release the statement I prepared after we drafted you. I wanted to give you the head’s up about that—it’ll go out within the hour.”
Frank had sent me a copy of the statement a while ago.
It featured a lot of politically correct language, as I recall.
The team is—and always has been—supportive of our players and the rich diversity they bring to the sport of hockey…
Blah blah blah. We are proud to call Ryan Wesley a member of the team.