“Things seem better than they had been.” Mads took a deep breath. “What do we do from here? I’ve been begging to see you and Rex. My mind is still kinda woozy.”
“I think we keep you here until the doctors clear you. Then you tell me what you want.” Marquis patted his back gently.
“I want to go home.” The way he said it, how small his voice went.
But their home hadn’t existed in fifty years. It’d been torn down, a highway running through it.
“That house doesn’t exist anymore, Mads.” Marquis sighed, waiting for tears and regret.
“Home is wherever you are. For you, it’s been eighty years. To me, it’s only been a few months…” Mads sighed miserably. “I’m still in love with you. You’ve fallen out of love forever ago.”
“I would be lying if I said I’d fallen out of love. But I would also be lying to say the candle burns bright. I’ve had a lot of hurt and pain. A lot of hate for what happened. It will take timefor the bitterness to pass.” Marquis glanced away from Mads. “I didn’t think I’d ever want you back. But the flame still burns. Give it time. And Rexford seems amenable to making your acquaintance.”
“After so many hours of labor and all those back pains… Yeah, he should want to make my acquaintance.” Mads huffed. “But he’s had more than enough time without me…”
“Who knows what the future holds?” Marquis swallowed hard. Nothing about anything that happened seemed remotely healthy. He was emotionally vulnerable and mentally unstable. Marquis was broken, lonely, and bereft. He carried the ultimate betrayal of two partners, one of which he’d only at that moment realized he should have tried harder to reclaim.
“Greater things than the past.” Mads sighed.
A little beeping went off in the room, and the door opened a moment later. Mads stared at the door as a mage stepped in with a kind smile, an old physician that Marquis knew well. “Dr. Vans. Lovely to see you.”
He nodded politely. “It’s time for medication. Would you like to wait until after he’s done with that and his daily assessment?”
Mads fidgeted anxiously. “Those take quite a while.”
A cry came from down the hall as Rexford whispered soothing words to an irritated babe.
“They should head out. Let me say goodbye, first.” Mads cleared his throat, and stood, stepping into the hall to see them.
Marquis glanced at Dr. Vans. “I still love the poor boy.”
“Mates are hard to tear apart. Let’s give it some time. Once he’s stable, I would have no problem reuniting you two.” The doctor watched the door, lips twisted.
“And your unprofessional opinion?” Marquis lowered his voice.
“We have much research we can gain from him. If what he says is true. Also, how do you feel about waking up in the middle of the night to screaming?” Dr. Vans cut his gaze to Marquis.
“I’ll be back tomorrow with some of his things I kept to see what he recalls.” And at that, Marquis turned and left. And if he gave Mads a little too long of a hug, Rexford said nothing. But it was clear on his son’s face—it was a connection he’d always longed for.
Chapter Four
Mads
Toast. Applesauce. Orange juice. A slice of reconstituted fake meat bacon.
Oatmeal. Half an orange. Apple juice. A link of shriveled meat byproduct they claimed was sausage.
Mads counted the days by the meals he received, usually.
So, at seven a.m. sharp, when his doors opened, it wasn’t cereal Tuesday. No, half a banana, a carton of milk, a plastic-sealed container of cereal, and a boiled egg awaited him.
Pastries. The heavenly scent of flaky pastries humbled him. Rich berries. Sugar. Wheat flour. Butter in place of lard. Heavenly. The Great Depression had limited such fineries when he was a lad, which seemed like only a short time ago. When Marquis came into view, box in hands, Mads’s heart melted. “I didn’t think I would see you so soon.”
“I… The doctors think my presence may help your recuperation.” Marquis cleared his throat.
“If you don’t, the pastries will. Whatisthat smell?” Mads ran up, far more interested in the pastries than his estranged mate.
The day before, Marquis had seemed so close. Months separated them, but that morning, he’d woken with memories filling in more blanks, spanning gaps that made Marquis seem distant. Even his voice didn’t lift his spirits. Though, the medications he was on could be the culprit.
