“I never stopped loving him,” Ry continued.“Never.”
“And yet, here we all are.”
“It was easier to fight,” Ry said.“If he hates me, it’s easier to live.”
Brand put a hand on his shoulder.“If you’re serious about seeing him, and if you’re done wallowing, let’s go.”
Ry nodded, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes.He reeked of stale whiskey and desperation.Brand helped him change into jeans and an oversized hoodie, an outfit much less conspicuous than his stage clothes.
The two of them secreted out of the building, away from Arend’s eyes.Their car arrived moments after they stepped outside.Brand helped him in, and soon they were off.They sped toward the hospital, the city lights becoming a vibrant, blurred painting, with the Danube’s cold, dark waters occasionally reflecting the scattered lights.Only the low hum of the engine punctuated the silence.
The hospital was imposing: a Soviet-era bulwark that offered judgment, not comfort.Brand paid the driver in cash, then led him inside.Brand spoke urgently to one of the staff until a slender nurse frowned at both of them before leading them to Alex.
The air in the hallway hung heavy with the scent of disinfectant and a lingering metallic tang.His vision blurred as he followed Brand through the labyrinthine corridors, each turn leading to another identical hallway, accompanied by rhythmic beeps of unseen machines and footsteps of unseen nurses.Eventually, their guide stopped outside a room that looked like all the others.
Ry stopped.
Cool white walls and metal fixtures reflected the harsh fluorescent lights, banishing the shadows to the corners of the room.Alex lay still beneath a pale sheet and blanket.A plastic mask concealed his face, his sun-kissed skin now deathly pale.Damp hair clung to his forehead.
The man in the bed was certainly not the same Alex that Ry knew.The nurse closed the door behind her, leaving them alone in the room.
Brand took a deep breath.“He’s breathing.”
Ry couldn’t speak, not at the moment.That could have been him.Should have been him.Ry shook his head, the world swimming along with each shake.He sat down on a chair near the bed.Brand sat in the other.Lon should be here, Ry thought.We should all be here.He shouldn’t be sick.
Ry looked at Alex.“I always thought he was the stronger one.”
Brand looked at him.“You were the source of all his strength, though perhaps foolishly.Without you, he’s been getting worse.I tried to get you both to drink less, take fewer drugs.”Brand pushed up his glasses.“Only you listened.Alex pretended I had said nothing.”
Ry’s father’s voice echoed in his mind, the scene playing out again.
“It means nothing,” Ry said, though even knew he sounded defensive.“Alex and I can still be together.”
“I’m sure you’ve worked it out.But contracts are politics, and I know politics, son.One or both of you will end up in a hospital, hooked up to machines and fighting for your life.When that happens, you’ll know I was right.”
Royce looked out the window of the estate, the trees in the distance swaying in a breeze.He stood up and headed to the sideboard to pour two tumblers of fine Scotch.Ry, having been out of this house for years, felt a little strange at the sudden luxury that reminded him of where he’d come from.He felt at home, and he hated that feeling.
“Well,” his father said.“To your success, then?”His father raised and drained his glass before setting it on the table.“I suppose that means you’ll have enough income that you won’t be relying on me anymore?”
“He didn’t have anyone else.”Ry took Brand’s hand.“I should have been there for him.Thank you for doing what I couldn’t.”
Brand squeezed his hand, then let it go.
Ry watched Alex for a time.The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the antiseptic air stale and heavy.Alex, the love of his life, lay still, the shallow rise and fall of his chest the only sign he lived.An icy dread shivered down his spine.He still loved Alex, a fact branded into his soul.He had to act.Their being able to be together didn’t matter.Ry had to speak his heart.A spark ignited within him, a flicker of hope.He would either save himself or destroy himself.
Exhaustion took over.Though Alex would stay longer, he was at least stable.Tomorrow, they’d visit with Lon.
CHAPTER 4: PAST
Ry paced the stage's shadowed wings, his shoes faint on the wood.He watched Samantha Kipper, bathed in bright stage lights, her voice sharp as she began her ventriloquist act.His heart thumped, and his hands were slick with sweat.The scent of dust filled his nose.Alex, Brand, and Lon stood close, the air tense with anticipation.
Ry stopped pacing as the curtains fell behind Samantha.Ms.Black waved them to be quick and quiet as they set up their gear.They were next.
“Oh god, we are doing this, aren’t we?”he said.
Lon answered, “Yup.”
The whole talent show was supposed to be a joke.The big arts initiative his dad helped write and champion required schools to host multiple cultural events throughout the year, and what better way than a rock band performance by his son?A month had passed since the teachers announced the event, and Ry was sure they hadn’t put in enough effort to be ready.He had told the guys at lunch, when Nancy gave Brand a flyer, that it might be a cool idea.Because he’d had voice lessons, Ry naturally took on the role of the lead singer.Brand had taken piano before moving to the States.Lon drummed everywhere, more of a stim thing than else.Alex, the only one who had held a guitar or bass before, was left with both instruments.
