Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 5

Teresa's calls for him to stop and shaking off Taylor's hand on his arm, he strode rapidly over to the triage window where the star-struck little nurse waited. He needed to see Travis right fucking now.
    "Hey. Do you think I could go back and see my…see Travis?"
    The nurse hesitated.
    "Listen, I'll throw in a pack of tickets to our next show complete with backstage passes."
    Aaron rarely used his new status to manipulate people like this. It sat in his stomach like a bad burrito, but he just didn't care. He had to look into Travis's eyes. He'd know what this burning in the pit of his stomach meant if he could just see the other man's face, touch his hand, and ask why.
    The nurse darted a quick look around, and then pressed a button at the side of her workstation to buzz him into the back. "He's in room four, Mr. Banks. I—you don't have to give me tickets. Maybe, after you see your friend, you could sign an autograph for me?"
    Aaron stopped with his hand holding the door to the treatment area slightly ajar. "Sure thing, Ms…?"
    The nurse gave a shy smile. "Priyanka. Priyanka Celoyny."
    Aaron gave Ms. Celoyny a tight smile and nodded in assurance. He made a mental note to make sure his manager put the little nurse on the list for every single concert they did in the greater Bay Area. And he personally would ensure she was provided with backstage passes every time. He stepped through the door, allowing it to clunk closed behind him. Room four was at the end of the short hallway on the right. Mr. Morris stood just outside the door talking to a man wearing a long white lab coat. He glanced up and caught Aaron's gaze, pausing in his debate/discussion with the doctor. Then something in the room behind him caught his attention momentarily, and he held up a finger, clearly asking the doctor to pause in his litany of Travis's injuries.
    Aaron's heart stuttered in his chest. Mr. Morris's eyes locked on his face. The doctor swung his head around. Taking in Aaron's presence for the first time, his mouth pinched down into a prissy line. Mr. Morris nodded toward the room behind him, and Aaron shook off his momentary paralysis to stride forward. As Aaron reached the pair outside the room, the doctor raked him with a hot head-to-toe-and-back-again glance. Aaron registered the doctor's high marks on the hotness factor scale—even with the prissy mannerisms he rated near the top. Twelve months—shit, twelve hours ago—Aaron would have made a mission of spreading all that fussy hotness out across the back of his Harley and fucking both the doctor and himself into sweaty incoherence. Hell, six hours ago he might still have been stupid or blind enough to do it. Before Travis came to the studio and caught him with those clear eyes and ripped open the badly healed edges of the festering wound Timothy's death had left on his heart, Aaron might have been able to still lie to himself.
    Something of the thoughts flying through his head must have shown on his face, for Mr. Morris's brows lowered and the doctor's face lit with partially suppressed anticipation. Aaron's gut clenched as a grunt of pain echoed out into the hallway. All thoughts of what might have been sloughed away in that moment. Mr. Morris's face cleared of its storm clouds, and the doctor's mouth tightened. Disappointment and frustration colored his mien with the pale shades of bitterness.
    In the corner of his eye, Aaron saw the doctor raise a hand to block his way. "Hospital policy—"
    Mr. Morris's voice cut across in hard, sure tones. "—allows for a fiancé to count as family."
    Aaron's gaze flashed to meet Mr. Morris's. Did Mr. M. really just say what he thought he said? His heart slammed against his ribs like a too-heavy down beat.
    Mr. M. jerked his head toward the open door. "Get in there, son. He needs you."
    As Aaron passed through the doorway, he stumbled. A shiver shook its way up his spine, carrying the unbelievable words Mr. Morris just spoke to the doctor, depositing them with a fanfare that lit the inside of his head brighter than any fourth-of-July fireworks display.
    Fiancé.
    Family.
    Holy shit. .
    The smell of antiseptic lay thick in the room. Travis lay on a gurney at the center of the room, bruised, battered, and—Aaron put out a shaky hand, catching himself on the edge of the counter nearest him—alive.
    "A-Aaron."
    Aaron sucked in a harsh breath. He opened his mouth to tell Travis he was sorry, to ask why he'd run, to ask if he was okay.
    "You