Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 5

hand pulled Travis's arm from across his eyes, replacing it with a cool damp cloth.
    "This is what Timothy used to do when you got migraines, isn't it? No, shh. Don't answer that. I know it's what he did. I watched him often enough. Just. Shit, T, don't pull a stunt like this again. I don't think my heart can take the strain. I can't afford to lose more family, man."
    Aaron's fingers smoothed around the edges of the cloth, and then there was a bump.
    "Elevator. We'll be in your room soon."
    A shadow fell across Travis's face, blocking more of the stabbing little points of light. Another bump, the shadow moved away, and then they were rolling again.
    "Hold on just another sec, T, and we'll be in your room. We can turn off all the lights then."
    The orderly's voice piped up, a clear, soft tenor that made Travis's ears perk up. "Here's the chart, Nessa. Margie said to call her when we got here."
    Travis tugged on Aaron's arm. Aaron's shadow fell over him again. His voice came from a whisper away.
    "Whatcha need, T?"
    A soft puff of air accompanied the words. Fine hairs along his temple stirred, and Travis shivered. "Find out if he sings, Aaron. If that voice sounds half as sweet wrapped around a tune—"
    The bed moved again, and Travis felt his face flood with heat. Shit. The kid had been right next to him when he said that. Aaron's rough-tipped fingers stroked over the back of his hand, and when he spoke, Travis could hear the warm smile in his voice.
    "Yeah, T. Will do."
    Shit.
    Travis knew that tone. Aaron was already picturing the kid spread over the back of his Harley.
    The sweet tenor voice came again. "I—I do. Sing. I have a tape at home. Uh. I could maybe send it to you."
    The bed slowed beneath Travis. The sway of rounding a corner rolled through him, and his stomach churned. He knew what was coming next.
    "If you're working tomorrow you can bring it in. We'll be here until at least tomorrow afternoon."
    Wait.
    What?
    Aaron wasn't offering to—
    "Aaron, you don't have to stay with me. You know my mom—"
    One of Aaron's nimble, callused fingers pressed against Travis's lips. "Shut the fuck up, T. I'll be right here."
    Travis shut up for a moment.
    "Aaron?"
    "Yeah, T?"
    "I'm gonna hurl."
    The soft tenor voice came back. Smooth hands too small and cool to be Aaron's turned him onto his side. An edge of something slick and cool bumped against his chin. The cloth tumbled from his eyes. The scent of new plastic rose in his nose as Travis squinted his eyes open. Then his guts were wrenching themselves inside out and why the fuck did puking have to hurt so much?
    "Whoa, T. Try to leave your toenails where they are, man."
    Travis uncurled his hand from the edge of the little pink basin long enough to flip Aaron off. "Prick."
    Aaron squatted down, catching his eye. His full lips twisted in a smirk, but his eyes pinched at the corners. He swallowed hard before answering in a husky half whisper. "Yeah. You know me. You done for now?"
    Travis blinked at Aaron. Then he tried to say yes. Evidently speaking again was too much movement, because his fucking guts tried to launch themselves into space again. Once things settled, he dipped his chin in an infinitesimal nod to let Aaron know he was done. The orderly dude had disappeared.
    Aaron took the basin to the attached bathroom, his jaw clenched and lips pressed together in a thin white line. When he returned, the stupid little pink thing was empty and smelled faintly of mouthwash. Aaron put a towel down over the spot on the bed where Travis had missed the basin, and then set the basin itself on top.
    No.
    No, Travis wasn't so sure he knew this man at all. He didn't try to speak again, just held the basin close after Aaron returned it. Travis lay for about twenty minutes and watched the stranger who moved and talked just like his big brother's best friend.
    Then the orderly returned with the nurse from the desk in tow. Travis knew she was the nurse from the desk because the kid called her Nessa again, and the name was odd enough that even the mush he called brains right now could distinguish it. She bustled in, hooked him up to a new bag of fluids, and then shot something she called an anti-emetic into one of the little y-shaped junctions on the tubing connecting him to the bag of clear fluid now hanging above the bed.
    Travis closed his eyes and hoped that meant his stomach would stop trying to climb out of his body. Gradually the quiet of the room penetrated beyond his