“I’ll give this to one of the cops.” I forced myself to keep walking, but I already knew I was going to at least get a peek inside that room, whether or not I was supposed to do it.
“If you’re sure. I have to get back to my shift. Angel should be done soon. I’ll swing by and tell him you found his dad and you’ll be back.”
“Thanks.” I didn’t turn to say goodbye to PJ. We hadn’t ever really been friends, only acquaintances, and I might go the rest of my life without seeing him again. It seemed like a loss, in a way, considering that’s how I’d lived so much of my life: meet people and move on. I couldn’t bring myself to make pleasantries. Anxiety ate at me, and I clutched the card hard; the plastic dug into my palm.
The hallway was a mile long as I took measured steps toward the chaos. There was a clatter like a metal tray had hit the floor inside the room. Another person in scrubs passed me going the opposite direction in the hall, and they were busy looking over their shoulder at the ruckus, rather than where they were going. I made it to the door and dragged in a deep breath. When I stuck my head around the doorframe, there was a man a bit bigger than Angel sprawled on the floor on his back with his hands cuffed in front of him. His shirt was gone and his jeans were riding low. I knew that body, and I knew that unfairly pretty face. Even the expression, screwed up snake mean, was familiar.
Horror had me gripping the doorjamb hard to hold myself up. I caught sight of his profile as he struggled with the cops, who seemed like they were doing their best not to hurt him while they tried to get him back up on the hospital bed.
It was the Peter Gaffin I knew.
My gut turned. He attempted to crawl away from the police, scrabbling at the floor with his cuffed hands like a wild animal. I’d seen him that way before. My vision went blurry. That day when everything went to hell, I’d left him on the ground—
I shook my head but the horrible memories wouldn’t go this time.
The cops tried shouting at Peter. He didn’t stop fighting. After a while, he went limp and gasped for breath, and they both finally got their hands under his arms and dragged him uprightish. The cops were strong guys, both fit, and it was almost nothing to them to toss him bodily onto the bed now that he wasn’t flailing.
Peter didn’t look much different than he had when he was younger, though his eyes were strangely vacant as they rolled around and fixated on something on the ceiling while he continued to shout for his pills. This was—and wasn’t—the fucking asshole who had made my high school years a minefield. Until Creed, Merit, and I had started working out and turned the tables so hard it was more like a flip, he’d had us scared shitless. After we won one fight with him and his crew, we’d started being assholes, too.
Creed had always called it proactive bullying. Hurt a couple of people no one liked anyway and we’d be left completely alone. Since we were gay, and it wasn’t like the world had been nice to guys like us, it made a twisted sort of safety sense, too. Except I was too big and too visible, and our plan hadn’t worked out the way we’d hoped. Too many people wanted to see if they had what it took to lay me out and take me down.
We’d been forced to become worse and worse….
God, Angel grew up with this fucker. My fingers hurt. I glanced down. I’d crushed the card. This asshole had injured Angel. If I’d known who his father was, I would have already guessed it. It seemed like there was something really wrong with him now, too. Beside the bed, shoved forgotten in a corner, was a wheelchair. My stomach twisted in on itself and roiled. Why did he need it? Did I do that? Had I made this man worse than he’d been all along?
“You fucker, did you hurt Angel tonight?” I shouted over his bullshit, shocking myself.
Peter stopped to focus on me, and I was horrified when he laughed. “You’re not real.”
I stalked into the room and the cops rushed to his side again with their hands out as his eyes bugged and he began to renew his struggle. “I’m very fucking real.” My control was close to snapping. “Did you hurt him?”
It took them a while to get Peter settled again, and I considered leaving, but I kind of enjoyed watching the panic on his face. Finally he just stopped looking at me and stared at the wall, almost like that made me vanish from his world.
Maybe it did.
The cop on Peter’s left cleared his throat and seemed both relieved that Peter had stopped struggling and now worried about me. He swiped at his hair, dark from sweat, and sent me a crooked smile. “Sir, who are you?”
He left Peter to his partner and came over to me. I handed the man Peter’s crushed insurance card.
“Came in with his son. See if you can add some charges on him. Angel has broken bones, and I’ll bet my bottom dollar this asshole is responsible.”
The cop glared at Peter and nodded. “You really shouldn’t be in here. Thanks, but you need to leave, now.”
Peter laughed from his spot on the bed. “I’m arrested and you’re free? I am this way because of you and those fucking friends of yours.”
My gut plummeted toward my feet. “You always were a mean fuck.” I jabbed a finger in his direction because I couldn’t exactly go over there and haul him out of that bed to dump him on the floor again. Adrenaline surged in my veins, and the cop stepped in front of me. He was half my size, but broad enough to step with me and keep me in place, assuming I didn’t want to just run him over. “If I have anything to do with it, you’ll never lay a hand on Angel again. You’ll never fucking see him again.”
“Get out! Out! Fuck you! Angie! Where are you?”
The cop laid his hands on my chest and pushed, then blinked up at me and kind of laughed. “Come on. Do this the easy way, huh?”
I glared but finally nodded, and he stumbled when I shifted to the side and turned to walk back into the hallway. I had no real choice except to leave this madness behind.
“You came with his kid? Where is he?” The cop who’d followed me frowned and stared around at the floor near my knees, and I had an embarrassed moment when I realized he thought I meant a child.
“He’s grown. And he’s here in the hospital, getting patched up. Do you need him?”
The cop turned to glare toward the room, resting his hand on the gun he had at his side. He tipped back his hat. I wouldn’t have said a word if he’d walked in there and shot Gaffin, but then again, I was beginning to suspect I was an even worse person than I’d already known I could be.
