Martina just pointed her phone at him. “Don’t think for a minute we won’t capitalize on your story. I sold it to several tabloids already.”
“Fuck you.” It was soft, like a final cut.
“You will regret your behavior, as ever, Spencer. Brat!”
She stormed out and Spencer had to laugh softly.
His father squeezed his hand. “I’ll see you soon. Think about The Meadow, please?”
“No…” Swallowing that bitterness coating his throat, his mind screaming for a drink. “No, thanks.”
He watched him leave then, giving him a small wave too because somehow he could forgive some things to his father, drifting too in that golden world.Now to fuck off.
Tearing his IVs out, he swung his legs to the floor, dizzy, but determined. Fortunately somebody had left Crocs near his bed so he slipped them on. Raking his hair, almost whining a laugh at his right side being cut short.Fuck.Almost laughing. Walking to the door, he just opened it and faced the cops off.
“I’m going to the psych level to get evaluated.”
One of them blinked at him. “We haven’t been told…”
“Well, I’m telling you now… it’s not a prison, right?”
The other just shrugged.
Spencer ambled away, looking for a map of the building. Nobody gave a shit about him, mingling with the other patients, the visitors, the overworked staff hurrying down the corridors.ICU… third floor.Taking the elevator, all too conscious that his hospital gown was almost open in the back. Shit.Laughing a bit, even if he had boxers on, he stood at the back, waiting. Ding.
Getting out, he waited until the nurses left the main station. Quiet on that floor, but he went from room to room, peeking in.Not him, not this one either.Finally, he could see through the window that shape he knew by heart, his dark hair, his hand on the sheet covering him.
Spencer pushed the door in, and all but collapsed on the bed, jolting Duncan awake.
What…?Blinking that fog away, he had a hard time focusing and realizing whom he was seeing. That initial fright and adrenaline rush gone as soon as he felt that familiar touch on his forehead. His vision clearing, meeting those dark eyes framed by his hair. On one side.
“Hey…” His throat was so dry, Duncan could only whisper the word.
Spencer grabbed that cold hand on the covers. “It’s me. How are you?” So worried, it choked him up, his tears threatening to spill.
Duncan almost slurred the words. “Good? I think… I’m pumped full of stuff…” Grazing that small piece of plastic sticking out of the back of Spencer’s hand. “You tore your IVs out?”
“Yes. I had to see you… I want to stay with you.” He leant his head on Duncan’s abs. His right chest had been bandaged, drain tubes hanging down the bed, dark with blood.
Duncan grazed his hair with his left hand. “Hey… I’d like that…”
Spencer relished in his touch, in his heat, even of it was faint in that cold room filled with the scent of meds and ozone. He was wondering if he should tell him, but somehow, the words wouldn’t stay in anyway.
“I’m sick…”
Duncan pushed at him so Spencer straightened, meeting his eyes.
“Sick?” That worry plain in his eyes, it almost made Spencer tear up right there.
“Yes. My liver. Seems like my steady diet of whiskey and spirits didn’t do it any good…”
“How sick?” He couldn’t sit up but took Spencer’s hand.
“It might not be too late… if I… stop now.” He sighed, determined, lacing his fingers in Duncan’s. “I will go to rehab… not that posh fuckery of a place… a proper one, with real humans healing… and maybe giving a shit and not just taking your money.”
“I’m sure you’ll manage.”
Spencer gave him a weak smile. “Maybe… but not without you?”
