Duncan nodded, dubious, but he flexed his hand on the ball, relaxing it then.Fuck.Unsure if he would ever use that hand properly.
He shot a look at Sinclair. “You’re babysitting now?”
“Just making sure you are fine. I need you, remember?”
“I’m not sure what use I’ll be to you…” He put the ball in his lap, and lifted his arm with great pain, the muscles stiff as that arm started trembling. Making a gun out of his right hand, a wry smile as he lowered it. “See? Fucking great…”
“Guns are not everything. Your wound is still healing, don’t give up yet.”
“I was wounded before and it was never this bad.”
Fed up, but he picked the ball up because he had promised to some shadows in that nightmare that he’d live. Shutting up about waking on the floor in his own piss.
“Keep sulking. It suits you.”
“Fuck you and your posh shit.” But he had almost laughed, his weary eyes on the sun pouring in through those tall windows. “I need a walk… want to join?”
Sinclair smiled. “Yes, thank you. An ice cream and a coffee?”
Duncan rose. “If you pay.” Smiling as he put the ball down.
Sinclair stood and a pen fell out of his breast pocket.
Duncan caught it without thinking, a small hiss as his right hand closed on that small object. He looked at it, mesmerized.
Sinclair snatched it out of his hand and pocketed it. “What were you saying about your hand?”
“Fuck…” Spreading his fingers a bit, in shock. That hope there that some of that hands strength could be brought back. That despair there, straight away. “It doesn’t mean it will work as before.”
Sinclair patted his arm. “It’s a hand. Whatever hand it may become.”
Duncan just nodded, grim. Fed up too, with his absence.
“Are you coming?” Raising his eyebrows.
“I have to change, but yes.”
“Hurry. It’s passed my coffee time.”
Duncan just rolled his eyes, but he felt better, knowing that Sinclair had carved some time out for him.I have your back…and he did, in more ways than one. Inwardly saying his blessings too that he was not jobless. A tiny idea there, looking in the mirror as he was struggling pulling his T-shirt on, taking shape. A small smile as he zipped his bag up and shouldered it on his left side.Coffee and ice cream… Fuck…
Some days darker than others, his body and mind screaming for something and anything, that familiar burn missing, the comfort of glass on skin, the joint in his fingers, the way he held his hand, talked, the way it soothed the mind and blurred the world around him. Mad, that raw anger when he almost trashed his room, tore at his hair, howling. Taking less meds than before, that dread lurking that he would not be enough on his own. Soft breaths in that panicked dark where sanity seemed to seep away with every breath. Eyes wide on that sliver of night in that grated window. Dawn light, licking the wall, the will there to end it, stronger than anything, until that light flood those grey eyes on that painting… Flooded that dark tattoo. Semper Fi. That light in his grey eyes, that light he had caught in paint, already there…He’s waiting for me…A small smile as he wiped the sweat off his forehead, pushed his nausea down. A soft bell to indicate breakfast in half an hour. Knowing he had to eat when he had refused to on most days. His eyes on that painting, in those painted eyes. “Righteous…” A soft whisper on parched lips.I can do it…
Parking the car in the parking lot facing that creamy yellow building, a park around it. Getting out, his shoulder and arm aching with the strain of driving, but it was better than before, that lame hand obeying too, with a barely there grip. Birch Meadow rehab centre. A simple sign near the gate. He swallowed and walked through that open gate, other visitors arriving too, and Duncan’s heart was racing because fuck knew if Spencer would see him, at all, and if he would, he had no idea what he could tell him. Maybe seeing him a bigger trap than missing himbecause he had blended that ache in his days, and he had no idea how he would leave and rip his heart open again.
He walked to the receptionist. “I’m Duncan Lambert. Could you tell Spencer Galloway I’m here?”
She checked her screen. “Sure. I’ll send someone to tell him, just have a seat.” Gesturing at brown sofas lining the windows. Large green plants in pots.
“Thank you.” He went and sat down, wincing at the stab in his shoulder so he cradled his right arm in his lap. Waiting, his eyes scanning the visitors.
The reception area opened into a larger visitors’ lounge, people hugging, some crying, patting backs.
A vague ache there as time passed, and his eyes darted to the receptionist who walked to him and handed him a note.
“I’m sorry, Mr Galloway doesn’t want to come out and meet you. He asked me to give you this note.”
Duncan took it, trying to push some words out.Fuck.That note burning his hand as he stood. “Thank you…”
