“Ruben is one hundred percent behind the play. He’s been a big help with the university board,” Nate said, speaking of Ruben Fox, head of the Cinema and Media Studies department where Nate was a tenured professor.
“Ruben,” David sneered. “Well, isn’tthatjust peachy! Can’t tell you how happy I am to have Ruben Fox hip-deep in my life again.”
Fox was a man who David would never like or trust. Almost from the time they became tenured professors, they had been in competition for grant money, university accolades, and research funding. And David would never forgive Fox’s vocal resistance to Nate’s appointment as an associate.
“David, please tell me you’re going to support me in this,” Nate begged.
“Well, of course, I’m going to support you,” David told him. “God, Nate! How could you even ask such a thing?” He blew a long breath, diverting his gaze to the floor at his feet, and then he lifted his head and met Nate’s eyes. “I just hate the thought of being separated for that long.”
“You won’t fly to New York?”
“Of course, I’ll fly to New York! I’ll fly out as often as I can! But that will mostly be on weekends and odd days when I’m free.” He shot Nate a look. “I still have classes to teach and two daughters to raise.”
“I know,” Nate mumbled. “God, David, I feel miserable about that part of things. I don’t want to be separated from youorthe girls!”
David reached for Nate’s hand and drew him onto his lap. “Listen to me, rabble-rouser,” he said, rocking Nate in his arms. “This is a huge opportunity for you. A chance to shine.” He touched Nate’s cheek, “And youwillshine—at one of the most celebrated venues on earth. The girls and I are proud of you. I’ll be there on opening night, and we’ll struggle through living without you as long as we must.” He kissed Nate’s cheek. “Though god knows we won’t be happy about it.”
“I hate it, David.”
“We do, too. But the pursuit of glory demands sacrifice.”
“You quoting Shakespeare?”
“Nope. Professor David Gardener.”
CHAPTERTHREE
THE FAREWELL DINNER
On the other side of town, Joshua lay asleep on the couch, his head resting on a pillow in Colin’s lap. He stirred briefly, and Colin bent over him, frowning. Then, after a moment, satisfied that Joshua still slept, he sighed and leaned back, allowing his fingers to drift in a slow, gentle caress through Joshua’s dark curls. “Sleep, sweet baby,” he whispered. “Sleep and feel better.”
Joshua had experienced a dizzy spell earlier, which had scared Colin half to death. It was intense, and though it only lasted a moment or two, it had rattled both of them and—as these dizzy spells always did—left Joshua exhausted to the point where he could not stay awake. No matter how hard he tried, his brain forced him to sleep.
Adam Casey, their physician, had told Joshua that these incidents were not unusual and could continue for up to a year from when he had suffered his crippling concussion. They were a signal that neurons, tiny information messengers in his brain, had discovered an area of brain matter that was not fully healed. A minuscule bruise. A microscopic tear. The area was tiny. Smaller than a speck of dust. But that didn’t matter to the neurons: an injured brain was an injured brain.
Called into action, the neurons began to stimulate the neuroadaptive changes which would teach healthy parts of his brain to pick up the slack and take over the duties once performed by the damaged cells. This rewiring process was highly efficient and—partly because Joshua’s traumatic brain injury was relatively minor—stood an excellent chance of leading to complete recovery. Eventually.
Adam said this to him: “The fatigue is your brain telling you to rest so it can rewire and heal itself. So listen to your brain and do as it tells you. In other words, shut up and go to sleep.”
Joshua trusted Adam Casey, and most of the time, he was happy to do as his doctor advised. But he hated being forced to sleep the day away. The fatigue left him with no choice but to cancel scheduled appointments with his patients and call off any court-related interviews he might have on his calendar. Worst of all, it cut into his cherished time with Colin. But, like it or not, the healing process demanded rest.
Once Joshua was settled on the couch, Colin began to soundproof and visitor-proof their home so that nothing would interrupt his husband’s healing sleep. He canceled any plans for the day, then plucked Joshua’s phone from his fingers, turned it off, and left it upstairs and out of reach. His own phone was set on vibrate. Shades were drawn, and doors were locked.
He didn’t tell Joshua how much these dizzy spells upset him, but his obsessive determination to control anything that could interrupt Joshua’s sleep was a clear indication. The challenging symptoms that still plagued Joshua two months after his abduction clenched Colin’s teeth with frustration. He could not predict or control these events. He could not make them stop. And he hated them.
He gazed down at his husband, watching the slow, even swells of his breathing, then he jumped, startled by the clattering noise of his phone rattling against the table. He snatched up the phone with a spat-out curse.
“Hello!”
“Colin?” David’s voice replied. “Are you OK?”
“Oh, hi, David. Sorry. I’m trying to keep everything on the down-low. Josh had a dizzy spell this morning.”
“I expect he’s out cold.”
“He is. Hang on a second, David. Let me go outside.” He inched out from under Joshua, then moved through the kitchen and out the back door. “OK, David. I’m outside. What’s up?”
“I’m sorry, buddy. I hope he’s OK.”
