Page 39 of Asher's Answer
Realizing that Ted is waiting for an answer, I nod. “Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”
He gives me a sad little smile and leans over to rub my shoulder. “It’s okay, Ash. It’s been a rough couple of days.”
He sounds just as wrung out as I feel. Guilt lances through me. “You don’t have to stay here,” I rush to tell him. “Your job is stressful and busy enough as it is without having to be Uncle Ted.” I offer him a rueful smile. “Charlie worries about me, but Icanfunction on my own.”
“Nobody’s questioning that,” he assures me seriously. “But someone you love is in hospital and being alone through that…” he trails off with a distant look in his eye, “Well, it sucks.” Giving himself a little shake, he pins his best Uncle Ted stare on me again. “I want to be here. To be honest, I think it’s as much for me as it is for you.”
I don’t question him. His best friend just got shot. If he says he needs company, I’m going to have to take his words at face value. “Okay,” I answer softly. “Go get your stuff and I’ll organize something for dinner.” I don’t tell him that if he wasn’t staying over, I would have just had a bowl of cereal.
Looking left to right, Ted leans in again with a playful little grin. “Orwe can get takeout and not tell your Daddy?”
For the first time in over twenty-four hours, I feel a spark of childish glee. With my eyes going wide and a genuine smile stretching across my face, I clap my hands. “This is why you’re my favorite Uncle Ted.”
“Hey! I’m youronlyUncle Ted!” He darts out a hand and tickles me, and I squirm and squeal and leave the car feeling lighter than I imagined I would when I left the hospital earlier.
* * *
Ted drops me off at the hospital every morning on his way to work. He’s arranged for me to have time off until Charlie’s released -which should be in a couple more days- and I have to admit that having him staying with me has helped keep my mind off the fact that Charlie could have died.
Not that Ted’s presence has helped keep the nightmares at bay, but he has cuddled with me on the couch, watching cartoons in the middle of the night, and carried me back to my bed when I’ve drifted off to sleep against him. He’s been kind enough not to mention them after the fact, but I know he’s itching for me to talk it through with him. I don’t plan on doing that, but it’s a comfort to know he’s here for me.
Today’s the fourth day of this new routine, and when I walk into Charlie’s hospital room, his nurse is removing the IV line from his hand.
“Look, babe,” he beams at me, his beard now reminding me of all my dirty lumberjack fantasies because he hasn’t been able to trim it, “I’m losing the cords. One step closer to freedom.”
His color is looking better, and his eyes have lost that drugged-up glazed look. “They’ve taken you off the meds, huh?”
“Finally,” Charlie bobs his head. It’s good to see him like this. For the last couple of days he’s been on edge and snappish, feeling trapped and useless and fidgety. We haven’t fought, but our easy camaraderie hasn’t been there either. “Tylenol only from here on out.”
There’s a part of me that wonders if that’s going to be enough, but I know better than to question it out loud. Charlie’s desperate to come home -even though I don’t know how he’ll manage getting up and down the stairs- and I’m not going to say anything that might suggest I don’t think he’s ready.
“No more monitors either?” I ask, watching as the nurse starts wheeling the equipment aside, having already removed the sensors that were taped to his chest and clipped to his finger. To my eyes, he immediately looks healthier without anything attached to him.
“Nope,” Charlie’s blue eyes glitter at me as the nurse leaves the room. “AndI’ll be able to take a piss by myself.”
I can’t help snorting. He’s hated that he’s had to rely on someone to come and help him drag his IV line and monitors everywhere while also using crutches because he can’t put his weight on his right leg. To tease him, I lower my voice and say, “Sometimes having Daddy help is fun.”
With fire in his eyes, Charlie groans. “Fuck, I miss you.” His hand, now blessedly free of wires and tubes, goes to his crotch and he squeezes himself through the thin hospital blanket.
“Charlie,” I shake my head, laughter bubbling up while I try to sound scandalized, “you’re in a hospital bed.”
A little bit of unease sets in when he continues to fondle himself shamelessly.
Oblivious, he waggles his dark eyebrows at me.“So? We could play doctor.”
My dick is on board. I am not. “I’m not into exhibitionism,” I remind him. It was something we discussed when we went over our hard limits. The idea of someone walking in and catching us spikes my anxiety.
I don’t even like second-hand embarrassment when I’m watching a movie.
The unease turns to something darker, tendrils of panic beginning to unfurl in my belly, but Charlie’s still playful, unaware of the turn my thoughts are taking. “You can just watch me then.”
My eyes flit to the open door, my heart hammering. No longer feeling amused at all, I shake my head. Ican’t.
Memories of being caught kissing my first boyfriend -just kissing- by my father have my palms sweaty and nausea churning in my gut.
I know this isn’t the same thing, but the feelings are similar and there’s no thrill in potentially being caught. Not for me. “Red light, Charlie.”
He stops immediately, all merriment ceasing. I immediately feel guilty. I assume the feeling is written all over my face and I look to the ground, scuffing my worn sneaker over the linoleum.
