Page 50 of Bassist With Benefits
Jeremy breezed by with a cocky grin on his face. He flew to the other side of the pool and did a huge spin in the air. The wheels of his skateboard hit the inside of the pool too hard and the board came out from underneath him.
Alan’s breath caught in his throat. He stood motionless, helpless, while he watched Jeremy tumble down the broad length of the wall at the deep end of the pool. The thwack of Jeremy’s skull sounded like a bat hitting a ball. It left a trail of bright red blood spotted across the light gray concrete bowl of the pool.
Alan and Brandon both jumped in and skated to Jeremy, now lying crumpled and unconscious.
Derek was already kneeling beside their friend, panic and fear across his face. “What do we do?”
Jeremy was on his side, his legs tangled together and his arms stretched out in front of him. He looked broken. There was blood spewing from a cut on his scalp, matting his dark hair.
“Oh my God! Jeremy!” Alan’s heart was a jackhammer in his chest. The fear suffocated him, and he dropped to his knees, his limbs shaking. “Jeremy, wake up!”
“Calm down,” Brandon said. “Don’t touch him. I’m calling 911.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Shit. My phone’s on the patio table. Wait here. And don’t move him.” Brandon took two steps before a groan made them all freeze.
“Jeremy!” Alan leaned forward and placed his hands on the cold, hard concrete of the pool’s surface. It reminded him of the hard impact his friend had just suffered, sending an icy chill over his flesh that made him quiver.
Another long groan left Jeremy’s throat. He rolled onto his back and his eyelids fluttered.
“You alright, buddy?” Brandon returned to their friend’s side.
“Don’t get up,” Derek instructed. “We’re going to call 911.”
“No.” Jeremy stirred, moving his arms and legs as if to assess his injuries, although his eyes remained closed. “We’ll get in trouble. Give me a second. I can get up.”
“You cracked your head open! You’re bleeding!” Alan knew he sounded frantic, but he couldn’t contain his anxiety. He didn’t know how Jeremy didn’t break an arm or one of his legs on the fall.
Jeremy suddenly sat upright. He blinked a few times and touched his scalp. “That’s not good,” he said, inspecting the blood on his fingers. “Help me up. You can drive me to the hospital. I think I need stitches.”
They all protested and tried to keep Jeremy from getting to his feet, but the guy was as stubborn as a bull. He ended up with six staples in his head and a mild concussion . . . . .
Brandon’s arm around Alan’s neck jerked him back to the present. Alan’s cheeks were wet with silent tears and he wiped them away, not because he was embarrassed, but because he was enraged. It was Brandy who ultimately took down the shooter. Not security. Not the police. The fucking dog. His head was a mess, and his heart was a throbbing ache in his chest. He would never forgive himself.
“Where the fuck was security?” Alan yelled. “Why the hell weren’t they there, next to us? Isn’t that their fucking job?” People turned to look at him, but he didn’t give a shit. If security had been in place, instead of fucking off as if they had something more important to do, Jeremy wouldn’t have been shot and Brandy wouldn’t have had to morph into attack-dog mode.
Felix approached, his eyes blazing like Jeremy had never seen before. “I fired the entire fucking security crew. You both could have been killed. In broad fucking daylight. Security was scattered all over the place when they should have been right next to each one of you.”
The door to Jeremy’s room opened and two nurses exited.
“Can we see him?” Alan was the first to ask.
“He’s sedated,” one of the nurses replied, obviously annoyed at the disruption they had been causing in the busy hallway. “He won’t even know you’re here. Why don’t you just go home and let him rest and recover from surgery?”
“He’s our brother!” Alan was quick to reply.
Felix placed a hand on Alan’s arm to calm him. “We won’t stay long or disturb him,” Felix told the nurse. “We just want peace of mind to know he’s alright.”
She nodded, reassured by Felix’s take-charge, calm-assertive tone, and stepped aside so they could enter the room. When everyone entered at once, the nurse scowled, but she must have known that she wasn’t keeping them out, because she didn’t stop them.
Alan ran to his lover. He wanted to wrap his arms around Jeremy, hold him in a tight embrace and never let go, but settled on cradling his hand. He wanted to lift it to his lips, but was afraid he would disturb the wound on Jeremy’s side. He slowly peeled the sheet down, worried about what he might see. Carefully lifting the loosely-draped hospital gown, he stared at the ribbons of gauze that circled Jeremy’s torso. A ruby stain the size of a quarter punctuated the pristine white bandages.
Alan’s lip quivered at the sight of his best friend and lover. This should be him, not Jeremy. He looked into Jeremy’s closed eyes with an overload of guilt and gratitude. “What the fuck were you thinking jumping in front of a bullet?” His voice was a soft, wavering staccato filled with emotion. His vision blurred as tears filled his eyes, and he leaned his forehead against Jeremy’s.
“Take it easy.” Brandon’s strong hand was on Alan’s shoulder again.
“He’s a tough cat,” Felix said with fortitude. “And stop beating yourself up. Drop the guilt trip. You’re not responsible, Alan.”
Unable to form a coherent sentence, Alan nodded with his head still pressed against Jeremy’s. He didn’t nod because he agreed with Felix, but because hewasresponsible. No one could ever tell him differently. Jeremy took a bullet that was meant for him. There was no other way to twist what had happened.
Cam moved closer to Jeremy on the other side of the bed and looked at him closely. “His color’s good. He just looks like he’s sleeping.” Cam tried to sound optimistic, but there was no hiding his somber tone.
