Page 51 of Bassist With Benefits
Jeremy did look like he was sleeping, but it was the sedation. The bullet had nicked his liver. He could have died, bled out on the short walk from the hotel to the tour bus, with four members of their security team nearby. He had just been through two hours of surgery and lost several pints of blood. He was still unconscious, with tubes feeding antibiotics and pain medication through his veins.
Alan hung his head, the guilt too heavy a load to carry, and caught sight of the dried blood that covered his T-Shirt. He lifted his hands and slowly turned them over, his palms and forearms still stained with Jeremy’s dried blood. His pulse skyrocketed as he relived the shooting and the panic and fear when he thought his best friend had been dying in his arms.
Alan stared at his shaking hands. The dried blood burned his flesh, reminding him how close he had come to losing Jeremy. He scrubbed his hands together and frantically wiped them on his shirt, but they wouldn’t come clean.
“Calm down.” Felix grabbed hold of Alan’s hands. “Let’s use some soap and water.” He placed one arm over Alan’s shoulder and secured one hand on Alan’s bicep as he led him to the sink.
The water was hot, but Alan wished it was scalding. The stream from the faucet turned red as it burned the paint of his friend’s blood off his flesh. It was still under his fingernails, clinging to him like a parasite. He repeatedly jammed his hand down on the pump of the soap dispenser. It slid off the counter and into the sink with a loud clanking sound. He ignored it as it banged against the stainless steel, and he continued to scrub at his fingernails.
Felix watched with a concerned crease embedded between his brows, and then shut off the water. Alan turned to him in surprise. He wasn’t done. Even though he couldn’t see any blood lingering on his hands and arms, he felt it there like an invisible weight.
“You’re fine. Dry off.” Felix pulled a bunch of paper towels from the dispenser and mopped at Alan’s arms and hands. I’ll see if I can get you a clean shirt.”
Fuck! Jeremy’s blood stained Alan’s chest like a morbid Rorschach ink splotch. He ripped the shirt over his head and threw it to the floor as if it seared his skin.
“Keep it together.” Felix had that fatherly tone in his voice that he used whenever any of them were in deep shit and he was preparing to bail them out of trouble.
“I’m trying,” Alan replied. “But it ain’t fuckin’ easy. I hate seeing him like this. And I don’t care what the fuck you say. It’s because of me.”
“Stop saying that. I’m getting you a shirt. Just stay put and take it easy until I get back.”
With Felix out of the room, Brandon took over in an attempt to keep Alan calm. “Why don’t you take a couple of deep breaths and sit down?”
“I can’t sit down. Look at him, Bran.”
“I know. You don’t think this is killing me too? What if he wakes up and hears you ranting about how it’s all your fault? It’ll upset him. So stay calm.”
Alan let out an exasperated sigh. He was exhausted, and fell into the chair. He didn’t realize how weary his legs had become, and they shook with fatigue. “I know. You’re right.” He pulled at his hair. “It’s just so fucking frustrating.”
Derek stepped forward and laid a hand on Jeremy’s ankle. “You’ve got a lot of guts. You’re one courageous dude. I’m proud of you, my friend.”
Even Derek, the guy who had a smartass remark for every occasion, was humbled.
Brandon’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket to read the screen. “It’s Jeremy’s dad. They finally found a flight out. They’ll be here in the morning.”
“Thanks for calling them.” Alan couldn’t talk to Jeremy’s parents. He was too freaked out and it would have made them frantic. He couldn’t imagine how they felt being away from their son at a time like this.
Felix returned with a light blue baggy shirt – the top of a nurse’s scrub set. Alan pulled it over his head, grateful he had something to wear. Sitting half naked in the hospital room made him feel so vulnerable.
“We should go,” Felix said. “Let Jeremy rest. He’ll probably be back to his old self in the morning, causing havoc with the male nurses.”
Alan shook his head. “I’m not leaving.”
“Us neither,” Brandon agreed.
“I know better than to argue with you.” Felix picked up his jacket. “I wish I could stay, too, but I need to get going. I have a million phone calls to make. If he wakes up, tell him I was here, and please call me right away.” Felix took a few steps toward the bed and stared down at Jeremy. The band’s pain-in-the-ass manager, who never stopped complaining, seemed to be at a loss for words. He sighed, and his eyes grew heavy. “Hang in there, Jeremy.”
It was quiet once Felix was gone. They were all waiting for Jeremy to open his eyes, but Alan knew that he probably wouldn’t wake tonight. He was on too much medication.
Alan’s legs were like rubber and his body ached. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the railing to Jeremy’s bed, remembering the last time they were together and the stupid argument they had outside The Bear Bar. Thank God they had made up before the shooting.
Brandon dragged a chair next to Alan and sat down, placing a comforting hand on Alan’s back. “I wish you would have let the doctor give you a Xanax or something.”
“I’m fine. Or I will be once I hear Jeremy’s voice again.”
A nurse came into the room to check on Jeremy. Her eyes lit up and she smiled at everyone, obviously aware of their notoriety. Alan wondered if she was a fan, or just tipped off by the two armed security guards that Felix had stationed outside the hospital room. She had a syringe in her hand, and she injected something into the tube that fed into Jeremy’s arm. Alan eyed her with suspicion as he searched for her nametag. She was wearing scrubs, but he didn’t see anything that identified her as a hospital employee. He shot up from his chair. “Who are you? What the hell did you just give him?”
She jumped at his outburst and took a step away from the bed. “I’m his nurse. I just gave him—”
