The Wish (25 page)

Alex manhandled Paul into the Jeep’s passenger seat before climbing under the steering wheel to follow the bright strobes of the ambulance.

“
H
EY
, lover, what are you doing here?” Alfred muttered. “You’re not supposed to be here, are you? Didn’t you go away somewhere? I’m supposed to meet you, aren’t I?”

Byron beheld the man who’d stolen his heart only to cherish and protect it for so many years, torn between wanting his lover alive and happy and the overwhelming need to be reunited. “I never left,” he answered.

“You’ve been here ever since….”

Seeing in his lover’s gaze the moment he remembered the gulf separating them, Byron watched the lines around Alfred’s eyes and mouth ease, streaks of gold creeping into his lovely silver hair. “Ever since you asked me to wait for you,” Byron finished for him.

“You can do that? Stay, I mean?”

With a tender smile, Byron explained, “Everyone gets one final wish.”

In a voice slowly returning to its once youthful vigor, Alfred asked, “Anything?”

“Well, not anything. It has to be truly important to you; important enough to fight for.”

Alfred’s pale cheeks slowly regained their color.
It won’t be long now.
Although Byron eagerly anticipated being with his love again, he silently mourned for their nephews, who’d doubtlessly take Alfred’s death, following closely on the heels of his own, hard. He prayed they’d turn to each other for comfort instead of letting despair rip them apart.

Apparently considering the possibilities, Alfred ventured, “What becomes of you if I want to stick around? I’ve been without you long enough.”

“Don’t worry about me, love, I asked to wait for you. If you’re here, here I’ll stay also.”

“Well, you know what I truly want: to see the house filled with Alex and Paul’s children.”

Byron quietly listened to the voices that’d helpfully guided him thus far, smiling at their answer. “I do believe you’ve picked a winner, babe.” By this time, the vestiges of silver had fled Alfred’s hair, and thirty years disappeared from his features, though the vision sat superimposed over the image of an elderly man with gray skin, lungs struggling for breath in a death rattle. Byron’s smile faded. Although it meant they’d be together again, watching the love of his life slipping away spiked a dagger to his ghostly heart. “Just a little while,” he whispered, fading into the shadows to wait.

“
B
YRON
? Byron!” Alfred screamed as his lover disappeared. A deafening alarm shrieked in the background.

“We’re losing him!” came someone’s frantic cry, the last thing Alfred Anderson heard with his mortal ears.

W
ITH
a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, Alex tailed the ambulance. If he hadn’t already accepted the truth, the litany of heartfelt, pleading prayers murmured from the passenger seat would have proved Paul’s love for Alfred. Alex pushed his own fears aside to get them to the hospital safely, believing in his heart they’d never arrive in time. Alfred was a fighter; if he chose to, he’d beat his illness and live years longer, though anyone could see his heart wasn’t in it. With Byron gone, he didn’t want to continue, regardless of how much he loved his surviving kin. Some might call it selfish, but the man didn’t have a selfish bone in his body. Alfred simply loved Byron that much.

Following the ambulance to the emergency room receiving doors, Alex instructed Paul to get out while he parked the Jeep. With a terrible sense of foreboding, he watched the paramedics pull the gurney from the vehicle, wheeling into the building and disappearing into an area marked “No Admittance.”

The sliding glass doors slid open to the sound of Paul’s indignant voice arguing with a uniform-clad nurse. Both appeared relieved by Alex’s approach. Paul, clearly frustrated, exclaimed, “Alex, you have to fill out the papers! They won’t let me admit Alfred because I’m not his family!”

“I’m sorry, sir; it’s hospital policy,” the nurse blurted.

Placing a supportive hand against Paul’s back, Alex feigned calmness. “Don’t worry; I’ll take care of it.” To the nurse he said, “I’m Alex Martin, Alfred Anderson’s nephew. May I have the papers, please?”

She handed him a clipboard full of forms, pointedly ignoring Paul, and Alex leaned against the counter, scribbling the necessary information. Paul stood a few feet away, forlornly staring toward where the gurney had disappeared.

The doors opened and an orderly stepped out, eyes sweeping the waiting room and alighting on Alex. “Mr. Martin? I was told to come and get you.”

“I have to finish up here,” Alex replied, pointing to Paul with his pen. “Would you mind taking him back?” His raised eyebrow dared the orderly to even mention the word “family.”

“Certainly,” the young man replied without hesitation, turning to the quietly sniffling Paul. “If you’ll come with me?”

“Alex?” Those soulful brown eyes appeared so lost, and the last brick in the wall around Alex’s heart crumbled and fell. He’d have gladly given all his worldly possessions never to see such misery there again.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, fighting the urge to offer comfort while trying not let the sinking feeling in his gut show on his face. “You go on and I’ll be there in a minute.”

Rushing through the papers, he handed them over to the nurse. The orderly reappeared at his side. “If you could come with me, sir.” No further words were necessary; Alex read the message loud and clear on the man’s face. Alfred was dead.

The orderly pushed the button to activate the doors and they whooshed open. Alex found Paul slumped in a chair, face soaked with tears. A nurse stooped beside him, attempting to offer comfort. Alex dropped into a chair on Paul’s other side, pulling him into a hug.

Paul buried his face in Alex’s neck, sobbing. “Shh,” Alex crooned. “It’s okay, they’re together now. They’re happy.”

“I don’t want him to go!” Paul cried. “First Uncle Byron and now Alfred! What will I do without them? I don’t want to be alone!”

“You aren’t alone, you’ve got me.” Though he said the words as comfort, he meant them with every ounce of his being. He loved Alfred, too, and would dearly miss his uncle. Right now, instead of sorrow, he chose to focus on the joy of having had such a wonderful person in his life, treasuring the time they’d spent together. The more he’d learned of his uncle, the more he understood that, as much as Alfred loved the living, his heart remained with Byron, and every day he awoke alone had been sheer agony.

Suddenly, it hit home for Alex that he was alone now, too, and though Paul might need him, he needed Paul more.

18

“
W
HERE
’
RE
you takin’ me?” Paul slurred as Alex navigated him toward the staircase, carefully helping him up each step.

“We both need some sleep.”

Having taken a doctor-prescribed sedative, a drug-induced fog clouded Paul’s mind. He waved a sluggish hand toward the hall. “My room’s down there,” he stated, somewhat mystified that Alex didn’t take him there.

“You don’t want to be alone, remember? Besides, I think it’s better if we avoid the east wing right now, don’t you?”

“You’re right.” Paul nodded overenthusiastically, eyebrows furrowing when he tried to remember something important. Oh yeah. Books. “The bookcase! Someone gotta pick up books!”

Without his glasses, Paul glimpsed Alex through bleary eyes. Alex cocked a brow, and, being too tired to explain, Paul shook his head, mumbling, “Never mind,” and he allowed Alex to lead him up the stairs and into the blue room.

Not much help in his befuddled state, Paul didn’t fight when Alex pushed him back onto the bed and stripped him down to his boxers. Was Alex finally going to take what he’d been offered?

As if reading his mind, Alex said, “You’re upset, you’re exhausted, and you’re drugged to the gills. I’m putting you to bed—alone—to sleep it off while I go make some phone calls.”

Bolting upright, an ill-advised move that caused the room to spin, Paul pleaded, “No, don’t leave me!”

A firm hand on his chest stopped him from scrambling off the bed. Peeling back the covers and tucking Paul beneath, Alex pulled them up to his chin. “Shh…. You get some sleep. I can make my calls from here if it doesn’t keep you awake. Good night, Paul.” Alex bestowed a chaste kiss on his forehead. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Don’t wanna talk,” Paul whined sleepily, “wanna hold you.” Wait a minute! Had he said that out loud? A dopey smile crept over his face. Yes, he had. “
In sedatio veritas
…,” he mumbled absentmindedly to himself.

“Yes, under sedation the truth comes out,” Alex replied. Before Paul could respond, he fell asleep.

Several times during the night, Paul swam to the surface of consciousness only to plunge back down into the welcoming embrace of oblivion. Once or twice he swore he heard softly spoken words, blaming the phantom conversation on the drugs when his sedated mind fabricated his beloved uncle’s voice.

The night grew quiet and he woke surrounded by warmth. After a moment he registered Alex spooning against his back, one muscular arm thrown around his waist. Even in the early days with Jordan, he’d never felt so safe and secure. Snuggling into the reassuring embrace, he quickly fell back to sleep to the comforting sound of deep, even breathing.

O
VER
a breakfast that turned to sand in his mouth, Paul listened carefully to Alex, who’d apparently been very busy the previous night.

“I know you may not want to talk about this, but we need to. Alfred made his own funeral arrangements. He’s to be buried next to Byron in a simple graveside service with only family and close friends present.”

Though Alex appeared to have no problem with those plans, Paul wasn’t happy. “Several hundred people attended Uncle Byron’s funeral and Alfred deserves the same!” Paul excelled at event planning and intended to make sure everyone understood how much Alfred Anderson meant to his nearest and dearest, and how much he’d be missed. First Paul needed to call the cathedral downtown….

Alex sighed, nipping ambitious plans in the bud. “He left a letter to be opened at his death, detailing what he wanted, saying, and I quote, ‘Funerals are for the living.’ Paul, Uncle Alfred held Byron’s funeral the way he wanted. I know you’d go to any length for the man, as I would. He knew that, too, which is why he made his wishes known. Do you want to go against them?”

Defeated, Paul slumped back into his chair. “When’s the service?” he muttered, agreeing under duress.

“Tomorrow, followed by the reading of the will. We have a lot of work to do in the meantime.”

Once again, Alex cut off Paul’s indignant protests. “Uncle Alfred left specific instructions. We both loved him dearly, but I never went against him in life, and I don’t intend to now.”

“Well, why listen to me?” Paul snapped. “It’s not like I’m his family or anything!” As much as the truth hurt the night before, coming from an irritating nurse, he regretted them the second the words left his mouth. He took a deep breath, then, in a much calmer voice, said, “I’m sorry, Alex. I don’t know what came over me.”

Under-eye circles betrayed Alex’s weariness, along with drooping shoulders. He leaned in to gain Paul’s full attention. “Let’s take things with a grain of salt, shall we? We’re both on edge and bound to say things we don’t mean. Make no mistake; you’re Alfred’s family, just like Martha, Bernard, and Isaac. You’re part of the family he created for himself when his birth family turned their backs. Oh, they may not have disowned him outright; they chose instead to deny him their love and support. He replaced them with better people. You’re one of those people.”

Unexpectedly choked up by Alex’s show of acceptance, Paul found himself at a loss for words. After a moment he quietly murmured, “Thanks.”

The briefest hint of a smile flickered across Alex’s face before quickly disappearing. “Don’t mention it. Now, go take a shower. William’s bringing some of your clothes to my room.”

“You don’t have to,” Paul protested, “I can get them myself.”

Alex once again provided the voice of reason. “Do you honestly want to be in that part of the house right now?”

He had a point. Paul didn’t think he could bear to walk down the east hallway anytime soon, knowing what he’d find if he opened the door to the room across from his. Never again would he carry in a tea tray or a good book. Never again would he have a heart-to-heart chat with a dear father figure. Finally, he answered, “No, not really, and thanks.”

Hurrying upstairs for a much-needed shower, he mulled over Alex’s forcefulness and how he’d come to depend on the strength of another. Paul excelled at planning and organizing, but when the chips were down, the man he no longer considered his adversary had risen splendidly to the occasion. Together, they made one hell of a team.

After a brief shower, he toweled off and entered Alex’s bedroom. Clothing from his closet hung inside the massive walk-in, and two open bureau drawers revealed his socks, boxers, and T-shirts.