Carter's Shadow - 28. Chapter 28

West opened his eyes, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling, the fluorescent lights over his head. The smell of bleach and industrial cleaner tickled his nose as he lay there, feeling the coarse sheets, and that was when the pain returned.

He ached, everywhere. He felt like he had gone ten rounds with a Mack truck and had lost; he couldn't even manage to lift his head, only continue to lay there, feeling the cool air of the air-conditioned hospital room blow over him gently as he mustered his strength.

He started with his toes--they moved, which was a good sign in his opinion; his ankle rolled-again, this was progress. But he didn't have the strength to lift his leg, his fingers could move, barely, but the second he tried his arm, he let out a gasp as pain shot up the entire right side of his body.

"You should lie still," the nurse admonished, as she fiddled with the bandages wrapped around his head to make him feel more comfortable. He hadn't been able to turn his head fully to see her standing there, but he smiled up at her as best he could.

"Where am I?" he croaked, his voice dry and cracked.

"You're at the hospital," the nurse said, pouring him a glass of water. "Your parents are here in the next room talking to the police, and the man that brought you here is in the waiting room.

West would have nodded, but that would have hurt; he just chose to offer her a weak smile of thanks as she helped him to take a drink. The cooling water soothed its way down and he had never appreciated a simple drink of water the way he did that one.

He sank back to the pillow again as his eyes drooped a little.

When he opened them again, his parents were standing over him. His mother was tightly pressed up against his father, drawing strength from him, worry etched across her beautiful face. His father had a stony expression on his face, but his eyes showed the relief that West was awake.

"Oh thank god!" his mother sniffed, breaking away from her husband to grasp West's hand, and West held back from whimpering as the pain lanced up his arm from the movement. His mother needed this simple gesture.

"Martha," West's father said, taking her arm and gently making her let go of her son's hand, "his ribs." He nodded to West.

West smiled upwards in thanks as the pain subsided back to a dull ache. And he swallowed back the lump in his throat as he blinked. "Wh-hat happened?" he murmured.

"The police are outside, they're going to have to ask you that," West's father continued, an edge to his voice. "You're going to have to do your best to remember and tell them."

West nodded a little, feeling so much like a little boy--helpless. The shock of what had happened to him still lingered with him, the memory of... he swallowed and nodded firmly. "Y-yes," he stammered.

There was a quiet settling over them, his mother still looking as though she blamed herself, and all West wanted to do was to wrap his arms around her and tell her it wasn't her fault, it was his fault, his fault for being different, his fault for...

He stopped; his fault? Anger seeped through the guilt; his fault? Why the hell was it his fault? Just because he was gay, and that was his fault. That he was in a hospital bed because they couldn't accept it? That was his fault?

He seethed, his hands balling up into fists as he lay there, staring up into his father's eyes, trying to deal with the waves of anger that were flowing through him. His father just stood there and nodded, glancing at his wife, before looking back at his son. His eyes saying what he couldn't out loud--I know.

The police officers came, a friendly sergeant who seemed sympathetic, continually looking at her partner to ensure he was taking the full statement as they listened carefully to West describing what had happened to him. At the end of it she gave him a serious look, "You are pressing charges, right?"

West hesitated.

The sergeant caught this and shook her head;"The only way to stop this from happening to someone else is to press charges." She looked firm, "You have the power to stop this from ever happening again, and that's to make it clear that they can't get away with it."

West closed his eyes. "It was a fight..." he said hesitantly.

"A fight," the sergeant said folding her arms, "is one-on-one. Five-on-one, I call that assault."

West nodded; he wanted to sit up, a little voice inside him still defiantly stating that they hadn't beaten him, not as long as he could stand. He was angry and he could feel it, but did he really want to...

Then he thought of Peter, little Peter facing down five guys.

"I'm pressing charges," he said firmly, his old strength filling his voice as he winced, sitting upright in bed. His mother made to fuss over him, but her husband held her back, shaking his head for her to let the boy be.

The sergeant nodded, "Good, you're doing the right thing."

"Yeah," West nodded, "I know."

* * *

West should have been resting, but he didn't feel much like sleeping, laying there gingerly prodding the bandage with the stitches on his forehead. He'd been lucky, really lucky. His ribs hurt like hell, and his arms were bruised, and it had taken ten stitches to close the cut on his head, but it could have been far worse.

He coughed and winced again at the pain, looking up as a knock came at the door, and Coach Highmore leaned his head around the door.

"Can I come in?" he asked, keeping his voice low, his blue eyes sparkling.

West nodded; his parents were off getting something to eat, and West was steadily growing bored--he could use the company.

He smiled as Highmore ambled into the room; hands into his slacks, looking calm and relaxed as ever. Nothing seemed to bother the man, he always seemed to treat life as inevitable and just accepted it with a calm nod. West guessed that was what made Highmore such a good coach: he never had to raise his voice, as he just earned respect naturally.

West's eyes drew to the bloody handprint on the front of Highmore's white shirt, and West realized with a start that it was his own blood. He stared at it in shock, a stark splash of colour darkened now to a dull brown as the blood had dried.

"How are you doing?" Highmore asked, sitting on the end of West's bed and looking at him sympathetically.

"I've felt better, Coach," West admitted.

"Andy," Highmore corrected, "my friends call me Andy."

West nodded, "Andy."

Andrew nodded, "I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner..."

"It's not your fault," West said, shaking his head.

"It's not yours, either," Andrew said, meeting West's eyes. Recognizing something there he took West's hand and squeezed it reassuringly, "You can't blame yourself, you've done nothing wrong."

West glanced away. "I know," he said, closing his eyes and taking a ragged breath, "I..."

"Yeah," Andrew said knowingly.

"Did you...ever have these problems?" West asked, opening his eyes and looking up at Andrew.

Highmore smiled; all things considered there was nothing really stopping him from talking to West openly. "I had a few problems," he said, "but my boyfriend had the most; they realized they couldn't really pick on me and went after him."

"Mister Carter," West assumed.

"Will, yeah." Andrew looked up towards the waiting room, where Will was no doubt still trying to wangle a decent cup of coffee from the machine. "But he was a fighter, like you. Decked Todd Gadreau..."

"The bouncer at 'phods?" West asked.

"That's the one," Andrew nodded.

West blinked, Will was a thin scruffy-looking guy, hardly the type capable of decking the huge bouncer that stood dutiful guard over the bar on a Friday night.

"Yeah," Andrew nodded, "though getting him to stop rolling up his sleeves every time someone pisses him off ..." Andrew chuckled fondly, shaking his head, "So you're pressing charges, right?"

West nodded his head, "Yeah."

"Good," Andrew said, "that's the responsible thing to do; at least they can't hurt anyone else now."

"But they're all on the team..." West said, looking down at his hand still in Andrew's and feeling the bond between the men who had shared similar experiences.

"Not any more," Andrew said shrugging. "Thorburn's going to have a fit, but we can't keep them on the team when they've done this."

"That's an entire line," West insisted, struggling to sit up, and groaning again feeling the pain in his side.

"An entire line and one team captain," Highmore said. "Needless to say that's probably the end of our season, but that's not your problem, you just need to get better and let me worry about the team."

West nodded, falling back to his pillows, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Andrew said, shaking his head again and smiling at West. "You've done the right thing, the responsible thing. Don't let anyone tell you differently."

"Thanks," West nodded.

* * *

"Must be nice." Mel's voice woke him up from the light sleep he was in, and he opened his eyes to look up at her sitting on the edge of his bed picking at a bowl of Jell-O that he hadn't touched at supper.

"What?" West asked, shifting to get comfortable.

"Spending a day in bed. You skipped out on Mrs. Therriault's test," Mel said, suggestively sucking on the spoon before she stopped and drew it out of her mouth slowly.

"I should get beaten up more often," West remarked dryly.

"Nah, next time they might harm that pretty face of yours," Mel dipped the spoon into the pudding again. "Do you think the food's this bad on purpose? You know, so bad you have to get well just to avoid having to eat it?"

"Like airline chicken?" West asked.

"No, that stuff is designed to keep you in hospital," Mel smirked. "So, I heard you beat up five people, tough guy."

"No, I was beaten up by five people," West corrected.

"Yeah?" Mel grinned. "You should have seen them, black eyes, cuts..." she shook her head. "Even that pretty boy Jensen was sporting this big black eye," she held her hands apart.

"Cool," West said, looking at his rapidly disappearing dessert in amusement. "What are you doing here?"

"Visiting you, what do you think?" she asked smiling. "I work downtown, this was on my way home, so I figured, sneak in after visiting hours and keep you company. All it took was me flashing my breasts to the security guard and he let me right in..."

West choked, "You're joking..."

Mel smiled a toothy grin, which was to say she wasn't going to confirm or deny anything.

"You're here to keep me company, then?" he asked.

She shifted around. "Budge over," she said, stretching out on the bed beside him as she looked up at the ceiling. "Wow, this is boring."

West stared at the tile she was looking at. "It has one thousand two hundred dots," he said with a nod.

She glanced at him, "Cool." Her eyes travelled down over his gown-covered chest to the sheets, "So this is what it takes to get the infamous West Harding into bed; I should pass this info on to Jenny-Lynn."

"Not that it would do her much good," West replied, "I'm a bit too tender."

"I'm sure if we get little Peter "pumpkin eater" in here you wouldn't feel so sore," Mel gave a roguish grin.

"Not you as well," West groaned.

"It's the blond mushroom-cut hairdo--he looks like a choir boy," Mel nodded. "Or the freckles on his nose..." She looked up at the ceiling tile, grinned then looked back at West, "How many on his nose?"

West folded his arms, "I don't know."

"You know how many dots are on a hospital ceiling tile, yet you don't know how many freckles are on the nose of the boy you are so obviously in love with..."

"I'm not in love with him," West said laughing at her.

"Oh come on, you follow him around like a lost puppy." She shook her head, "You know, I have dated most of the hockey team from this year, and most of last year's as well. I know when a hockey player's in love, you all get this whole macho, I'm-not-in-love attitude, till the person walks by, and then your jaws hit the floor and you go all doe-eyed." Mel nodded, her earrings rattling, "So how many freckles."

West sighed. "Twenty three, and they're faint," he commented.

"Right," she said with a nod. "So, you know he likes you too, right?"

West blew out a long sigh, "Nope, we argue and fight all the time."

"The most passionate relationships are the ones where you're always fighting," Mel shook her head. "Have you never read a good romance novel? Jackie Collins special?" She rolled her eyes, "Dumb jock."

"Bitch," West grinned.

"Yeah," she agreed. "So, dopey little Peter, huh?"

West blushed a little, "I don't know, I like him I guess..."

"The vacant dreamy look in his eyes, the fact he's oblivious to nine-tenths of what goes on around him, and he gets freaked out by his own shadow..." Mel nodded, "... the guy that probably weighs a hundred pounds, wet." She shook her head.

"Hey," West said turning his head slightly, "he's okay, he's got this small chin, and this little nose, blue-blue eyes and he kisses..."

"Yeah?" Mel asked leaning up on an elbow. "How's he kiss?"

"It's amazing; he opens his mouth and he explores, a deep and full kiss...he's not shy at all when he's doing it." West sighed again, "Wow, I do like him."

"Whiney, insecure and probably bi-polar, what's not to like?" Mel grinned.

"It's not me liking him that's the problem," West said, scratching at his bandage, "it's..."

The door opened and a nurse stood there, her hands on her hips. "Visiting hours are over!" she said firmly. "Are you a family member?"

"I'm his wife," Mel said, sitting up in the bed and meeting the nurse's gaze evenly, "and unless you plan to throw me out of here, I'm staying at my husband's side!"

"Oh," the nurse said uncertainly, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Harding, I wasn't aware Wesley was married."

"It's West," Mel corrected, "and yes he is, happily married for a week now; now if you don't mind, my hubby bubby needs a sponge bath!"

West coughed, "Er?"

"I'll go get..." the nurse began.

"No you won't," Mel warned. "No one touches my hubby bubby but me, clear?"

"Yes, Mrs Harding," the nurse said apologetically. "I'll leave you two alone."

Once the door was closed West looked up at Mel, "Hubby bubby?"

"Yeah, you have that hubby bubby look about you." She settled back down on the bed, "Now you were telling me all about Peter."

"Are you sure it's a good idea for me to be discussing a potential gay lover with my wife?" West joked.

"Absolutely," Mel said. "I think it's kinky. You wait till I get one of the nurses to give me a sponge bath."

"You're as bad as Matt," West grinned.

"No, he's desperate, I'm just a slut," she nodded, as she settled in again to ease West's boredom.