remember what he told me one night about the day Lyon died. I wrap my arms around his back and murmur sweetness in his ear. And then the doors tremble open. We shuffle out into a vast lobby.
Once we get a few feet from the elevator shaft, we both stop and look around. It smells like car exhaust. People walk past us—real people in real people clothes. They look sad, tired, bored, irritable. They have long hair, no hair, dread locks. One pulls a wagon stacked with luggage. Another carries a small child.
My eyes travel up the columns, toward the glass ceiling several stories up. I look back down to find his blue eyes on me. They look wet maybe. I can’t tell. I squeeze his hand.
“Want to keep going?” I whisper.
He nods, and we slowly walk toward the row of glass doors. I get all the doors for us, and when we get outside, I have to resist the urge to throw myself on him and shelter him from all the dangers here. Viruses... bacteria... fungi. For right now, he has no immune system and could catch anything.
For right now, he tips his head up to the sky. His eyes shut. I wrap arms around his waist and press my cheek against his sweater.
I feel him inhale. He murmurs, “Fuck.”
When we look into each other’s eyes again, I can see his are a little red. Mine probably are too.
I can see his face smile, despite the mask. “Where you wanna go?” his low, soft voice asks.
I smile back. “The hot dog stand?”
His arm bumps mine, our hands still joined. “Gotta have a chili dog.”
“Is that okay?” I feel a little bad, because he can’t have one. Because of germs.
His fingers squeeze mine. “I’d say you earned a chili dog.”
I giggle. “Maybe just a little.”
“I’ve got one I know you’ll like. Tastes best with a little soap and water.” I look up, and find a dark spark of arousal in his eyes.
“I’ll save room for seconds then.”
We get my chili dog. I eat it from the little baggie it comes in, keeping my gloved hands far away from my mouth, and then we walk back inside the hospital. Kellan stops inside the doors and looks around.
“I guess you’ve seen this place a bunch of times.”
“Not this last one,” he says, almost absently.
“Where did you come in?”
“Around in back. The ambulance entrance.”
“So it was plane, then ambulance?” I can’t believe I’ve never asked.
He nods. “Want to see?”
I look up at his face and find it curiously soft. I nod and toss my chili dog trash and Kellan takes my hand.
We walk down a long, white and gray hall that seems to skirt the outside of the building, and Kellan’s breathing is more audible. I stop us. I tug at his sweater.
“What are you doing?” I smile up at him. “Just brushing off some white lint.”
“Are you?”
“Yep. We can resume now.”
The walk is long, so I can tell he must really want to go here. And then we reach the “ambulatory transfer” area, and I blink. It looks a little like the warehouse where we met Pace and Manning that night. I see some nurses at a nurse’s station, and a door to an ER, but otherwise it’s empty.
“Nice place. Lively.”
He smiles down at me. I wish I could see his mouth, because based on his eyes alone, the smile looks sad.
“It was lively that day. Lots of people.” I can’t help wrapping an arm around him. Standing extra close to him. I look up at his face. “People for you?”
He nods.
I squeeze my eyes shut, because I really don’t want to make this about me and my guilt.
His gloved hand rubs my arm through my sweater. It’s an absent gesture, showing how in tune we are with each other’s unspoken thoughts; he doesn’t know I feel sick with guilt, but he can tell I need his touch. I watch his eyes circle the room. And I realize with a jolt: I think he wants me to ask.
So I put on my big-girl panties. “What was it like?” I ask softly.
He pulls me under his arm, up against him, then he wraps an arm around my back.
“I don’t remember that much,” he says, looking thoughtful. “Lots of Dil.” That’s what the nurses call Dilaudid.
I don’t mean to—not at all. But my eyes fill up with tears, and they spill down my cheeks. His eyes widen. He grabs my shoulders. “Hey—what’s wrong?” His