Page 7 of You Can Make Me
“No thanks necessary. I just need him to be okay.”
She sighed heavily into the phone. “I hope, someday, that he realizes what you’ve done for him.”
“Take care, Mrs. Harris.”
“It’s Deb, Denny, and I’m going to keep reminding you of that.”
It was awkward, me being Cooper’s caregiver, for many reasons. He was nearly eighteen years my junior. I’d retired from the sheriff’s department, a decision I’d been putting off before this incident since I loved my job, but Cooper came first, as long as he needed me. We were also opposites in every way. He had advanced degrees in journalism. I’d served in the Marines. He was an out-and-proud investigative reporter. I was a newly realized bisexual man with two ex-wives.
During our courtship, he’d been a brilliant, energetic, insatiable partner.
Now… I failed him every day that I couldn’t help him get better.
I finished my first cigarette and lit up a second for my next phone call.
“Hamilton.”
“Hey,” I said to Detective Gene Ochoa with a hoarse voice. I hated hearing the anger in his, and his refusal to call me any of his many nicknames for me let me know just where I stood.
Gene, a fellow detective and department spokesperson, was my second-closest friend in the world after Walter Muse, Jr. It was through Gene and his beloved wife Samantha that I met Cooper Harris, though the couple had no idea what had come of a simple introduction nearly three years prior. I’d instantly been taken with him, though at the time I’d had no clue what the hell kind of feelings I was experiencing. I didn’tdomen. Or so I’d thought. Maybe I didn’t domen as a whole, but Cooper captivated me.
The line was quiet.
I exhaled a long plume of smoke and let my head fall back.
“Any news?”
I’d also let Gene and Samantha yell and scream at me when I’d taken Cooper from the rehabilitation facility—at his request—and secreted him away. I’d turned off my location sharing, which Gene and Junior and Ineverdid, and texted that I had him, and he didn’t want to see or speak to anyone for now.
“He decided to kick the pain meds. He’s frustrated he can’t work.”
“He knows more than most the dangers of opioids. He spent months interviewing folks in recovery and the families of those who didn’t make it.”
“I wouldn’t have let it get to that point.”
“Yeah? Well you’re not a fucking doctor,” Gene spat out. My once dear friend was pretty damned close to hating me for keeping him and Sam in the dark.
“I know. I’m in constant conversation via the health app with his doctors, plus some medical personnel I know, and I’m heeding all of their advice whether he wants me to or not. Physically, he’s better.”
Gene let out a long breath. I heard him cover the mouthpiece and speak to someone, probably at the office, before he came back on.
“I hate being mad at you. I miss you, you bastard.”
I barked out a laugh, wishing I had some sort of outlet for the terror, rage, or the helplessness I felt. Instead, I took another hit off the death stick in my hand.
“I hate youbeingmad at me, but I deserve it. I understand.”
“If you’d just explain…why the fuck did he pickyou?”
I looked back toward the house and saw no movement. I checked the security app on the SAT phone to be sure he was still in bed, and I exhaled another puff of smoke.
“I wish I could explain it, but I’m not exactly sure.” I hadn’t known what to tell people. His parents knew something. My friends knew nothing about us. To everyone else, I was merely Cooper’s caregiver. It was easier than saying, “We used to be lovers. He was my hope for the future, then he was gone, and for some fucking reason he asked me to help him escape.”
It didn’t make sense. None of it did.
“At least, could you please fuckingfinallytell me how the hell you two even knew each other?”
I had nothing but time, unless I wanted to become an expert in the Chinese terra cotta warriors or some other ridiculous shit in those damnNat Geomags. I could fill in some of the blanks for him—and out myself in the process. Why not?
