Page 9 of Finders Keepers
“Can’t get fired...”
Shit.Nate’s trade to the Locomotives had been the result of getting caught at a club much like the one he’d just left. Also with the shit beaten out of him by some homophobic asshat as he’d been leaving the Portland Pleasure Palace.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Of course, he didn’t want the guy to get fired for whatever reason, but the guy needed help. Help that Nate was in no way equipped to offer.
“How about a hospital? I’ve seen and experienced my fair share of concussions, and I’d bet my annual salary you’ve got one. Probably more than that, too.”
The pause was longer than Nate would have liked, but the guy finally said something. Well... Nate saw his lips move butheard no sound. Yeah, this guy needed medical care, and he needed it half an hour ago.
“Nod if that was a yes.”
The head inched down and back up. That slow controlled nod didn’t bode well either. Shit.
“Okay, sit tight. I’ll get you to the hospital as quick as I can, and sorry for any pain it’s gonna cause.”
The guy dipped his head sluggishly and closed his eyes, letting his head fall to rest against the front passenger seat.
* * * * *
The hospital was close by, and Nate’s condo wasn’t far either. He could drop this guy off and be home in no time. He parked near the emergency department entrance of the University of Nebraska Medical Center. Reaching behind the seat, he tapped the guy on the knee, received a grunt in reply.
“We’re here, man. I’m gonna go in and get some help. Be right back.”
The guyhmmd.
“Hey, what’s your name? They’re gonna ask.”
The guy’s throat cleared. “Wethley Byerly,” he said in a harsh whisper.
Nate slapped a generic ball cap on his head and slid from the vehicle. Not that anyone in Omaha would recognize him since he’d only been in the city for a few weeks. On the other hand, his new team was the only professional sports team in town and hockey fans turned up in the strangest places.
A short time later, two nurses wheeled a gurney out from the ER doors and cut across the lot toward Nate’s car. They worked in sync, easing Wesley out and settling him onto the stretcher without jostling him more than necessary. The ride back to the building was short but bumpy enough to pull a couple of low moans from him. Inside, they kept moving,one nurse firing questions at Nate while the other called out numbers and clipped monitors into place.
Nate found himself overwhelmed by the cacophony of the chatter of the doctors and nurses combined with the beeps and tones of medical equipment as they wheeled Wesley into a ten-by-ten bay, walled off on the left and right but open to the emergency department otherwise. He could well imagine how Wesley’s head throbbed being buffeted by the clamor.
Nate stood in the back corner of the cubby and responded with the few details he had while they further checked Wesley out.
Wesley flinched and groaned in response to their brisk handling. After the initial assessment of his face, they removed Wesley’s shirt—is that a blouse?—to check for internal injuries. Once assured Wesley didn’t have internal bleeding or cracked ribs, they raised the end of the gurney so Wesley was in a reclined sitting position, and then everyone vanished, leaving the two of them alone in the few square feet of space behind a curtain.
Under the bright fluorescent lights, Wesley looked even worse, and Nate grimaced in sympathy. While he’d had his fair share of broken bones, concussions, and bruises in all his years of hockey, he’d never been as badly hurt as Wesley. His face had received the bulk of the damage, but there were a couple of softball-sized splotches on his torso as well. Nate had taken a puck or two to the chest over the years, although he’d had chest protectors to dull the blow. He couldn’t imagine the pain Wesley must be suffering.
The longer Nate studied Wesley, the more his Spidey senses tingled. The clothes were all wrong—a women’s blouse and some skinny jeans—but beneath the swelling and the blood, the guy looked an awful lot like Ashton. Same build, same hair.Except he’d said his name was Wesley. And he didn’t want the police called for fear of losing his job. Could it be...?
Nate moved into Wesley’s line of sight. He looked beneath the blood and the swelling as best he could.
Wesley blinked, puffed out a breath.
Nate’s chest tightened. “Ashton?”
Chapter Four
Nate stilled, waiting.
“That’s my cover name at the club. I’m an elementary school teacher. My real name is Wethley.”
Nate nodded. “Say no more.”
He totally understood. Being a gay man in a career field that didn’t look kindly on your sexual preferences...he knew all about that.
