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I closed my eyes as they all laughed at him.
“What?” Patrick asked incredulously.
Simon spoke up. “We’re just not used to you being so, so…Declan.”
Everyone laughed again as Declan looked shocked. “What on earth do you mean, Dr. Taylor?”
“Kincaid, asshole. How many times do I have to tell you that?” Jackson replied. “It’s been three years. Maybe you’ve taken one too many tackles, Miller.”
We all laughed as Simon patted him on the chest. “Settle down, big guy.”
Patrick’s smile was back, and he patted his stomach. “Can we eat now? I’m hungry. What did you guys bring?”
Conversation erupted as we headed to the kitchen where all our favorites waited on us. Sub sandwiches, hot wings, potato skins, salads, fruit and vegetable platters, and multiple desserts.
As everyone got something to eat and settled around the dining room table we’d never used, they brought up instances of hard tackles, and near concussions, all the while trying to one up each other, much to everyone’s delight. Patrick was enthralled listening to their conversation until Alex Hayes drew him in by bringing up when he played for the Senators.
“Patrick used to chase my ass all over the field when he played for Seattle. He had no off switch. One of the hardest tacklers in the game. Happy as fuck he’s not still chasing me.”
I hadn’t seen him this happy in a long time. Patrick held onto me and I wrapped my arms around him, not only to hold him, but also to gauge when he needed to rest. Simon was watching too, and when he suggested Patrick move to the sofa, I pulled him along until we were comfortable.
“Dom,” Patrick called. “I never got a chance to say thank you to your dad. Can you thank him for me?”
Dominick smiled at Jesse, then looked at Patrick. “Sure, Griff. I’ll pass it along.”
My new Patrick might be unfiltered now, but the sweet side was still there, too.
After a short visit, most of them had to go pick up their kids from school. Since it was late May, they took advantage of the time they were able to spend with them.
Patrick reclined in the family room and listened to the Sports Network on TV while I finished up in the kitchen. There were baseball games being played on the East Coast, so he listened to one as he closed his eyes. Sometimes looking at the TV gave him a headache, but he wasn’t moving, and the soft, rhythmic sounds of his breathing indicated he was napping.
I was happy to have something to do, but I itched to play my guitar. I had taken them all with me to the new studio, but knowing Adam, he’d left me one in the studio. Neither one of us could go very long without playing, so while we were in the hospital, I had to settle for writing lyrics.
Heading to the bedroom, I picked up our bags and started unpacking. Most of the contents were my clothes and toiletries. Patrick only had several pairs of athletic shorts and t-shirts he wore after he could go to the bathroom on his own.
The ER doctors had cut his clothes off when they got him to the hospital. That would be forever rooted in my memory.
It was very apparent I needed to wash some clothes, and I knew Patrick had to have some that needed it too. But as I looked around, I couldn’t find his dirty clothes.
This was odd for him. He didn’t leave a path of destruction, but he loved his clothes and they were usually strung about over a chair, or hung on the hooks in the closet.
I flipped on the light in the walk-in closet we shared to find my side pretty empty. I didn’t own a lot of clothes, especially since the majority of my wardrobe was jeans and t-shirts. The only things left hanging were my formal dress clothes and my tuxedo.
Would he notice and wonder where my things were?
Would he remember I’d moved out before we left on tour?
I flipped the light off and went and sat on the bed. My head hurt from lack of sleep, and after sitting down, what little energy I’d had drained away quickly. I was exhausted.
All I wanted was to shower and crawl into bed. But that was another issue I wasn’t ready to face.
Patrick was hopefully still asleep, so I opted to shower. I loved the dual showerheads we’d had installed in our bathroom, as well as the handheld one for cleaning personal areas.
While I’d showered at the hospital, it was nothing like this one. Peeling off my clothes, I headed for the bathroom and turned it on with the digital pad on the wall that set the water temperature to my setting with a push of a button.
When it was ready, I carried my weary body in and stood under the water. With my hands braced on the wall, I let the hot water roll over my head and back, working out the sore muscles from three weeks of sleeping in the hospital.
I’d do it again if it meant I got Patrick back, but I’d missed home. And it hadn’t taken me long to figure out home was wherever Patrick was.
