"Oh my God! You're awake!" I exclaimed, cupping his cheek with my hand. He stared at me with confusion on his face.
"You're here?" his voice broke as he began speaking.
"Yes, I'm here." I gave him a reassuring smile. "How do you feel?" I asked him.
"Like I've been run over by a fucking truck," he said and groaned as he shifted in the bed. "What happened?" he asked. He had no idea he had almost died.
"Linc, you've been unconscious for two days. The guys found you unresponsive in your hotel room and called an ambulance. You almost died twice on the way to the hospital," I told him, lacing my fingers with his.
"I don't understand. The last thing I remember was watching a movie, and now you're telling me I've been here for two days?" He asked with confusion on his face.
"Linc, you overdosed. The doctor had to pump your stomach when you came in. We could have lost you," I told him, giving his hand a little squeeze.
He didn’t say anything. He just lay there, staring off into space as if he was trying to sort it all out.
Just as I was about to break the silence, a nurse came into the room. I pushed myself off the bed and stepped out of her way, so she could do what she needed to do.
"Welcome back," she said with a smile. "You've had a lot of people worried about you," she said while checking the monitors beside his bed. "Your fan club has been camped out in the parking lot for two days now," she said, patting his arm. "I'll let the doctor know that you're awake." She turned and walked toward the door, then paused. "You've got yourself a special girl there." She nodded in my direction. "She hasn't left your side since she got here," she said as she stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind her.
He tilted his head up to meet my eyes. "You've been here the whole time?" He asked with a look of disbelief.
"I came as soon as Jinx called me. I hopped on the next plane and came straight to the hospital. I was so worried about you, and I wanted to make sure you were okay," I told him.
He swallowed hard and I could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat.
"Why?" His voice was shaky. Something flashed in his eyes, but only for a second, and then it was gone. I was not sure what it was, but I really didn’t like the way he was looking at me.
"What do you mean, why? You're a member of my brother’s band, and believe it or not, I happened to like you," I told him and smiled.
"You shouldn't," he said, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.
His words confuse me. "I shouldn't what? Like you? Well, tough shit! Neither you, nor anyone else, get to tell me who I can and cannot care about. I'm so sick of people telling me what to do and how to feel," I said, and he just laid there and stared, without a word, so I continued. "Maybe I think you're a nice guy. Maybe I see something that others don't; something that you choose to ignore," I told him, and before I could continue, a short, balding man wearing a white coat, with a stethoscope around his neck stepped through the door.
"It's good to see you awake Mr. McKay. I'm Dr. Ford, the physician on-call today. I've read over your file, and I'm going to be quite honest with you: you have abused your body for so long, and done so much damage, that I'm ninety-nine percent certain that you won't pull out of it next time," he told him. “I'm going to give it to you straight: you need a good rehab program, and you need to surround yourself with positive people, people who care and can support you. People you can lean on if needed. I know we, as men, don't like to ever think about the fact that we might need to lean on someone for support. I know from my own experience as a former addict, we all need someone from time to time. We're only human. I've been clean for ten years now, and I was like you at first. I didn't want to hear the word rehab from anybody. I wanted to punch everyone in the face who even dared to think that I needed help, but I had to hit bottom before it really sunk in. I lost my wife, my house, and I almost lost my medical license. If it weren't for rehab and some really close friends who believed in me, I would be on the street or dead right now. I had to fight to keep my job, and even had to give up the right to prescribe narcotics, but at least I'm here, trying to make a difference in lives every day. I'm going to be honest with you, there is no better high than being clean," he stated. "You think about that, son. I would hate to see you throw away your career, or even worse: I'd hate to have to pronounce your time of death."
If that was not a punch straight to the gut, then I don't know what was. For once, Linc hadn’t said a word. He listened patiently as Dr. Ford discussed his need for rehab, and not once did he curse at him. "I'll be back around to see you tonight. You think about what I said, and if you're willing to go, I'll get it squared away," he said, before turning and leaving the room.
I lowered myself into the hard, vinyl chair beside his bed, and waited for him to speak. When he didn’t, I gave him the much needed space that I knew he needed. Stepping out into the hall, I called my brother to let him know that Linc was awake. I didn’t tell him about his conversation with the doctor; it was not my story to tell. I would have to leave that for Linc to discuss with his band mates. I walked back into the room and closed the door behind me. He had raised the head of the hospital bed while I was out of the room, so now he was in more of a seated position. I crossed the room and lowered myself into my hard, vinyl chair.
"You want me to leave?" I asked him, and he just shook his head, saying nothing. "Want to talk about it?" I asked.
"No," he replied. I could almost see the wheels turning in his brain. The pain was evident in his eyes.
"It might help if you talk about it," I said. He startled me when he whipped his head in my direction, pinning me with his gaze.
“I said I don't want to fucking talk about it!" He practically shouted at me. I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth and bit down, while willing the tears not to fall, but I could already feel them building behind my eyes.
"I'm sorry. My nerves are all over the place. It's one of the side effects of coming off the cocaine. That's one reason why I've always made sure to keep enough in my system. Getting high is the fun part, coming down, not so much," he said, his brows pinched.
"It's okay. You don't have to apologize to me. I understand. You've been through a lot. I called the guys and told them you were awake. They asked me what the doctor said after he talked with you, and I told them that they'd need to ask you. I said it wasn't my information to give," I said.
"I can't believe that I ever let it get to this point. It serves me right though. He always said I'd never amount to anything, said that I was no good. I guess he was right. The piece of shit is probably laughing in his grave right now, saying, ‘I told you so,’" His voice trailed off at the end, and the look of pain in his eyes was evident.
"What are you talking about?" I asked him. I knew he said he didn't want to talk about it, but he started it. He couldn’t say something like that and expect me to keep quiet. Talking about it, getting it out in the open was a form of therapy, and I wanted to know who had done this to him, although I had a pretty good idea.
"My dad always blamed me for everything, told me I was a piece of shit on the bottom of his shoe, and that I'd never amount to anything. He said I screwed everything up just by being born. I guess he was right. I mean, just look at me and the mess I've made of my life, my career." His eyes met mine and he laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I spent my whole life growing up, having nothing, being told I was nothing, and when the guys asked me to join Dirty Affliction I thought, just maybe my life was starting to turn around. I thought maybe he was wrong. I'd show him, but I learned the fine art of using cocaine, among a few other bad habits from him, so I guess he's been right about me all along. I got myself kicked out of the band, and I'll probably lose everything I have. Hell, I don't know if I even have any money left. I've pissed it all away," he told me as he closed his eyes tight and let out a heavy breath.