Page 12 of Constantly Cotton

“Oh no, brother,” Rivers murmured. “It’s you who’s not getting it. Okay, Lance, you do your doctor thing. Cotton, you can stay in here with him now, but as soon as he’s asleep, come get me.”

“Okay, Jackson.”

“Good. We need to talk.”

And with that, Lance put his gloves on, working from the TV tray someone had moved in as his surgical table, and started to inject something—probably a febrifuge—into the IV still in Jason’s arm. “Okay, Colonel,” Lance said, no bullshit. “Time for some night-night juice and some rest.”

“Protect him,” Jason mumbled. “Make sure you protect my angel.”

“I’m right here,” Cotton said, still sitting on the floor by his side.

“Why is that?” Jason asked, rolling his head so he could look into Cotton’s pretty eyes. “It’s the most amazing thing.”

And that was the last thing he remembered saying for a while.

Angel Lessons

COTTON WAITEDuntil Jason’s breathing was even—or as even as it was going to get, now that the infection threatened to settle into his lungs—before he let go of his hand and stood. While Lance cleared the medical area, including giving everything a spritzing with disinfectant, Cotton started rummaging through his drawer for a shirt.

“That was embarrassing,” he muttered. “I didn’t expect everybody to come in and confab right after I got out of the shower.”

Lance gave a gentle chuckle. “You managed pants. I think you can be forgiven, since we’ve sort of stolen your and Billy’s room.”

“It’s nice of Billy to let me have the bed,” Cotton told him, finding a clean white tee and slipping it over his head, where it stretched slightly over his chest. Some guys liked their T-shirts loose, but he was a fan of the subtle stretch. His build was wafer-thin as it was, and a little bit of negative ease between himself and the cotton made him look bigger.

“All of you—you in particular—have been doing your best to keep this guy alive over the last few days,” Lance said, admiration thrumming through his voice. “I’m really proud of you guys.”

“Kids,” Cotton said. “He was protecting kids.” He could imagine the school bus pulling up under the fluorescent lights of one of the rest stops on I-5, and two teenagers running out with cash or a card in their hands while Jason rested and bled in the driver’s seat of the garishly painted vehicle. It was a needless move—probably cost them time, probably cost Jason Constance blood—but he’d done it so the kids who had walked miles in the desert and then sat under scavenged shade could eat.

Cotton’s eyes burned and his heart squeezed in his chest thinking about it.

“I mean, don’t we all wish someone had protected us when we’d been kids?”

Lance knew his story, so he was forgiven for the depthless compassion in his golden eyes. “Yeah, Cotton. We all do. You’re right. He deserves someone on his side.”

Cotton nodded and gave Jason one last, lingering look as he lay on the bed, the hospital sheets and blankets pulled up to his chin while he sweated out his fever and shivered underneath.

Someone strong, he thought. Jason Constance deserved somebody strong, who could fight for him. Because he’d fought so hard for others.

On that thought he walked to the tiny kitchen where Henry was shoving two ibuprofen at Jackson Rivers with a can of soda to go with them.

“And you’ve eaten?” Henry asked.

Rivers grimaced. “Henry—”

“Crackers,” Henry muttered, going for one of the six boxes of saltines in the cupboard. “Look, your boyfriend has been texting me for the last half hour to make sure you’re not overdoing it while he had to stay home. Shut up and—literally—take your medicine.”

Rivers groaned. “Fine. You both suck.” With that he grabbed the painkillers and the soda, washed one down with the other, and then held his hand out for the saltines. He shoved one in his mouth and sat down with the package. “This is wonderful and horrible by the way. Dr Pepper and saltines were what I lived on in school, but I thought I’d outgrown this meal by now.”

“I’ll get you a sandwich when I drop you off. I have to go in to the office.”

“A case?” Rivers asked, perking up.

“ForGalen,” Henry specified. Rivers’s boyfriend, Ellery, was a partner in a defense firm with Galen Henderson, John Carey’s boyfriend. This made Cotton happy. For one thing, Galen and John were good for each other, and he didn’t worry about John falling out of recovery with Galen in his corner. For another, Henry was pretty tough, and he could protect Galen and John if they needed it, like Jackson protected Ellery.

Cotton had grown very used to having people to care about in his life over the past couple of years. After those months on the street, feeling so alone, he was a little paranoid about making sure they weren’t going to get hurt.

“Well, hell.” Rivers munched on another saltine. “Just as well, I guess. Ellery needs to stay home.”