By Any Other Name by Cherie Noel Page A

he stood. A grunting noise came from the bed Michael lay in. After they’d taken a few steps toward the other, empty bed, Andy rolled his eyes. How a man with such a big heart—not to mention other equally sizeable portions of his anatomy, at least not in present company—could be such a shit was mystifying. Because the rail was already lowered on that side, Andy stopped at the side of the bed closest to Michael. The temptation to reach across the intervening space and smack some sense into him ripped through Andy. He’d give anything to have his mother still be alive.
    As he sat and swung his pajama clad legs into the bed, Donna Jean spoke.
“Do you need anything else?”
A quick glance to the side showed that
Michael was clenching and unclenching his fist again.
    “Ah, yes. Would you go to the nurse’s station and ask them to please bring me a pitcher of water? The medicine they gave me dried me out horribly.”
    Giving him a fleeting smile, she turned and hurried from the room. Andy braced himself for the explosion he fully expected in three, two, one—
“What the fuck, Andy?”
    The bellow was loud enough that Andy kept a weather eye on the door as he twisted his torso to face a red faced, clenched jawed, narrow eyed Michael.
    “Ukk. Short-sighted, much? Perhaps giving the poor woman a few minutes where you didn’t say terrible things about her to her face or dip your every utterance in venom would allow her to make the apology you seem to think she owes you. I don’t know, maybe she does. Maybe she’s a slavering monster who ought to be put down for the safety of the rest of mankind. All I know is if you don’t take the time to find out you’ll hate yourself. At least you have a living, breathing woman to work your issues out with. Not all of us have that luxury, you insensitive ass.”
    He was shouting wildly. The echoes of sound reverberating back from the walls and Michael’s suddenly slack-jawed mien, coupled with the way the bigger man held his hands up as though to stave off the attack of a rabid animal made the increase in both Andy’s volume and his intensity painfully obvious. Well, hell, he needed another trip up to the huggie jacket domain of the hospital like he needed a hole in the head. A. Hole in his head. In Michael’s head, that’s where Ronald Dieterman had wanted to put a hole. Raising a shaking hand to his mouth, Andy blinked furiously to keep the blurriness in his eyes from spilling onto his face.
    “Oh. Michael. I’m sorry. I-you were so still, and that man kept talking about how he was only going to put a hole in your head and there was blood running down your neck. I-don’t throw away the chance to know why. Don’t. I’m sorry I yelled. You—I’d give anything to take back the last words I said to my mother. I called her a bitch. She said I couldn’t spend the night at Sasha Zelinko’s house, and I called her a bitch. They were the last words I ever spoke to her.”
    A burning lump filled his entire throat. Andy turned his face away while his hands pulled futilely at the covers, seeking to pull them high enough to hide behind. Silence reigned in the room for a long beat of Andy’s bruised heart, and then there was a creak and a thudding noise. A few seconds later, Michael’s big hands gripped his shoulder and the side of his face, turning him back toward the other man. Michael opened his firm pink lips, swayed in place, lifted the hand he’d placed on Andy’s shoulder to run it over his own stubble covered jaw and then shrugged.
    “I think you better scoot over. I’m still kinda dizzy.”
Noting that Michael’s cheeks were nearly as pale as they’d been last night when the paramedics wheeled him out of Devon’s tiny apartment, Andy hastily scooted over to the far side of the bed.
“Get in here, Dumkopf.”
While the words were harsh, Andy hoped Michael would recognize the soft tone he used for what it was. When Michael gave the lazy half smile that always tied