Shooting Matt Ch. 19

Randy meets Kent's parents. Liam and Matt miss each other. Life continues to roll along.

Enjoy.

Thanks, yet again, to LarryInSeattle.

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"Oh, my God, Mother Mary and sonny Jesus!"

It's probably not the kindest greeting I could have come up with but, in my defense, he did look considerably fucked up. Then I got pissed.

"Look at you! 'I'm fine, Randy'. Bullshit. If this is 'fine' I don't ever want to see you fucked up."

"Well, that makes two us," Kent snaps. "Pardon me for not shaving and putting on cologne. Between watching a baby nearly get burned alive, nearly getting burned alive myself, having a gun shoved into my face, and watching a woman I'd just met keep telling a dead man over and over again that she was sorry she couldn't help him, I didn't have time to pack my fucking toiletries."

He grabs the wheels of the chair he's sitting in and looks over his shoulder. "Take me back inside," he snaps at the orderly. "I'll call my folks or get a fucking Uber or something."

I do the only thing that makes sense to me. I drop to my knees and grab one arm of the wheelchair.

"Kent, I'm so, so fucking sorry. I've just been so scared and when you said you got a few burns, not worse than a sunburn is what you told me, I mean, I'm sorry. I completely lost it. I'm so, so, fucked up at the moment, it never made it into my skull that as scared as I am, it must be a hundred times worse for you. I'm an asshole. I know that. I'm sorry. Let me take you home? Please? I'll try to keep my cakehole shut for a change."

I see his face go all funny and he leans toward me. I look over my shoulder at the orderly. "Could you give us a minute?" I ask. He rolls his eyes. If Kent hadn't had his arms around me, I don't know what I would have done. That fact must have been crystal clear in the look I gave the piss ant little fuckwad. He scuttles away.

"Do you need anything else, Kent? Need to sign anything?"

"No, I'm set."

"Let's get the fuck outta here then."

I get up and move behind the wheelchair.

"Come on. Let's get you home."

"Randy?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we swing by my folks' place? It's a little out of the way. My mom's a bigger mess than you are. Maybe," he adds.

I don't hear a smile in his tone. I guess I'm not totally off the hook. That's cool.

"Sure, where do they live?"

"Nashville."

"Tennessee?"

"Yes."

"Uh, okay. When you said, it was a 'little out of the way' I figured you meant Nashville, Kansas. That's all."

"No, Tennessee."

I help him into the truck. His hands are covered with puffy white bandages, only the tips are visible. It makes it awkward to hold onto anything. I consider tossing the wheelchair into the landscaping in the front of the entrance but don't. It's not the hospital's fault the orderly is a dick.

I wheel the chair back to the entrance. His standing there, trying to decide if he can risk a sneer. I can see it in his face. He's wondering what he can get away with. What a little coward. I push the chair the last couple of feet toward him and turn.

"Faggot."

Before I can turn around, I'm not planning to do anything but shake my head in disgust, another voice rings out.

"What did you just say to that man?"

There is a very rotund, very angry nurse glaring at the orderly. His face goes white, then red.

"Nuthin'. I didn't say nuthin'."

"You're a liar. You're fired."

"You can't do that!"

"That's where you're wrong. How many patient and family complaints have I had to deal with over you? Remember the last time? Remember HR explaining what 'probationary status' means? Well, it means you've been on thin ice, buster and you just crapped in your playhouse by being dumb enough to call a visitor a vulgar name in front of your boss. You're done. Turn in your ID, clean out your locker and get the hell away from my hospital."

"It ain't your hospital, you dumb bitch," he snarls.

He yanks the ID tag off his pocket and hurls it at her. It's a plastic card. It doesn't hurl as much as it flutters to land about a foot or so in front of him. She laughs and his face goes and even uglier shade of red.

She stops laughing but she's still smiling, staring at him, challenging him.

He's not up to it. He turns on his heel and stomps past me. I think he's going to bump me, give me an excuse but he veers away, muttering. As he passes the rear of the Ranger he kicks it. It's old but it's solid. He can't hurt it. It's already beat to shit. He limps away, cussing. I shake my head.

"I'm sorry about that."

The nurse, I'm guessing she's a nurse, is standing beside me.

"Don't be. You handled it beautifully." I turn to look at her. "Be careful though. He's a coward but that doesn't mean he won't work himself up to something sneaky."

"Yup," she sighs. "Trust me, I know the type. County's over run with 'em." She shakes her head. "Have a good day, despite that. Again, I'm sorry."

"I know. Thank you for taking care of my friend."

"No need for thanks. It's why they built the damn place, to take care of folks, but thanks."

"Thank you for not getting arrested," Kent says as I climb into the truck. He has his head back, eyes closed.

"I thought you wanted me to kick his ass?"

"I did but I don't want you in jail. He's not worth it."

"You buckled up?"

"Yes."

"Alright then. Nashville here we come."

***

"Say what?"

The tone of Liam's voice causes Matt to look up at his friend. They'd been lolling in a post-orgasmic haze after trading really super sweet blow jobs that have become their wake-up ritual, when Liam's phone rang. It was his pop.

"Well, I am Glenna's most indispensable employee but I think she'll be okay with it. Sure, dad. Not a problem. No, seriously, it's fine. Take care of Kent. Yeah, talk to ya later. Love you, too. Later."

"What's up, brah?" Matt asks as he reaches over and resumes fondling his friend's soft dick.

"Kent wants dad to drive him to Nashville, to see his parents."

"Those crazy kids," Matt intones in what he imagines is an old man's voice.

"I need to go back to Cleveland for a few days. To make sure the new sod gets watered."

"I'll come with you," Matt offers.

"No, you won't. You'll stay here and let Leon get you in shape for the fall."

Matt's back is better every day. He's young, fit and healing fast. If anything, too fast. He has to remind himself to take it easy. He's over done it, mostly during sex, and his back has sung loudly enough to remind him he had a broken vertebrae.

"No way, dude. I'm coming with you."

"No. Swim." Liam rolls half on top of Matt and kisses him. His tongue still tastes of Liam's own jizz. He loves it. He loves kissing Matt. "Seriously," he says, finally breaking the kiss. "Stay here, work on your back. It'll only be a couple days."

"Don't you want me to come," Matt pouts, rubbing his stiffening rod against Liam's leg.

"Don't be a moron. You know I do but you'll be a fucking basket case if you don't make the team and you know it. Swim." Liam's intertwined fingers rest on Matt's chest; he rests his chin atop them.

"Fine," Matt sighs. His eyes light up. He lifts his head. "Dude, we can sext!"

Liam shakes his head. "Yeah, that's a bright spot," he snorts.

"No, brah, I'm totally serious. I already know what I'm gonna do."

Liam climbs to his knees, kisses Matt and hops out of bed. "I'd better go talk to Glenna."

"Right behind you, bro. All in one and one in all," Matt cries, rolling out of the rumpled nest of sheets.

"Is that from The Three Fucketeers gay porn parody?"

"Is that a real thing?" Matt asks. Liam shakes his head. "Fuck, dude, we should totally make it then. Who'd be the third? Who'd you pick?"

"I don't know. Jesus. I need to go tell Glenna I'm about to flake on her. I don't have time to cast a gay porno we're not ever going to make."

"Never say 'not ever', lover dude."

Matt grabs Liam around the waist from behind. He wraps one hand around his lover's dick, grinding his own into Liam's crack. He bites the back of his shoulder.

"Can I fuck you before you go? Or else, let me come with you."

"That's not fair," Liam pants. "Rubbing your cock on my ass, then asking me."

"All's fair in love, etc," Matt mutters against the back of Liam's shoulder. He moves up and down, sliding his awakening cock in his lover's crack. "If I can't go with you, I want you to drive home with my cum in your ass. I want you wiggling your ass, your aching well fucked ass, and thinking about me all the way to Cleveland."

"Um," Liam groans, pushing back against Matt's tool. "You're making me hard. You always make me hard. I want you so much and all the time. Does that scare you? It scares me."

"Don't be scared, baby. Don't be scared."

Matt's hand pushes between Liam's shoulder blades. Liam leans forward and rests his hands on the back of the sofa. Matt kisses the back of his neck. He kisses and licks and nibbles his way down Liam's back, one hand around his waist fondling his friend's now hard cock. He shuffles backward, half-step by half-step, as he kisses lower and lower.

When he reaches the top of Liam's ass, he moves both hands and spreads his ass cheeks. He bends over, back straight, looking like a stuffy English butler, and buries his face in Liam's ass. He tongues the eager hole, spits, stands and spits into his hand, rubs the head of his cock, and steps forward.

Their bodies have grown used to each other but Liam stiffens when Matt probes him with his dick. He should have just grabbed the lube. It's not like it's that far away. He crosses back to the bed and grabs the bottle. A nice long squirt along his dick and over Liam's hole and he enters Liam easily, a long, slow, steady stroke that sends waves of pleasure swirling through Liam's body. With his cock buried, Matt's legs and body are pressed tightly to Liam's back. He reaches around and begins to both stroke and fuck his friend.

His strokes are short, slow, his range of motion limited by twinges in his back. Liam begins to move with him, moving his pelvis, clenching with his ass muscles, trying to squeeze and hold Matt's cock in place, inside his ass. They're exploring, learning what feels good, what feels less good. They've yet to find anything that feels bad.

As Matt's excitement grows, his hand leaves Liam. He straightens up, grabs Liam's hips, and begins to fuck him harder.

They've given up trying to remain silent. They don't scream and holler but it's hard to disguise the sound of flesh on flesh. So, what difference do a few grunts, a few moans, and a few "oh, fuck yeah" and "fuck my ass, fuck me" make?

Matt collapses onto Liam's back as his cums. They've been fucking and sucking so much the last few days, even their young bodies have trouble providing more than a spurt or two of semen. That doesn't make the orgasm any less intense or any less pleasurable, though. It does mean slightly less of a mess when Matt pulls his cock free.

He leans with his forehead resting on his lover's lower back, catching his breath. Liam leads him to the bathroom, where he cleans the two of them up.

They slip on shorts and tee shirts and head down to the lodge.

***

Glenna takes it all in stride. No one seems surprised that Randy is taking Kent home by way of Nashville.

"Mary Beth, do you think you can handle the baking in the morning?"

Mary Beth can do no more than look shocked and shake her head in terror.

"Okay, that's a bit much to ask on your, what, third day on the job?" Glenna frowns. "Shoot, I really wanted to run up to Cleveland with Liam. There's something I've been thinking about."

"Uh-oh," Leon says.

"Hush," Glenna tells him, throwing him a smile and flapping one hand at him.

"Is it important?"

"I think so," Glenna tells him.

"I can help Mary Beth, with the baking." Mary Beth looks like she might faint. Leon smiles at her. "We got this. It'll be fine."

Glenna is glancing at the clock.

"You might not need to." She looks at Leon. "Can you run up to Youngstown and pick me up? This evening? I was thinking I'd have Liam stop there, I do what I need to do, and then tag along with him but who knows how long Randy will be tied up in Nashville. I don't want to abandon the place more than a day or two." She doesn't wait for Leon's answer. "Liam, would you mind swinging by St. Elizabeth's for me?"

"Sure," he shrugs. "You okay?"

"Me? Not a worry in the world." She frowns. "I better check something first. No point in wasting everyone's time." She hurries past them and upstairs to the apartment.

They all look at Leon.

He shakes his head. "I have no idea what she's up to."

They half-heartedly listen to the TV droning away in the background. It's several minutes before Glenna returns but she looks happy.

"They weren't going to let me talk to her. I had to turn on the charm," she chuckles.

"Talk to who?" Leon asks, even though he already knows.

"Rosalita Sanchez," Matt answers, knowing his right but having no idea how he knows that he's right.

"Who else?" Glenna looks mystified. "Matt, honey, sometime this afternoon would you be a peach and change the bedding in Cabin 3? That'll have to do for now. I need to look at the reservation sheet when I get back but three is open until Saturday."

"You're bringing her here?" Leon asks, smiling. Like Matt, he knows the answer already.

"Well, of course," Glenna smiles. "I just hired her."

She laughs at the looks the others, except her husband, give her.

"Close your jaws. She's a citizen. No need to worry about immigration raiding us." She looks at her husband. "Bring my car, sweet one, the truck would be too cramped." She frowns. "Liam, remind me to stop and pick up a car seat."

She grabs her purse and heads for the door. Liam looks at the others. Leon snorts at the look on the kid's face.

"Better get a move on, son. She's probably hot-wiring your car as we speak."

***

I feel a little better, if that's the right word, about my reaction at the hospital when Kent's mom gets a look at him. Her hands go to her mouth, she utters something inaudible that might simply be a muffled shriek.

I've had time, on the drive, to get a closer look. He's right. It's not as bad as it looks, mostly. I haven't seen under the bandages but his eyebrow-less, red face with its smattering of blisters only makes me want to cry a little when I see it.

"Now, Agnes, get a grip on yourself."

The man speaking must be Kent's father. They've the same calm demeanor, same build, almost the same face.

"Mom, I'm fine. Please don't cry. Seriously, I'll just go home if you keep that up."

His father shoots him a scowl.

"You do and I'll follow you back to the city and kick your behind. Your mother's been beside herself since seeing that damn news broadcast. They got no business airing something like that. Besides, you look like something the damn cat drug in off the highway."

"Thanks, dad."

If there's any sarcasm in Kent's reply, I can't hear it.

"Don't thank me. Thank God or the fella that pulled your dumb butt outta that car. What the hell did you think you were doing anyway?"

"Exactly what you'd do and you know it," Kent snaps. "And you'd been disappointed if I hadn't and you know that, too."

"Well, I could argue with you about that but I won't." He smiles. "It'd only upset your mother. Come on up here and sit down." He gestures at one of the rockers that grace the front porch of the old farm house. "Let me get a look at you. Make sure them damn doctors you hang out with know what they're doin'."

He looks at me.

"My son seems to have forgotten his manners." He holds out a hand. "I'm Ron." He nods at the woman, still sniffling into a handkerchief. "This is Kent's mom, my wife, Agnes."

I take his hand. "I'm Randy, Randy Bigland, Kent's friend."

Ron nods. "I see that. You work at the hospital?"

"No. I drive a forklift, in a warehouse, in Cleveland."

"Cleveland? Not Pittsburgh?"

I shake my head.

"What the hell you doin' down here then?" He gives Kent a long look. "Well, I reckon you're a pretty good friend then." He gives my hand anther, firmer, shake. "Thanks for helping get him home."

"My pleasure," I tell him and mean it.

A few hours later, after Kent has told his story, answered their questions, and explained how he and I came to be friends, he's sitting on a kitchen chair. A large pan of water sits on the table.

"They used a lot of ointment, so the bandages should come off easily but go slow."

I nod. My hands are shaking. "I'm not sure I can do this," I whisper.

"Of course, you can. Piece of cake. Just unwrap the bandages, slowly. Then use some of that antiseptic soap they gave us to clean the burns, dab on some more ointment, wrap me back up and we're good to go."

"Can I help?" It's his dad.

Kent looks at me. I nod. "I could use some moral support at least. This is definitely not my gig."

"Alright then." Ron steps over to the sink and begins to wash his hands while I search for the end of the bandage.

His head and face aren't too bad. There are only a couple of small blisters. He winced a few times but that was about it.

His hands are another story.

The bandages came off easily enough. There were wads of gauze holding his fingers apart. His fingers are blistered and swollen. They look like sausages about to burst their skins.

I see Mr. Morris' face grow tight. He kept a hand on his son's shoulder as I washed Kent's hands as gently as I could.

"I thought you weren't supposed to pop the blisters," I whisper.

"There's disagreement. The guy I saw believes it's better to let them drain."

I'm as gently as I can be but he's soaked in sweat and white as a sheet by the time I'm finished. I'm not sure his dad or I look much better.

"Do you have anything for pain?" I ask.

"Ibuprofen."

"That's it?! Jesus, I'm killing you here. You need something stronger."

"No. Ibuprofen will be fine," he whispers, shaking his head. "I've seen too much opiate addiction. I'm not chancing it."

I stare at him. "How often do we need to do this?"

"Twice a day, at least only until they quit oozing so much."

"Twice a day?"

I look at his dad. He's nearly as pale as his son.

"Yup," Kent replies. "Shake me out four ibuprofen, would you, Randy? And a glass of water, please."

I get the ibuprofen. Mr. Morris gets the water.

I pop the pills in Kent's mouth one at a time and hold the glass for him. I remember him holding my beer to my mouth while I was making hamburgers.

He finishes the water and begins to very slowly flex and extend his fingers.

"Should you be doing that?"

He gives me a weak smile. "Have to, have to keep the joints loose."

"Goddamn it," he groans.

"What's wrong?" His dad and I speak at the same time.

"I forgot to brush my goddamn teeth." He waves his hands in front of us. "If I get them wet we have to do this all over."

"Come on," I sigh in relief. "I'd rather help you brush your teeth than fuck with those bandages again." I throw a glance at Mr. Morris. "Sorry, for the language."

He shrugs. "Careful around the missus, that's all."

By the time he lies back in his boyhood bed, he's completely exhausted. I make my way downstairs. His folks sit in chairs that look as if they grew out of the floor and molded themselves to their bodies. I take a seat on a sofa draped with afghans. Mrs. Morris is busy crocheting another one. Her face is screwed up, lips pressed into a thin pale line. She doesn't look up.

"Randy, what exactly did them doctors say anyway?" his dad asks. He leans forward, hands clasp between his knees. His color is back but I can see he's shaken.

"I wasn't there, Mr. Morris."

"Mr. Morris, my ass. My name's Ron," he snaps. I try not to read anything into the fact his wife has not offered to let me call her Agnes.