If The Seas Catch Fire (22 page)

His phone buzzed in the cup holder. He glared at it for a moment.

Oh Christ. Now what?

Cursing under his breath, he picked it up, and didn’t expect to see a text from Dom.

Need to see you tonight. Please.

Sergei swallowed. Fresh guilt clawed at him from the inside. He’d been moments away from putting a bullet into Dom. Now he was going to have sex with him like nothing happened?

Yes. Because nothing did happen. Because for reasons Sergei couldn’t quite parse, he
hadn’t
put a bullet in Dom, and he
needed
to have sex with him. Just to make sure he was alive. Or to appease his conscience somehow. Or, fuck, he didn’t know, but with fingers that were still partially numb, he wrote back:

I’m off tonight. Sooner the better.

Dom’s reply came almost immediately:

I can be there any time. Afternoon?

He’d text Dom with an address and room later. For now, he headed home. On the way, he tapped his thumbs on the wheel. He needed to see Dom. Probably more than he had any right to, but after everything that had happened today, he needed to see him, and touch him, and make sure he really was still alive.

I’m not supposed to feel this way for you. I’m not supposed to feel
anything
for you.

What the hell is going on?

*              *              *

By the time Sergei checked into the motel, he didn’t feel any better. He’d showered. Shaved. Showered again. Scrubbed his skin until it was raw. As he left his apartment, his whole body ached—his fucking
bones
ached—but he ignored it. After a swim like that, and some hypothermia to boot, everything was bound to hurt. Didn’t matter. He needed Dom, pain be damned.

After he’d collected the key, he headed up the hall. Not ten feet from his room, the floor suddenly jerked beneath him. He stumbled and smacked his palm against the wall to right himself.

What the hell?

The floor listed again. The walls tilted. He leaned against the wall and took a few breaths. Then a cautious step. The floor was still uneven, but he kept a hand on the wall and guided himself to his door.

The imbalance became dizziness. The dizziness became nausea. That wouldn’t bode well for the evening he needed with Dom, so he decided maybe some ginger ale would settle his stomach. The vending machine probably had some. It had likely been in there since the 1980s, but it was better than nothing.

Sergei pulled out his wallet to see if he had any ones. As he did, the simple motion of reaching into his pocket sent a dull ache through his shoulder. Deep inside the joint. In his bones. As he leaned down to get his soda out of the machine, a similar ache radiated from his hip. And his knee.

That’s not muscle pain. That’s not fatigue.

Sergei gulped.

That’s not good.

All the way back to his room, he tried to tell himself it was, in fact, muscle fatigue. After all, he hadn’t been diving in a long time, and it was taxing for muscles he didn’t use like this very often. Even more so when he’d had to fight the cold.

Except it wasn’t a tired muscle. Nor was the ache steadily deepening in his hips.

Oh shit. It was only going to get worse, too.

It was like the flu coming on, only with a fucked up stomach on top of it. The flu would have been welcome if it meant he didn’t have the goddamned bends. If that’s what this was, then things could get ugly fast.

No. It wasn’t that bad. He hadn’t been under for that long.

But he’d gone deeper than he should’ve. And he’d been cold. And he’d swum hard. And then he’d ascended too fast. Way too fast.

Sergei’s heart sped up as he sat on the foot of the bed.
Fuck…

His phone buzzed. Struggling to focus his eyes, he read the message:

Which room?

Sergei chewed his lip. He wouldn’t be able to fake his way out of this. Dom was going to see him this way whether he liked it or not. Sex? Well, it wouldn’t be rough or acrobatic tonight.

He sent back the room number, and then popped the tab on his soda and took a deep swallow. It didn’t help his stomach much. Maybe it just needed more time to settle in. It wasn’t an instant remedy. Right?

A sharp knock at the door startled him, as if he hadn’t known Dom was coming.

Grimacing, he stood.
Fuck, why do I feel like an old man?

You know exactly what it is.

No. It’s not. I do not have the fucking bends.

He shuffled across the floor, keeping his arms out for balance, and opened the door.

Dom met his gaze. His eyes were wide, his face pale, as if he’d seen something horrific. Because he had. God, they both had. And Sergei couldn’t tell him.

I can’t tell you I was there. I can’t tell you I’m shaking over it too.

He stepped aside to let Dom in, but the floor picked just that moment to shift beneath his feet.

Dom caught him before he even knew he was going down. “Holy shit. Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m…”
Not. Not at all. This is bad
. “I need to sit.”

“I think you need to lie down, actually.”

Dom guided him to the bed. That helped. Being flat on his back, without worrying about staying upright—it definitely helped.

But the ache didn’t quit. It was getting worse.

“What’s wrong?” Dom asked.

Sergei sighed. There was no point in denying it. Not to himself or Dom. He wiped an unsteady hand over his face. “I went in the water today. Scuba diving with some buddies, down by the crescent. I think this might be—”

Dom flew to his feet. “I’m calling a doctor.”

“No!” Sergei sat up, and immediately regretted it. The world shifted out from under him again but thank God, strong arms stopped him before he tumbled off the bed.

Dom eased him back down to the mattress. “Sergei, you need to see a doctor.”

You have no idea.

“No.” Sergei swallowed. “N-not a hospital.”

Their eyes locked. Dom’s seem filled with a million unspoken questions.

Sergei swept his tongue across his dry lips. “I heard… some shit happened out there today. And the hospital here, they’re all in Mafia pockets. If anybody’s looking for a diver…”

Dom’s eyebrow rose. “Shit…”

“I’ll be okay.”
I am so fucked. So, so fucked.

Then Dom cupped Sergei’s face and looked him in the eye. “Do you trust me?”

I shouldn’t trust you and you shouldn’t trust me.

Dom raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah.” Sergei swallowed. “Yeah. I do.”

“Then let me make this call.”

Sergei held his gaze. What else could he do? This wasn’t like the night they’d met when Dom had turned down medical attention because he was banged up and could get away with it. This was the kind of fucked-up that could get a lot worse in not a lot of time, and without a trained medical professional…

Swallowing, he nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Dom helped him back onto the pillows. Sergei closed his eyes. The world was still rocking and rolling. It was impossible to tell if it was from being out on boats for so long today, or if it was the decompression sickness fucking with his head, but it wasn’t helping the nausea either way.

Dom was nearby, but his voice sounded a million miles away: “Hey, it’s Dom. I need your help.
Fast.
”

“You’re sure it’s the bends?” Rojas grabbed a backpack and a small oxygen tank from his trunk.

“He says he was out diving. I wasn’t sure what else it could be.”

The doctor slammed his trunk. “Even if it’s something else, better safe than sorry.” They hurried toward the room, and Rojas asked, “What are his symptoms?”

“He’s dizzy as hell. Can’t hardly stand.”

“Any pain?”

“Says his shoulders hurt. He says everything hurts, but it seems to be his shoulders more than anything.”

“Yeah, that’s the bends.” Rojas walked faster. “Nausea? Any loss of feeling? Paralysis?”

“He’s been sick a few times. Don’t think he’s lost any feeling, though. None that I know of. And he can move, he’s just off-balance.”

Rojas nodded, but didn’t say more.

Dom opened the door to the room. Rojas brushed past him and went right to the bed where Sergei was lying.

“Sergei,” Dom said as he closed and locked the door. “This is Dr. Rojas. He’s a friend. You can trust him.”

Rojas shot Dom a look, as if to ask why there should be any concern, but he’d been around La Cosa Nostra long enough not to actually bring the question to life. Instead, he sat down beside Sergei. “How long have you been out of the water?”

Sergei picked up his phone with a shaky hand and looked at the screen. “A few hours.” He swallowed as he set the phone down again. “Did some pure oxygen after I got out, but…”

“Well, that’s good. You’d be in worse shape if you hadn’t done that.”

Sergei muttered something in Russian.

“You an experienced diver?” Rojas asked as he attached a mask and tube to the oxygen tank.

“Yeah. But this time, I—” Sergei paused, glancing at Dom. “I was cold, and I came up too fast.”

“Define too fast.”

Sergei rubbed his eyes. “Too fast.”

Rojas scowled. He and Dom exchanged a look, and the doctor shrugged before facing Sergei again. “I’m going to have you breathe some more O2.” He put the tank beside Sergei’s chest and started to slip the mask on him, but Sergei winced. “You all right?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Rojas hesitated, and then put the mask over Sergei’s nose and mouth. As he brought the tank closer, said, “Breathe normally, all right?”

Eyes closed, Sergei nodded. The tank hissed as Rojas turned on the valve, and the inside of the mask fogged up, cleared, fogged up again. Dom shifted his weight. He hated this helpless, useless feeling. There was nothing he could do for Sergei now except wait and hope to God Rojas could help.

Rojas set his backpack on the edge of the bed and unzipped it. “I’m going to start an IV and give you some isotonic fluid to keep you hydrated. It should also help dissolve the bubbles in your system.” He pulled a plastic, water-filled bag and a long tube from the pack.

“What the fuck is all that?” Sergei asked. “You Mary Poppins’ kid or something?”

“Not quite.” Rojas uncapped a needle. “Just things you gotta keep handy when you’re constantly putting people back together in
this
town.”

Sergei’s eyes flicked toward Dom.

Rojas pressed the needle into Sergei’s arm, and Sergei’s lips pulled tight behind the mask. He winced again, but Rojas was quick—he could probably set up an IV in his sleep. In seconds, everything was in place, and he tethered the bag to the top of the bedside lamp.

“How do you feel?” Rojas asked.

Sergei scowled behind the mask. “Like I could use a drink.”

“Well, be that as it may”—Rojas shrugged—“alcohol consumption won’t help. No booze for the next forty-eight hours.”

Sergei muttered something, but the mask muffled it.

The doc checked him over, listening to his chest and taking his blood pressure. Dom stayed out of the way, watching silently as his heart pounded and his stomach tried to flip over. He’d come here needing relief after a traumatic morning, but all of that seemed a distant memory now. Was Sergei all right? Jesus, he looked terrible, and no matter how much Dom tried, he couldn’t will any color to bloom in Sergei’s sickly pale face.

Rojas draped his stethoscope around his neck and ran through a battery of questions, mostly asking about Sergei’s symptoms, and occasionally throwing in questions about what day it was, where he was, what his name was.

“Have you had any paralysis? Numbness?”

“No,” Sergei said. “Balance is fucked, but… no.”

“Good. What’s your mother’s name?”

Sergei’s expression darkened.

Rojas stiffened a little. “Where are you right now?”

“In the Salty Air Motel, wondering why some fuck wants to know about my mother.”

“Well, you’re obviously not confused, then.” Rojas checked the gauge on the oxygen tank. “Why don’t you just relax for a little while?”

Sergei glared at him, but didn’t speak. He let his eyelids slide shut, and breathed slowly, the O2 mask continuing to fog and clear in time with the rise and fall of his chest.

Rojas got up and gestured for Dom to come with him to the other side of the room. Not that there was much space in a room this small, but between the hum of the air conditioner and the hiss of the oxygen, there was a surprising amount of privacy.

Back slightly to Sergei, Dom asked, “How is he?”

“Well, don’t ask about his mother…”

Dom pursed his lips. “I mean, his condition.”

“Yeah, I know. And it’s good you called me when you did.” He draped his stethoscope over his neck. “The oxygen should help, along with the IV. As long as his symptoms don’t worsen, he should improve.”

“And if they do?”

Rojas glanced at Sergei. “Then he
needs
to go to a hospital.”

Dom scowled.

The doctor shot him a pointed look. “By all rights, I should be telling him to go to a hospital now because he’s not out of the woods yet.”

Dom shifted his weight. “Just tell me honestly—hospital, or no?

Rojas chewed his lip. For a long moment, he watched Sergei.

“Yes or no?” Dom pressed. “I’d just as soon not go to one, but if it’s what he needs, then tell me.”

“He’s…” Rojas swallowed. Finally, he met Dom’s gaze. “Look, decompression sickness is unpredictable. Normally, I’d err on the side of caution and get him to a medical facility, just in case things take a bad turn. But, like I said, as long as he doesn’t get any worse, he should be okay. Just keep a
close
eye on him, Dom.”

“Of course. For how long?”

“Judging by his condition now, I’d say the next four or five hours are critical. To be safe, stay with him for the twelve after that.”

Dom nodded. “All right. I’ll stay with him as long as I can.”

“Good.” Rojas glanced around the room. At Sergei. At Dom. When his eyebrows pinched together, the question was unmistakable.

Dom swallowed. “This stays between us, all right?”

“Of course.” The doctor touched his arm. “Not a word. I promise.”

“Thanks.”

Rojas looked back at Sergei for a second. As he faced Dom, he said, “He should be all right in a few hours. If he gets any worse, though, you
need
to take him to the ER.”

Dom scowled.

“I know,” Rojas said. “But if he doesn’t improve on his own, he needs recompression therapy, and that’s not something I can do.”

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Dom nodded. “Well, there’s nothing illegal about scuba diving, so it isn’t like it’ll raise any red flags.”

“Maybe in any other town,” the doc muttered. “I’ve treated four people for decompression sickness in the last year, and they’ve all turned out to be drug mules.” His eyes flicked toward Sergei. “Believe me—it raises questions.”

“I don’t think he’s a…” Dom watched Sergei.
Is he?

“Listen to me, Dom.” Rojas’s expression hardened. “Even if he is involved in something like every fucking person in this town seems to be, he still needs treatment if his symptoms don’t improve. Promise me you’ll take him to the ER if he doesn’t get better.”

Dom nodded. “Yeah. Definitely.”

“Good.” Rojas clapped his shoulder gently. “I’ll be back in a while. Call me if anything changes.”

“You or an ambulance?”

Rojas glanced at Sergei. “Both. Ambulance first.”

A chill ran up Dom’s spine. “Will do.”

The doctor left, and Dom sat beside Sergei. “Feeling any better?”

“Than what?” Sergei turned to him, eyelids fluttering open. “Roadkill?”

Dom chuckled. “Well, you still have a sense of humor. That’s promising, right?”

Sergei laughed, fogging up the mask. “If that ever goes, just put a bullet in me because I’m probably done.”

That sobered Dom faster than it should have. He slipped his hand into Sergei’s—the one without the IV—and laced their fingers together.

This was so weird, sitting beside a sedate Sergei, with no sound in the room except the A/C and the oxygen tank. He tried not to liken it to his mother’s final few days when he’d sat with her, when she too had worn a mask to get oxygen into her starving lungs while an IV kept fluid moving into her frail arms. Sergei wasn’t dying. He probably wasn’t even in that much danger as long as he relaxed and let the oxygen and IV do their jobs. But the quiet room, the near-silence, the fingers laced between his…

Maybe this is a sign that we should be saying goodbye.

Not the same kind of goodbye he’d had to say to his mother, but the kind he needed to be saying unless he wanted Sergei caught in a crossfire he had nothing to do with.

Take a hint, Dom. If you don’t want him to get hurt, stay the hell away from him.

But… not now. Not until he’s okay.

Dom squeezed Sergei’s hand. “That harbor is dangerous, you know. For divers.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“I’m serious. The Coast Guard’s busted a fuckload of divers who were transporting narcotics.”

“They can’t bust me if I don’t have anything on me.”

“They can still harass you.” Dom paused. “Hell, Rojas even wondered if you might’ve been one of the drug mules.”

“He thinks I’m a drug mule?”

Dom squeezed Sergei’s arm. “It… crossed his mind.”

Sergei laughed, his eyelids sliding shut. “A drug mule. That’s funny.”

“Is it? Why?”

“Dunno.” Sergei licked his lips. “Just is.”

Dom watched him for a moment. “So, why were you out… today?”

“Why not? Did you see the water out there?” Sergei shrugged, but winced, and rubbed his shoulder gingerly. “It was a perfect day for it.”

“Any idea how you got the bends?”

Sergei held his gaze, eyes narrowed just slightly. “It’s always a risk when you’re diving.”

“You said you came up too fast.”

“Yeah. Should’ve done some more decompression stops, but…” He swore softly and shook his head.

“Why, though?”

“I had a malfunctioning valve on my tank. Thought coming up too fast was better than staying down too long.”

“Oh.”

“Why?” Sergei lifted his eyebrows. “Do you think I was moving drugs—”

“No. No.” Dom sighed. “I’m sorry. Just… there
was
some shit out on the water today, and I…” He swallowed. “I’m just glad you weren’t tangled up in it.”

Sergei was quiet for a moment. He looked down at their hands, and his thumb ran alongside Dom’s. “I’m sorry. You came here tonight for something a lot more enjoyable than—”

“I came to see you.”

“Not like this.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“I am.” Sergei shifted. “This is bullshit.”

“Trust me. I’d rather be here than…” Dom trailed off, not sure how to fill in the rest of that thought without tipping his hand too far. Finally, he shook his head. “Anyway. I’ll stay as long as you need me to. God knows you’ve been there for me lately.”

Sergei studied him. “All I’ve done is sleep with you.”

“You’d be amazed how much I need that.” Dom gazed at their hands. “Being with another man like this, it’s…” He sighed. “I guess I feel like I have to get it as far out of my system as I can.”

“It doesn’t work that way, you know.” Sergei drew slow arcs along Dom’s hand with his thumbnail. “The more you have, the more you want.”

“I know. But I’d rather experience it than get married and spend the rest of my life wishing I’d spent more time with a man.”

Sergei gently freed his hand and pulled the oxygen mask down.

“You need to keep that on,” Dom said. “The doctor—”

“I know what he said.” Sergei moistened his lips and took Dom’s hand again. “Listen, we both know what happens if the people in your world find out about this. And all you’re doing is torturing yourself. Or guaranteeing yourself a lot of torture in the future when you can’t have this anymore.”