Starting Over

Aaron Gardner moaned and attempted to shift out of the damned uncomfortable position he was in where something sharp stabbed into his back.

Drunk out of his mind? Hungover? Really well fucked? What had he been doing?

Jesus, his head was fuzzy and tired. So damn tired. And he fucking hurt like crazy. Everywhere.

What the hell had happened? Aaron tried to open his eyes, but even that simple action hurt. Bells rang in his ears. No, sirens. Not bells. The noise reverberated through his brain, setting off a series of shock waves, making him want to curl into the fetal position.

His body didn’t respond the way he wanted it to.

A shout sparked another explosion of pain behind his eyes. Someone groaned.

“Hey, buddy, hang in there. Ambulance is almost here.”

Ambulance? Aaron’s heart thudded. Who needed an ambulance? Him? For what? Why couldn’t he fucking think?

“You with me, man? Can you open your eyes?”

The deep voice soothed Aaron’s nerves, despite its concern. If the guy wanted him to open his eyes, he was going to have to shut up, or his voice would lull Aaron to sleep.

“Come on, buddy, you wake up and I guarantee the EMTs’ll be a whole lot nicer,” he cajoled. “They don’t much like the nonresponsive ones. Makes ’em really nervous.”

Aaron’s chest hurt, and still what the man said didn’t sink in. Breathing was becoming an issue, making him even more light-headed, and the fantastic-smelling man next to him wanted him to open his eyes?

Fantastic-smelling?

Aaron lifted his head a fraction of an inch. Or tried to anyway. Something compressed his face, leaving it feeling squished and giving him a warped sense of hearing. He didn’t remember his head being so heavy either.

“Whoa, whoa. I said open your eyes, not get up. Lay still.” A warm hand settled on Aaron’s shoulder and gently pushed. Not that it mattered. Aaron wasn’t going anywhere. Not with the streak of white-hot pain that shot down his spine.

Jesus Christ. His goddamned back and arms were on fire. A feeling of dread spread through him. He hadn’t been fucked into the mattress; he was hurt. Badly, based on the agony he was in.

The sirens grew closer, and he began to hear other noises. Hushed voices, shouting, cars.

Cars?

“You got a name, buddy? EMTs also like it when I can tell ’em at least some info. They’re kind of a picky-ass group. Ten bucks if you open up and show me what color your eyes are.”

Despite his confusion, Aaron snorted. “Blue,” he managed to murmur, then wondered if he’d spoken at all.

“Blue. Strange name, Blue, but hey, mommas aren’t always with it when giving birth, are they?”

God, don’t make him laugh.

“Eyes. Blue. Name. Aaron.” Talking hurt.

“Ah. Gotcha. All right, then, Aaron, the bus just pulled up, and if I don’t see your baby blues before Tanning and Johnson get here, I’m going to have to leave you at their mercy.”

Aaron could swear by the tone of the man’s voice that he was hitting on him.

He had to be dreaming, since he couldn’t remember what had happened, but his head was clear enough to pick up a come-on in spite of the pain.

He blinked his eyes open and saw…nothing.

“There they are. You were right; they are blue.”

Aaron blinked again and pressed down the panic clawing its way from his stomach. Nothing but murky gray.

“Where are you?” he whispered. Bad dream. Bad dream, Aaron, that’s all.

“Right here, Aaron. I’m right beside you.” Worry laced the words.

Aaron swallowed. “Can’t see you.”

“Shit.” Aaron heard the curse despite the muffling of his helmet.

Helmet! Yes. That’s what squished his face. He’d been riding his motorcycle. To where? Had he crashed? Done something stupid? Hurt someone else? His stomach rolled, making him nauseated. Ralphing in his helmet would not be a good thing.

A hand grabbed his -- at least he could still feel his hands, which meant he wasn’t paralyzed. Not completely, anyway. He’d yet to test his feet. Aaron held on to his lifeline and wiggled his toes in the riding boots he wore, then cried out in both relief and shock. Moving his toes sent a lick of fire up his right leg all the way to his groin. More sweat beaded over his already sopping face.

The man holding his hand grunted. “For the love of God, if something hurts, don’t move it, okay, Aaron?”

Aaron could tell the man was gritting his teeth the same way Aaron was. His fingers were gently pried from their death grip around the man’s hand. Aaron panicked again, his breath wheezing in and out of his lungs, but the only thing he could think about was not wanting to lose his anchor.

“Shh, relax. I’ve got you.” His fingers were re-situated. “’Bout broke my hand is all.”