I came into this world, not knowing where I’ve been
You came into my life, working down into my skin
I fell in love once, with a man who loves me still
You’ve been loving him since birth, and probably always will
We dance around each other
A mongoose and a snake
You grab and hold and cherish
So tight that I might break
Can’t you see your love, is as poisonous as your bite?
You tell me to let you love me, and I’m afraid I one day might.
—Orange notebook #3, Page #5
THE NEXT time Miki opened his eyes, the room was dark. Or as dark as a hospital room could get. Light slipped in from outside, long stretches of buildings dappled with bright windows while froths of headlights flowed by on roadway streams. Water splattered across the glass, turning the cityscape into fractured bits of stone, night sky, and light. The rain was a gentle patter, rapping at the window before running down the sill.
His eyes adjusted slowly, bringing things in and out of focus with every blink. A few machines beeped and dribbled sounds to the right of him, while a clear plastic IV snake had its fangs sunk into his left arm. Normally rain made him sleepy. This time the sound of the falling water only made Miki realize he had to pee.
“Crap. How do I get out of—” He searched for a button, anything to call a nurse to help him out of the bed. A tightness across his crotch brought back a wincing memory of waking up in another hospital, his bandmates dead and gone while a tube was shoved up his cock to help him piss his guts out during his brief stint in coma-land. Lifting the bed linens, Miki sighed in relief. “No catheter. Just… tape. Tape pulling.”
The tape was interesting. A cut. There’d been a bad slice across his side, and his knee—the joint in question began to complain, a sharp, steady ache twisting through the bone and tendon. His knee felt a bit fucked-up.
“So what’s worse? Knee or side? Can’t check on the damned knee. Where’s the fucking call button?” His bladder chimed in, and Miki bit down on his lip to control the press of liquid bearing down on him. “Okay, bathroom first, then….”
He didn’t know what then would be. The room was empty of people. Just square light-bouncing machines playing a hearty mariachi while the rain set up a steady backbeat. A closed door usually meant a bathroom, and Miki carefully tried to swing himself to the side of the bed.
Which turned out to be a spectacularly bad idea.
His foot barely touched the floor when it seemed to slip out from under him. A blink, and the lights spun around him, turning into cobweb streaks across the room’s buttery paint. Miki tried grabbing at one of the bed rails, but he was either too far or too late. He couldn’t tell which. The stuffy head he’d woken up with swelled, filling his sinuses and eardrums until the ceiling became a wall and the bed turned to mush beneath him.
When he fell, he went down hard.
As noises went, it was a cacophony of chimes, rattles, and steel hitting tile. He might have sworn when he tumbled, but he sure as hell let loose once he struck the floor. The pain was incredible, shooting up from his leg and grabbing at his side, clenching in tight over his ribs. His breath was floating somewhere about the hospital room, because Miki was sure he’d lost it when the floor smacked him in the cheek. Gasping, he rolled over onto his side and simply let the pain ripple out to where it needed to flow.
A second later a light flared on, and Miki lay on the sparkling white tiles, wondering who’d needed to put a spotlight on his clumsiness. He didn’t have to wait long. In the moment his lungs decided to begin working again, a shadow fell over his prone body, and a pair of red sneakers filled his watery view.
“Now why’d ye be doing that, Miki boy? Are ye trying to finish off what that rat bastard tried to do to ye?”
Ireland held its grip on her dulcet voice, a stronger, deeper roll than her American-Gaelic sons had in theirs. She was a terror, a miniature nightmare packaged into a curvy Irish Venus with a mane of deep red curls and Quinn’s green eyes.
“Motherfucking hell,” he gasped. “Brigid. What are you—?”
“Did ye think I’d not be coming to yer side? Yer my son. For all yer anger and grousing, right now, ye need a mum. And I’m the one yer going to get.” She stroked his hair, rubbing a bit of it between her fingers. “Worst part about being in the sick house, isn’t it? Yer hair gets all grimy, and they’re not be letting ye wash it proper.”
He held it all in until her fingers ghosted over his cheek, and then Miki began to cry. Frustrated and angry, he pounded at the floor, hurting his hand in the process, but Brigid only bent down farther, kneeling beside him, then hooking her hand under his arm and helping him sit up. He tried shaking her off. It was too much… she was too much… and Miki knew he wouldn’t be able to deal with breaking down in front of Kane’s mother. Not when he was too injured to do anything but curl up into a ball and hope not to break into little pieces.
He didn’t dare let Brigid get her arms around him. Something inside of him already hurt, already ached and crinkled from finding her in his room. Kane, he’d expected. Hell, he’d imagined Damien bought Kane tickets before even calling home to tell him what happened. But Brigid? She was a surprise.
Exhaling a ragged breath, Miki fought to get himself under control, then asked, “Why is it every time I start crying about you, I’m on the fucking floor?”
“Well, ye seem to have yer greatest epiphanies when yer on yer knees.” Her arms were around him before Miki could stop her, but the hug was brief and fierce. She wiped away the scant tears on his face, then said, “And don’t ye go making that dirty in yer head.”
“I just didn’t….” He couldn’t find the words he needed to explain away the pain inside his heart. It was a prickly swell of emotion, clouding his judgment and muddling his thoughts. It grew from a seed lodged deep in his throat, then spread its roots down to his chest and belly. Miki struggled, then sighed out the one thought he’d tucked deep inside of him, an undiscovered thread of wonderment woven into the darkness he’d spent years fighting. “You here? Not for me. Not ever.”
“I’ll always be here for ye, Miki love. Of all of ye, ye might growl and snap the loudest, but that tells me ye’re the one who needs a mother’s love the most.” She sniffed. Her lips quivered, then firmed into a smile. “I had to fight Donal for the honor, though. I’m going to have to pay up deep for it, but someone’s got to stay with the house and kids.”
“I—” The words Miki needed to say stuck to the sides of his tongue, refusing to come out. “Brigid….”
“I know, love. I know. Now come on,” she crooned, a warm chocolate slather of comfort on his bruised heart. “Let’s get ye upright at least, and maybe then we’ll be calling someone to come help ye to the loo. ’Cause that’s where ye was heading, right?”
“Yeah.” His knee hurt, and his ribs were creaking, but the bathroom was a much greater worry. “I couldn’t find the button thing to call the nurse, and if I don’t pee soon, it’s going to be bad.”
“There’s the plastic bottle thing. I can help—”
“I’m not pissing into a bottle while you hold it,” he protested. “And does Kane know you’re here?”
“Boy knows I was a few hours behind him. Probably thought it’d be best not to tell ye.” Brigid’s smile wavered, teasingly fragile. “In case you crawled out the window. And we’re about ten stories up.”
“No, I’m good. We’re… good. He could have told me I’d turned into a unicorn, and I’d have believed him. They had me on some massive fucking shit.” Miki shook his head. As bad ideas went, rattling his noggin around was up there with sliding off the bed, because whatever marbles he had left were off and running, bouncing about on the inside of his skull. “Oh God, bad move. Head’s icky. I think I’m going to throw up.”
“Let’s not have ye be doing that just yet.” Brigid fumbled at something dangling at the side of the bed. “But if ye have to, just let it go. Yer probably not going to be the first one to lose his stomach on this floor. What’s the matter? Ye’ve gone pale. What’s wrong? I’ll find ye the bucket—”
“No, I think I’m good. Not going to hurl,” Miki croaked, then realized he was sitting with his naked ass on the floor and his hospital gown spread wide open. Scrambling to cover his bare skin, Miki couldn’t find an end of the gown to pull over himself. “Fuck, I’m…. God, just kill me now.”
“Please, ye think yer the first block and tackle I’ve seen?” Brigid grunted, steadying Miki while he struggled to get to his feet. “I’ve raised six boys. There’s been peen flying about the house since before ye were born… and not all of it my sons’. Now get yerself going here. I’ll help you to the loo, and then we’re going to be finding out why there’s not a nurse in here. When I push a button, I’ll be expecting someone hopping, or I’ll be finding out why not.”
THERE WASN’T anything he could do for pants, but a pair of loose boxers was enough for Miki to feel he’d held on to his dignity while a broad-faced nurse chattered with Brigid about apple pie filling and silly offspring who thought they could go to the bathroom by themselves.
A painkiller, the bathroom, and then warm sheets were enough for Miki to sink back down into a soft blur. He didn’t hurt, and more importantly, he couldn’t quite focus on Brigid’s face as she started telling the soft-voiced black woman in SpongeBob scrubs about the time he’d tried to help her make brownies for movie night.
He discovered he didn’t mind it—being the center of one of Brigid’s rollicking tales. It was odd. Any time in the past, he’d have felt mocked and demeaned, but he half listened to Kane’s mother tell SpongeBob nurse about losing the microwave in an earth-shattering kaboom because he’d put an egg in it instead of the bowl of chopped-up chocolate he had in his other hand. Brigid spun out the tale like a master weaver, adding flourishes of the family’s fear and then laughter as they officially declared the appliance a fallen warrior in the war of the brownies.
There was… affection… in her voice. He sat and heard not only her words but the music beneath the Irish. She sounded like every other time she told someone a story about one of her kids: a bit of teasing, a dash of humor, and a lot of… love.
Time and time again, Miki found it hard not to compare Brigid and even Donal to the men who’d caged him in their perversity and mindless cruelty. There were still times when he winced and recoiled if Kane raised his hand too quickly. Hell, even Dude didn’t react as violently to sudden movement as Miki did, but it was something Miki was working on.
It was just so damned hard to hear the love in the now when he’d drowned in pools of mockery in the past.
Miki heard it now. In the half slumber of drugs, eased pain, and a cup of ice chips, he finally heard Brigid’s heart in her words.
This time he let his few tears fall without shame. Without any regret.
“Here now, Miki boy,” Brigid asked from across the room, “are you okay?”
She sounded alarmed. He hadn’t wanted to alarm her. He just wanted her to continue talking, to lull him into a safe, warm place where he didn’t have to worry about pissing someone off because he didn’t know how to be an actual person.
“I’m fine.” Replying was a bit difficult, but Miki focused on moving his tongue properly. The ice chips were nice. As was Brigid’s hand on his. “I just realized I’m fucking Pinocchio.”
“I’ll just be leaving the two of you alone. The doctor will be by shortly to take a look at that knee.” The nurse pointed at the call button lying at Miki’s side. “You need something, you have your momma ring one of us. No getting out of bed, young man. Not for anything. If you’re good, they’ll let you go tomorrow. If not, I’ll be seeing you this weekend.”
“She makes it sound like a bad thing,” Miki grumbled under his breath. “Much better than the torturers I had in Los Angeles.”
“Lorraine left ye some juice cups, but if ye want food, I can get one of the boys to bring ye something up.” Brigid settled into a chair near Miki’s bed. An odd expression fluttered over her face, slightly troubled and hesitant. “And here I go just sitting down when ye might want me gone so ye can sleep.”
“No, it’s nice. Good.” His tongue still wasn’t cooperating, but Miki figured Brigid could deal with it. Having been in the middle of a Morgan argument where English and Gaelic flew about in fiery streams, Brigid could understand if he slurred. “Did you tell Kane to crash?”
“For a little bit. It was hard going, but he needed it.” She popped a straw into the foil top of a juice cup, then passed it over for Miki to sip at. “He’d been running on fumes. Would have been no good to ye otherwise. Do ye mind?”
“What? No. Not like he’d have listened to me.” He grinned. “Guess we’ve got that in common. We both don’t listen for shit.”
“It’s a Morgan trait. I’d say they get that from their father, but we all know it’s my door that blame is laid at.” Tucking a strand of flaming red hair behind her ear, Brigid smiled. “And ye should know that Donal sends his love. And for ye to get better. We have a bet, my groom and I, on whether or not ye’ll continue the tour.”
“Who bet against me?”
“Neither. He says ye’ll pack yerself up out of the room tonight and head over to Jersey like the Devil’s chasing ye.” Brigid laughed at Miki’s wrinkled nose. “But I say ye’ll stay at least long enough for the docs to have a look at ye so Damien and Kane can’t argue with ye, and then ye’ll go on yer merry little way.”
“Got a lot of money riding on this bet?”
“No money. Just bragging rights,” she said with a shrug. “We’ve been married long enough to know sometimes the best prize from a bet is being able to say I told you so.”
“Yeah, that’s not something I hear a lot from Kane.” He smirked.
“Only because yer not the teasing sort. Took me a long time to understand that about my Donal. We had to bend, he and I.” She nodded when Miki snorted. “It’s the truth. He was so very serious and wound up tight, like the weight of the world was on his back, and me? I was scattered and flighty. But oh, I wanted that man so badly I could feel it in my teeth. He was worth growing up for. I have no regrets on that. No regrets on any of it, really.”
“I can’t see Donal not laughing.” Hell, it was hard to imagine the Morgan patriarch being anything other than easygoing and steady. “He laughs a hell of a lot now.”
“Connor taught him how to laugh.” She dug her elbow into the bed and rested her chin on the heel of her hand. “Baby boys are a wonder. Girls too, but it took us a while to find that out. Kane, now yer lover’s the one who showed Donal there’s five sides to every story. If there was any question of Donal becoming a detective, it was answered when Kane started talking. Pulling the truth out of that one was like finding a long needle in a haystack of short needles.”
“Kane. A liar?” Miki scoffed.
“Liar is a bit of a strong word to use there.” Brigid pursed her mouth. “Think of it more as ye had to know what question to ask if ye wanted the whole story. He wasn’t one to give up his secrets. Not like Quinn. That one is an onion. Kane was… he cherished his secrets. That’s how I knew ye were precious to him. He wasn’t having any sharing of ye until he was good and ready.”
“Yeah, I kind of feel that way about him too.” The confession was out before Miki could stop himself, but he found himself rambling on. “D keeps after me about love songs… because he thinks I should write them now… because of Kane.”
“And ye don’t?”
“I keep telling him, Kane’s… I don’t want to share him. Not with the world. Which is stupid. Because they won’t really have him but….” He sighed. “He’s mine. I write them. The songs. I’m just not going to record them. Not yet.”
“That’s fair, love. Ye should only give out what ye want to lose.” Brigid’s eyes grew dreamy. “See, I always think yer writing away bits of yer heart and soul when I hear yer songs. Slices of yerself, like one of Alice’s tea party cakes. And ye can always make more, but they’ll not be the same taste. Not every time. If there’s one that’s only for ye and Kane, then that’s how it should be. I’m sure there are things ye share only with Damien.”
“Damie’s different. The world fucking owns us. We sold ourselves a long time ago. Anything I make for Sinners… for Crossroads, it’s not mine. Once that button hits Record, the song isn’t mine anymore.” Miki tried to catch his thought before it escaped him. “It’s like once there’s a song, then it… it’s like no one owns it. Everyone’s got a piece of something that’s theirs because no one hears the same song. But when we get all together, under those lights, in front of those speakers, we’re all singing each other’s song. It’s like thousands of voices singing a piece of you back. It’s intimate, but at the same time, you’re spread wide open for everyone to see. Even if they don’t know what they’re seeing.”
“Ye love doing it, then, the singing?” she asked softly. “Because I’ll be telling ye, Miki love. I worry for ye. Up on that stage. I worry yer doing this only for Damien, but Donal, he’s got a better hold on yer heart and mind than I do. He says ye can’t not sing.”
“He’s right,” Miki whispered after a moment. Touching Brigid’s arm, he continued, “The first time I heard the crowd sing my words back to me, it was like someone saw me… knew me. Someone other than Damien. Or Johnny and Dave. My whole fucking life, I wasn’t seen. Wasn’t heard. No matter how hard I cried or how much I shouted, it was like I was nothing. Invisible. Like my pain didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter. But that night… I couldn’t see them, but they could see me. And they heard me.
“And I get it now. I didn’t so much before, but now I do,” he said softly. “It isn’t just them singing at me. It’s everyone singing with me. Because in that moment, none of us are invisible. We’re all just in that moment together… and it’s safe and it’s good. So yeah, I’m heading to Jersey. Because maybe somebody out there needs that bit of song to remind themselves that they’re still alive.”