Free Night Moves: Dream Man/After the Night by Linda Howard Page B

Gray had received in spring practice when he was fifteen.
    Gray didn’t want to tell him everything, preferring to keep the details quiet for a while longer until his broker had had time to sell and Alex had done his legal maneuvers, but it wouldn’t be possible to completely stifle the news. He gave Dr. Bogarde the central fact, the only one that mattered. “Dad and Mother have separated. Monica . . .” He hesitated.
    Dr. Bogarde sighed. “I see.” Everyone in the parish knew how Monica doted on Guy.
    Gray concentrated on his driving. The Chrysler’s suspension evened out the bumpy roads, and the tires sang on the pavement. The sense of unreality he’d experienced earlier returned. The sun poured hotly through the window, burning his jean-clad leg, and the tall pines flashed by. The sky overhead was a deep, pure blue. It was high summer, and everything was as familiar as his own face. That was what was strange. How could it all be so unchanged, when his world had crashed around him today?
    Behind him, Dr. Bogarde checked Monica’s pulse and blood pressure again. “Gray,” he said quietly. “You’d better go faster.”

Five
    I t was ten-thirty that night when Gray and Dr. Bogarde left the hospital in Baton Rouge. Gray’s eyes burned with fatigue, and he was numb from the emotional roller coaster he’d been on all day long. Monica had finally been stabilized and undergone surgery, and was sleeping peacefully, under sedation. She had gone into cardiac arrest soon after arriving at the hospital, but the emergency room team had gotten her heartbeat back almost immediately. She had been given four units of blood prior to surgery, and another two units in surgery. The doctor who had done the repair work thought there was no permanent damage in her right wrist, but she had severed a couple of tendons in her left wrist and might not regain full mobility there.
    All that mattered to Gray was that she was going to live. She had awakened briefly when she was transferred from recovery to the private room he’d gotten for her, and had groggily murmured, “I’m sorry, Gray,” when she had seen him. He didn’t know if she’d meant she was sorry she’d tried to kill herself, sorry that she hadn’t succeeded, or sorry that she had caused him so much worry. He chose to believe she meant the first possibility, because he couldn’t handle the thought that she might try again.
    “I’ll drive,” Dr. Bogarde said, reaching up to slap him on the shoulder. “You look like hell.”
    “I feel like hell,” Gray rumbled. “I need a cup of coffee.” He was just as glad to let Doc drive. His brain felt like a wasteland; it probably wouldn’t be safe for him to do the driving, and it was the doc’s car. His knees would still be sticking up under his chin, but at least he’d have room to breathe.
    “I can manage that. There’s a McDonald’s a few blocks from here.”
    Gray folded and inserted himself, and thanked God that the Chrysler had a padded dashboard. If it hadn’t, his shins would have been black and blue.
    Fifteen minutes later, with a large polystyrene cup of coffee gently steaming in his hand, he watched the streetlights of Baton Rouge slide past. Some of the happiest years of his life had been spent here, at LSU. He had prowled all over this city, a wild, energetic, perpetually horny kid on the hunt for action, and there was plenty of it. No one knew how to have more fun than a Cajun, and Baton Rouge was full of coon-asses. His four years here had been a ball.
    It hadn’t been that long ago that he’d come home for good, only a couple of months, but it felt like a lifetime. This nightmarish, unending day had forever sealed away that high-spirited kid, leaving a definite line of demarcation between the two parts of his life. Gray had been growing up gradually, like most people, but today the full weight of adult responsibility had been dumped on his shoulders. They were broad enough to carry the load, so