Three’s a Crowd 

Chapter 3


Justin had very little recollection of either the accident or the ride in the ambulance and though not badly hurt, he was in shock. The car had skidded, hit the kerb and then spun before hitting a tree; slamming into it on the driver’s side. If it hadn’t been for the seatbelt he was wearing, Justin probably wouldn’t have survived. As it was, the car, already weakened, had caved in having hit the tree and Mark had been cut free but was barely alive.

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It was the smell of the hospital that first hit Justin: bringing back all too vivid memories of his bashing. The doctor on duty, by chance, was the same one who’d attended Justin in the emergency room two years before and had recognised him immediately. He didn’t have to ask about his history or wait for Justin’s medical records before he ordered an MRI scan; he knew that any further head injury could prove to be fatal.

However, Justin was extremely lucky. He had several badly bruised ribs and a few cuts and abrasions, but there was no further head trauma. However, he would be kept in overnight for observation and given painkillers to help his breathing made difficult by the damage to his ribcage and something to help him sleep, but the news wasn’t so good about Mark.

Mark was on life support and Justin realised he hadn’t got a clue who should be called and informed about him. The nurse had asked Justin whom he wanted her to inform on his behalf and he’d shaken his head. Once he’d come out, his Father had wanted nothing to do with him and though his Mother loved her son, she’d had difficulty coming to terms with Justin’s sexuality or acting against his Father’s wishes and Justin had withdrawn from her. As far as he was concerned he was on his own, but he did ask that Mark’s family not be told that he’d been with him and the nurse had smiled knowingly, for Justin had no idea whether Mark’s family knew he was gay; that could be one shock too many.

Going through Mark’s wallet, the Police found next of kin listed as Margaret Delaney; sister, and were in the process of contacting her, but then the man had gone into cardiac arrest. The medical team fought as hard as they could, but with no success. Mark was pronounced dead at 01:45 am.

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Justin’s head was swimming and he could hardly take in what was going on around him. There had been such activity around Mark’s bed before, but now there was only silence; everyone had gone and all the machines had been switched off.

He couldn’t say goodbye to Mark here: not in such a cold, clinical hospital room. That would have to come later and it was only after he’d let the nursing staff take him back to his own room, did the enormity of what had happened hit him.

Mark was gone. Not only had he lost his lover, but also the man who’d encouraged him to try his art again and the man with whom Justin thought he might have a future. And, as the painkillers and sedatives started to kick in, Justin could no longer hold in the tears for a love lost and what might have been.

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The phone woke Brian just before 01:20 am. with a call from a woman he’d never met, but who apparently knew about him.

It would seem that Mark had told his sister about Brian and the fact that they were talking about moving in together had seemed to Margaret to indicate that her brother was in a serious relationship; one she thought was long over due.

He’d mentioned that Brian was selling his loft on Trenton and as there was only one Kinney in the phone book for that area, Margaret had taken down his number and then called him as her husband was taking her to the hospital; Mark’s condition had sounded serious and she thought Brian should be there.

By the time Brian arrived, however, it was too late; Mark was dead. Margaret had already been in to see him and was taking a few quiet moments whilst her husband was talking to the staff about what arrangements were needed.

Brian could see the likeness; Margaret was older than Mark and she too was tall and slim and had Mark’s eyes: Eyes that were now filled with tears.

She took Brian’s hand as he sat down beside her and she tried to smile. “So … you’re Brian … you’re the man my brother was going to move in with …” and Brian swallowed, barely able to absorb what was being said to him.

“What happened?” managed Brian eventually and Margaret took a deep breath: managing to stifle a sob. “An accident coming back from the airport …” and Brian nodded; of course, Mark’s trip to New York.

Brian looked over his shoulder in the direction of the door outside of which they were sitting. “I’m sorry,” said Margaret. “Of course … you’ll want to see him … say goodbye …” and she stood up and walked towards the door and she opened it.

Silently, Brian followed her into the room and hesitated only briefly before walking towards the bed. The man looked unmarked, though he’d suffered terrible internal injuries, but his face was relaxed and so very beautiful and Brian brushed Mark’s cheek with the back of his hand; he was still warm.

“I’ll leave you with him,” said Margaret softly, squeezing Brian’s arm and she turned and left, closing the door behind her.

Slowly, Brian pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed and he exhaled slowly then, hesitantly, he took Mark’s lifeless hand; so much was going on in his head, but he was unable to get his thoughts into any sort of order. 

Here was a man who’d told Brian he loved him; the first man Brian had ever allowed in to his life and, quite possibly, the last. He’d taken a risk with Mark; almost against his better judgement, but he actually thought there might have been a chance; a chance of love; something he’d never thought possible, nor had even desired. Well, at least that’s what he’d convinced himself all his life. After all, it’s much easier to say you don’t want something if you believe you can never have it.

For when the people who are supposed to love you the most are the ones that hurt you the most, well that more or less kills your faith in love; the unconditional love between parent and child. And there was no doubt that Brian’s experiences in childhood had helped to fashion his opinions on love; he simply didn’t believe in it and certainly not love between two gay men. 

Well, not until he’d dared to after Mark had come along. And now it was over before it had barely begun; gone and Brian knew he was never likely to find anything that remotely resembled love again.

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Brian sat in the silence for several minutes and then, softly, there was a knock on the door and Margaret entered. “Brian,” she said gently, “the medical team … they need to …” “Yes, of course,” said Brian and, getting up from the chair he lent down and kissed Mark on the forehead and whispered goodbye, leaving the room in a daze and not yet having shed a single tear.

Outside in the corridor, Margaret pointed to two holdalls on the floor. “The Police have just brought these … they’ve taken the car to the pound. I really don’t think I can deal with this right now …” and at last, the strength Margaret had was lost and she collapsed against her husband.

“I’ll deal with them … you don’t have to worry,” said Brian. “Thank you,” answered Mr. Delaney. “Will you take them back to Mark’s?” “I would,” replied Brian, “but Mark never got around to giving me a key”.

“Here,” said Margaret, trying to recover her composure and she opened her purse. “The Police left Mark’s keys … you’d better have them” and she took them out and gave them to Brian.

“About the arrangements,” continued Margaret. “It will be a family funeral, but you’ll be there of course … “ and Brian nodded. “Anyway, we can talk about that later” and she put her hand on Brian’s arm. “We’ll talk soon …” and she smiled faintly and, leaning on her husband, Margaret left Brian standing in the corridor.

Brian closed his eyes briefly and then, looking down at the bags, asked himself what he should do next. It occurred to him suddenly to wonder why Mark had taken so much with him on just an overnight trip and he studied the bags carefully. One of them was fairly new and expensive, that was obviously Mark’s, but the other one Brian didn’t recognise.

The tag on the second holdall said, ‘Justin Taylor – St. James’ Academy’ and Brian unzipped it and found some toiletries and then took out a few items of clothing, including a short-sleeved shirt and smart navy pants, several sizes too small for Mark and he frowned; what the fuck did this mean? Had Mark had a passenger or maybe he’d picked up a hitchhiker, despite all the dangers that could pose?

Going to the nurses’ station, Brian found the nurse on duty was someone he knew from the back room of Babylon; someone he recognised, but whose name he couldn’t recall right now. However, the man knew Brian; as did most people in the clubs and bars before Mark came along.

“Bad business” said Peter, who had witnessed the exchange between Brian and the Delaney’s and who’d been informed by Margaret that Mark’s partner was on his way. He’d also been the nurse who had taken down Justin’s details and could now understand why the young man didn’t want it known that he’d been with the deceased at the time of the accident. Was Peter glad he wasn’t going to get into that!

Brian nodded. “There’s something I don’t understand … were there two accidents tonight?” but Peter shook his head, “No,” he answered him. “Just Mr. Reynolds …”

Suddenly, the doors flew open and into the Emergency Room rushed the paramedics and Peter hurriedly excused himself in order to take down the details of the man being wheeled in on the gurney and couldn’t help feeling relieved at being released from Brian’s questions.

“Thomas Bradford … 55 … heart attack,” informed the medic and Peter helped steer the man the short distance down the corridor to the nearest vacant room.

Brian sighed and watched them go and then turned back to the desk. Quickly looking over his shoulder in order to make sure no one was watching him, he placed Mark’s holdall on the floor and then lent over and turned the patient list around in order to read it. Justin Taylor: transferred to room 302.

Brian repositioned the list to how he’d found it and then picked up Mark’s bag and walked off down the corridor. It didn’t take him more than ten seconds to make up his mind what he was going to do next.

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Brian wasn’t challenged as he made his way from the elevator and, silently, he entered Justin’s room and put down both holdalls and he slowly walked up to the bed. The young man was sleeping and the lights were on low, but even so, Brian could make out the perfect features of the blond from the diner. 

Justin, so that’s what his name was. He looked so fragile; his blond hair framing his face; the remnants of tears on his cheeks. He looked so young and vulnerable and Brian wanted to reach out and brush the tears away, but then he stopped himself. 

This was surely no hitchhiker. But this young man had been in Mark’s car with him on the way back from the airport and his holdall contained a change of clothes and Brian closed his eyes as a feeling of nausea came over him. Had Mark taken Justin to New York with him and maybe even into his bed? 

Realising he’d obviously get no answers here tonight, Brian slowly turned and walked away, but before he reached the door, he heard a mumbling and then a stifled sob and he turned around. Half-awake and half-asleep, Justin was crying softly and he heard him call out Mark’s name.

Confused and angry, Brian returned to Justin’s side; hearing his partner’s name on the young man’s lips and then the blond’s eyes flickered open; open, but filled with tears and still unable to process what was happening; a look of helplessness that totally overwhelmed Brian and his anger disappeared as quickly as it had come.

In Justin’s dreamlike state as he opened his eyes, all he could make out in the soft lighting was the form of a man who, through his tears and his anguish, looked like his lover and Justin whispered Mark’s name again and held out a trembling hand.

Brian hesitated and briefly closed his eyes, but it was too late; the look of shock and despair on the blond’s face reached out to him, even though he was sure he was looking at a young man who had been sleeping with his lover; his partner and, slowly, Brian sat down on the edge of Justin’s bed and took his hand.

Justin’s eyelashes, wet with tears, flickered as gently, Brian brushed Justin’s hair away from his eyes. “Shh … go back to sleep …” he whispered and he waited until Justin’s sobbing ceased and the young man had fallen into a deep sleep before he left, taking Mark’s holdall with him.

Though early on in their relationship both Brian and Mark had continued having sex with other men, that had ceased for Brian in an attempt at commitment and he’d assumed it had for Mark as well, but an overwhelming feeling of betrayal overtook Brian as he took one final look at the blond and then turned and walked away.

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The next couple of days found Brian feeling as if he were existing in a void; nothing around him seemed real with the consequences of what had actually happened only now starting to kick in.

Margaret and her husband, George, had telephoned again, this time leaving their own number for Brian to contact them if he needed to. And his friends had, one by one, visited to offer their condolences and support, even though Brian felt that one or two of them, though not actually wishing the man dead, were a little relieved that Mark was no longer in Brian’s life. And did Brian feel that way too? 

Brian hadn’t mentioned his suspicions about Mark and Justin yet to anyone. Maybe it was something to do with not speaking ill of the dead or maybe it was that Brian wasn’t ready yet to face up to the possible reality about his and Mark’s relationship. But when he took Mark’s holdall back to the man’s apartment, Brian couldn’t help himself, but had looked around for evidence of another man; someone else that Mark might have been involved with, but could find nothing.

No clothes of a different style or size were hanging in Mark’s closet or were in the drawers of the dressers and no toiletries; other than the odd sweater or the toothbrush that Brian himself had kept at Mark’s apartment.

Margaret had asked Brian if he would like to pick out the clothes for Mark to be buried in and Brian had chosen the most expensive suit, along with a shirt and tie and he smiled; Mark had sure looked hot in these.

And Brian ran his hand along the shelves where Mark kept his CD, video and DVD collection, finding the odd one that he had bought him as a gift, but otherwise no evidence of anyone else.

But then he’d unpacked Mark’s holdall and had found the receipt for the hotel. A double room; not odd in itself, but it included room service; breakfast for two and Brian sat on the sofa with the receipt in his hand and for the first time, gave way to all the mixed emotions that were going around in his head.

He’d believed Mark when the man said he loved him and now, even finding the damning evidence, he still wanted to believe that; had started to believe it possible for him to love Mark in return. Had he been that much of an idiot and was this just confirmation that love didn’t really exist, but was merely a fantasy that only fools believed in?

With a mixture of anger, confusion and disappointment, Brian screwed up the hotel receipt and tossed it in the trashcan in the kitchen and vowed he would never make the same mistake again; the feeling now of betrayal increasing until the pain in his chest became almost unbearable. Love just wasn’t worth all this hurt. He should never have given in to such a foolish notion, but stayed with what he’d believed in prior to meeting Mark. 

That he didn’t do boyfriends; that love, especially love for queers was unattainable and not even to be considered as something that might be real and achievable.

And his thoughts returned to Justin. The young man was incredibly cute; Brian had thought that himself, he wouldn’t deny it. But at least he hadn’t acted on his initial attraction to the blond: believing himself to be in a relationship. Something apparently, that hadn’t occurred to Mark.

And what of the young man? Had he pursued Mark or had Mark gone after him? Was he to be a final fling before committing himself to Brian or was the blond Mark’s little bit on the side; someone he’d intended to carry on seeing even after he’d moved in with Brian?

Brian couldn’t ignore it; he’d have to confront Justin and ask him.

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“Well, finally!” exclaimed Debbie as Justin walked into the diner. “I thought you said one night and a day … that was three days ago Sunshine … “ and she pointed an accusing finger at him. 

“And don’t think you can just start with the waterworks …” Debbie continued, but the look on Justin’s face as the tears that had welled up into his eyes brimmed over stopped her, as she realised this wasn’t the blond just trying to avoid getting fired, but that something quite serious must have happened.

“What is it, sweetie?” asked Debbie, gently and putting her arm around his shoulders, but Justin backed away; any more concern from Debbie and that would finish him off all together.

“I … I was in an accident,” said Justin, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Are you okay?” asked Debbie, backing off a little and Justin nodded. “Just a few bruises … nothing major”.

“Anyone else hurt?” she asked and the look Justin gave her told her this was something he just wasn’t ready to talk about. “Then what are you doing here? Go home …” but Justin shook his head. “I need the money, Debbie,” he answered her. “Please don’t make me go home … I’d rather be here … with people …” and Debbie nodded. “Okay … but if it gets too much …” and she patted his arm.

Justin was barely holding it together and was mixing up orders, but Debbie didn’t have the heart to make him go home. She understood how the young man would need the money and she too wanted to be around people when something really bad had happened. She only wished he’d tell her exactly what that was; she might be able to help him. This seemed to be a time for tragedies, she concluded.

As the day wore on, Justin was getting more and more tired. His ribs still hurt him, even though he’d managed to disguise just how much from Debbie and his head was foggy.

He’d been discharged from the hospital, thankful at least that his Mom had still kept up his medical insurance and had gone home to a cold, unwelcoming apartment and had cried for the last two days; never one able to disguise or ignore his feelings. 

But the rent was due and there was no food in the place and at least when he worked he was warm and occupied and Debbie had always allowed him to have the ‘special’ for the day, so at least he had one decent hot meal inside him.

But Justin rubbed his forehead and now became aware that over the last hour, his mind wasn’t just in a fog, but a real headache was starting to form and he closed his eyes. He hadn’t had one of ‘those’ headaches for a while now; the sort he’d had regularly after the bashing. They had, thankfully, diminished in the time since, unless he got upset, or was worried about something and then they’d come on, much like this one was threatening to and would leave him debilitated and helpless with the pain: a headache that only pills and sleep would cure.

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Debbie suddenly realised Justin hadn’t been around for a little while and went to look for him, first in the men’s room and then in the storeroom and that’s where she found him; sitting on the floor and curled up in a ball.

“Justin … you really should go home …” and the young man could barely raise his head to look at her.

“Are you hurting? Do you need to see a doctor?” asked Debbie, kneeling beside him and she saw how Justin struggled to look at her; his eyes dark rimmed and heavy and he swallowed before answering. 

“I don’t need a doctor,” he assured her. “But I probably should have told you about the headaches …” he said, falteringly. “But they don’t happen too much now … not like they used to” and Debbie finally realised where she knew this young man from and couldn’t believe she hadn’t recognised him sooner, for his picture had been all over the local paper at one point.

“Oh my God,” exclaimed Debbie, quietly. “You’re the kid that got bashed a couple of years back … I thought I knew you from somewhere”.

“You wait right there … I’ll see if someone can give you a ride home … no arguments” she told him and Justin tried to nod, knowing there was no way he’d be able to finish his shift.

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Brian had even contemplated going back to work, but Gardner had told him he didn’t want him back at least for another few days and that he shouldn’t push himself, but to give himself time to grieve.

Grief; was that what he was actually going through? Brian couldn’t be sure. Numb with shock? Yes. The inability to process what had actually happened and what this now meant for him? Yes, he was certainly experiencing that. Maybe this was grief. 

The last grief Brian had felt had been for his Father and that had surprised him at the time. Why would he grieve for someone who constantly beat on him and who had so little regard for him? But saying goodbye to the only man who would ever be his Father had been difficult for all that, but that sense of loss and never being able to recover a longed-for but unattainable relationship was totally different to what he was feeling now.

Yes, he’d felt cheated when his Father died: cheated of a Father’s love for his son, albeit an emotion he’d never detected from the man and was now never likely to.

But for a lover, partner even: someone whom he thought he might actually grow old with, but one it seemed had been secretly sleeping with someone else? Brian wasn’t sure if he was grieving for Mark or not. Or, again, was he grieving the loss of a notion called love rather than for the man himself?

And what of the anger that Brian found was creeping in from time to time? Was that a normal reaction? Was he angry with the man for cheating on him, or was he angry with Mark for leaving him? 

Still trying to understand the emotions he was going through, Brian realised he had to confront them if he would ever be able to put Mark to rest. Brian had never been good at recognising his feelings; even accepting that he had any, but this time was different as he had, for the first time in his life, believed himself to be in love. 

So he went in search of the answers.

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Leaving Justin in the storeroom, Debbie went out into the diner as Brian came in through the front door and she hesitated for just a moment. Brian didn’t normally go out of his way to do people favours, believing everyone should make it on their own, but if it meant for a little while that he could focus on something other than his own pain, then perhaps that wouldn’t be a bad thing. Besides, he could hardly ever refuse Debbie.

She’d been to see him at the loft as soon as she’d heard about Mark and her concern was genuine even if she hadn’t liked the man. Debbie had known how difficult it must have been for Brian to actually accept another man’s love and she feared for him now that was gone. Even if Mark hadn’t been perfect, at least the declaration of his feelings had at last reached the man she thought was destined to live his life alone; something Debbie couldn’t contemplate for herself and had long wished for Brian to find and accept love.

But when she’d gone to see him, Brian had seemed detached and she was worried that he would totally deny any feelings he had; unable to admit his love for the man who was gone or acknowledge the grief he must surely feel; How can you share someone’s life and contemplate a future together and not grieve their passing?

However, Debbie knew Brian well enough to understand he didn’t need to hear her keep on saying how sorry she was about Mark, that was a given and though it wasn’t exactly business as usual, she knew better than to treat him with too much sympathy.

Which is why she asked him to help her out.

“Brian … have you got your car with you?” she asked him and Brian nodded. “Yeah … it’s just outside”. “Good,” she answered him. “I need your help …” and she indicated that he should follow her.

Puzzled, Brian followed Debbie into the storeroom only to be confronted by the very person he’d come looking for, but he hadn’t expected to find the young man in this condition. 

After he’d returned to the loft from the hospital, Brian had slept only fitfully and then, in the morning, had started to ring around some of his and Mark’s friends to tell them the news. All day he chewed over one particular phone call and in the end he couldn’t resist and he’d rung the hospital and said he was Justin’s uncle and had been informed that the young man hadn’t been badly hurt and that he’d only just been discharged but, looking at the state he was in now, that didn’t appear to be the case.

“You remember this kid …” whispered Debbie. “He’s the one who got bashed a couple of years ago. Seems he’s been in an accident and now he’s got one of the headaches he used to get. Be a honey … give him a ride home …” and Brian closed his eyes. Yes, of course he recalled the assault, but this wasn’t what he’d been expecting when he’d come in search of Justin.

He’d expected to be angry when confronting the young man and had been prepared to demand answers from him about his relationship with Mark, but now Brian looked at Debbie and then at Justin and his anger dissolved. Debbie’s concern was obvious and her usual motherly instincts had taken over, and looking at the pain and distress on Justin’s face suppressed all other intentions that Brian had come to the diner with.

“Okay” he agreed eventually and he turned to walk away but Debbie stopped him. “Brian … he needs a little help …” and he turned back to see Justin struggling to get to his feet.

“Justin, honey … Brian’s going to take you home and don’t you dare rush back now … you hear me?” Debbie told the young man and he smiled weakly in appreciation. Then, Debbie went to fetch his coat and scarf, which she put on him, and, with Brian supporting him, they made it to Brian’s car and Justin gave him directions back to his apartment.

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Brian frowned when he drew up outside the address Justin had given him and he glanced at the young man. They’d driven there in absolute silence, but Brian could now see the silent tears streaming down the blond’s face. 

The building was old and looked pretty run down and getting the young man inside and up the stairs had been a slow process. Justin fumbled with his key and Brian took it from his hand and opened the door and they walked inside; Brian shivered.

“Christ … it’s cold in here,” exclaimed Brian and he helped Justin to the sofa. “What do you need?” he asked him. “My pills … they’re in the bathroom cabinet,” replied Justin weakly and Brian went to find them. The taps gurgled and the plumbing rattled alarmingly as Brian filled a glass with water, which he took, along with the pills, back to Justin.

The young man’s strength had left him and he struggled to open up the container and then took out two pills, which he washed down with most of the water.

“What happens now?” Brian asked him. “They’ll kick in soon,” answered Justin, ”and then I’ll sleep for hours …” and Brian saw Justin now trembling with the cold and the young man thrust his hands into his pockets and closed his eyes.

“What?” exclaimed Brian, “in this icebox? You’ll freeze to death,” and he sighed; no matter what his feelings for this young man, he couldn’t leave him like this. Looking around, Brian saw on the floor the holdall he recognised from the hospital and hesitated only momentarily before picking it up.

“What are you doing?” asked Justin, groggily, as he opened his eyes. “You’re coming back to mine,” answered Brian. “You can’t stay here” and, exploring Justin’s closet, he found a change of clothes, enough for a couple of days and Brian packed them in the holdall.

Justin didn’t have the strength or the will to argue and, taking him by the elbow, Brian lifted him from the sofa and, with extreme care, guided him back down to his car.

By the time they got to the loft it was getting late and Justin was practically out on his feet and Brian left him propped against the wall outside the sliding door to his home while he quickly unlocked it and threw the holdall inside. Justin could go no further unaided and, picking him up, Brian carried the young man across the floor and up the few steps to the bedroom and laid him down carefully onto the bed.

Brian went back to close the door and then lent his forehead against the cold metal. What the fuck was he doing; bringing the blond back here? What the hell was he thinking of? But there was something about the young man that seemed to reach Brian in a way that not even Mark had managed to and in a way that Brian couldn’t yet understand. But the fact that he was in such obvious pain; and not from just the headache, had found a niche in Brian’s defences.

He picked up the holdall and retraced his steps; dropping the bag on the floor by his own closet and Brian then went back to Justin. The blond was already asleep and carefully, so as not to waken him, Brian removed the young man’s clothing down to his underwear and placed him under the covers.

Pulling out a spare blanket and pillow from the top of the closet, Brian made himself up a bed on the sofa and changed into some sweats. He tried to get some sleep: something which eluded him for several hours, so near as he was to the blond in his bed; the bed he’d shared with Mark.


To be continued.