Breathe (His Command Book 5) Read online

  “What’s so funny?” Marshall asked.

  “Oh. You know.” Oliver looked up at him, beaming. “Just, we got frickin’ married. I’m so happy right now I can’t even help myself. What the hell is life, anyway?”

  “Life is what you make of it,” Crawford mused as he passed them and headed for the metal detectors. “And it seems to me you two have been doing a remarkable job of making the most of it. Congratulations.”

  Marshall watched him go, smiling, until Oliver squeezed his hand and leaned over to kiss his cheek. Energy thickened in the air around them, and Marshall found himself wanting to laugh until his lungs stopped him. He’d just married the man who made him feel like life had a purpose. Was it done quickly? Yes. But having Oliver in his life was more important than following societal norms or the opinions of others. He was overjoyed that Oliver thought the same.

  “Are we going to go back to work?” Oliver asked in a low voice, like it was their secret to share. “Or are you going to play hooky with me this afternoon so we can have a proper half-day honeymoon?”

  Marshall snorted. “After I’ve recovered from surgery and the baby is born, I’ll take you on a real honeymoon.”

  “Right,” Oliver said. “But that doesn’t answer my question. Are you going to be my boss and force me back to work, or are you going to be my Daddy and take me home?”

  Marshall’s overclocked heart competed with his lungs for recognition as the organ the most likely to fail. He pulled Oliver to his side and guided him toward the exit. “I think you already know the answer.”

  “Probably.” Oliver smirked. “But it’s way more fun to ask it when I get a reaction like that from you. You know, they’re going to have to frisk you. It looks like you’re concealing something in your pants, and I’ll take no responsibility for it.”

  Marshall couldn’t say he was surprised. “You may not have to take responsibility for it here, but you will be taking responsibility for it when we get home.”

  “Oh.” The glint of Oliver’s teeth as his expression turned devious only managed to turn Marshall on more. “I was hoping for that. Take me home, Daddy. Let’s see what mischief we can get up to as legally wedded spouses.”

  26

  Oli

  One married night of bliss turned into two. Then doubled. Then doubled again. After another night a little more than a month into their marriage turned into early morning, Oli awoke with a start—Marshall’s phone was going off. The standard ring echoed through the bedroom Oli had come to call theirs, and he groaned and groped for the nearest pillow, hoping to use it to cover his head. Unfortunately for him, Marshall was sleeping on it, and it wasn’t until Marshall sat up to reach the phone that Oli was able to free it from him. With an indignant huff, Oli buried himself into the sheets and stuffed his head under the pillow. It was still dark. It had to be early—three or four in the morning, maybe. Their alarm went off at five-thirty every weekday, and Oli knew he hadn’t slept through it.

  “Hello?” Marshall asked. His voice was husky from disuse. “This is Marshall Alcrest speaking.”

  Oli willed himself back to sleep. He was two months pregnant, and these days, it felt like he spent the majority of his day kneeling in front of the toilet. Morning sickness was a lie. Morning, afternoon, and three-seconds-before-you-were-about-to-fall-asleep sickness were closer to the truth. The only reprieve Oli got, apart from popping ginger candies like it was his job, was when he was asleep, and he would fight anyone who tried to wake him early.

  He wasn’t beyond pitching Marshall’s phone down the elevator shaft. It deserved to suffer a cruel fate for waking him up.

  Marshall was silent for a long time, and the bed didn’t dip as he settled back into bed. Finally, all he said was, “Understood. I’ll be there.”

  Then he stood.

  “Alcrest,” Oli mumbled. Sometimes, especially when he was sleepy, he slipped back into calling Marshall by his Kik username. “Come back to bed.”

  “It was Dr. Miller on the phone,” Marshall said. Fabric shuffled. A zipper zipped. Oli came out from beneath the pillow to find Marshall was racing to get dressed. “A donor has been found. I’m going into surgery as soon as I can make it to the hospital.”

  “Surgery.” Oli sat up. His head spun. “Hold up. Surgery? Right now?”

  “Do you want to drive me, or do you want to stay home and sleep?” Marshall asked. His back was to the bed—he was doing up the buttons of his shirt. “I won’t hold it against you if you want to sleep. I know you haven’t been feeling well lately.”

  “No. No, I’m driving.” Driving was never a good idea before coffee, but Oli didn’t exactly have time to brew a pot or wait for Marshall’s fancy Keurig to work. “You don’t need the stress of driving right now. What time is it? Is there going to be traffic? I can... I can take some alternate routes, or something. Or should I just follow the route on my phone?”

  The frantic urgency of the situation was starting to stress him out, and he wasn’t even the one going in to get a new set of lungs. Oli kicked back the sheets and stumbled out of bed. He was already dressed below the belt, wearing lightly woven cotton pants in boring black, and he scrambled to grab the nearest shirt through the dark. It was yesterday’s work shirt. Starchy and way too formal to be matched with pajama pants, but Oli wasn’t exactly worried about being fashion forward.

  “The route on your phone is fine. We’re in a rush, but we don’t have to panic. Not yet.”

  “I don’t know. There’s four hours, right? Four or five hours? Have they harvested the lungs yet? Is the clock already ticking?” Oli did one button on his shirt, realized he’d slotted it into the wrong button hole, and gave up on doing it up. He gave zero fucks if anyone saw his bare chest or the tiny, barely-there bump below his navel. “I’m not going to waste time getting stuck behind people who don’t know how to drive. It’s not happening. I’m not going to let it happen.”

  “Then let’s get on the road now before morning rush hour traffic hits.” Marshall, very calmly, collected his oxygen compressor and the bag he’d prepared in anticipation for his surgery date and walked toward the bedroom door. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”

  “I’m sure. I’m just... I can’t believe it’s time.” Oli snatched the bag from Marshall’s hand—he was in no condition to carry it—then hurried through the door and forced his feet into his shoes. He grabbed his wallet and keys from the table by the front door, then took a deep breath and waited for Marshall, who was moving at a slower pace.

  “I know you’re nervous,” Marshall said as he put on his shoes, “but I promise, everything is going to be okay. The surgeons know what they’re doing. I have total faith in them.”

  “It’s just...” It had been months of waiting, of speculating, and of preparing for the moment, but now that it was here, Oli found himself scatterbrained. Nothing could have prepared him for the shock or the adrenaline. He’d gone from dead asleep and grumpy at the world to wired. “I’m okay. I really am. I’m just surprised. It doesn’t feel real.”

  “I know.” Marshall finished with his shoes. He gestured through the darkness at the door—Oli hadn’t even had the presence of mind to turn on a light. “But it is real, and we’ve got to get going. Is there anything you need before we leave? You have your wallet, keys, cellphone?”

  “Yes.” Oli pulled open the door, vaguely cognizant that he should have been the one coaching Marshall through leaving for the hospital. “And, um, and you have all that stuff, too? Like... like your wallet? And your... bag.”

  Marshall gave him a look. Had Oli a free hand, he would have raked it over his face in embarrassment.

  “Of course you do,” Oli mumbled. “I’m holding it.”

  “Deep breath, Oliver,” Marshall commanded. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “What if it’s not?”

  Oli regretted the question the moment he said it. He winced, and as he did, tears started to prickle behind his eyelids. He’d only just
gotten to be with Marshall. They were still newlyweds. His heart couldn’t take it if something went wrong and Marshall didn’t make it.

  “Nothing is going to go wrong,” Marshall said. He pulled Oli to his chest from behind and held him. The oxygen compressor tapped against Oli’s back. “Don’t even think about it. It doesn’t deserve your attention because it’s not going to happen.”

  Oli breathed in Marshall’s scent—heavily alpha, and so distinctly him—and committed it to memory. He wouldn’t let it go, no matter what. “All of this is so shitty.”

  “But we’re working on making it better, and that’s what matters.” Marshall let him go, then opened the door and stepped into the hall. “Are you coming?”

  “Yes,” Oli said. He may not have spoken his vows, but he held them close to his heart regardless.

  For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, he would be there. He would be by Marshall’s side until the very end.

  They took Marshall from him the second he checked in. Marshall’s pulmonologist, a stern-looking older gentleman with a gaunt face and large hands, had been standing by, waiting for his arrival. They’d barely had a second to say goodbye. Oli decided, while waiting on the uncomfortable plastic chair that tugged at the back of his shirt with its static, that if Marshall didn’t pull through the surgery, Oli was going to haunt Dr. Miller on his behalf. The issue was the doctor was likely forty years older than he was, and much more likely to achieve ghost status first. Oli wasn’t sure if ghosts could haunt other ghosts, but if they couldn’t, he was going to follow Dr. Miller around and annoy the shit out of him for taking Marshall away before they’d had a proper, heartfelt goodbye.

  The humor helped him cope, but nothing he did could distract him completely. Time crawled by, and every hour left Oli more anxious. Somewhere in the building, a team of men were removing Marshall’s lungs. The “what ifs” haunted him.

  One hour bled into two. Two hours bled into ten. Oli’s phone died. With nothing else to do but worry, Oli slumped down on the row of uncomfortable plastic chairs he was sitting in and let the static pull at his hair. Every now and then he’d get too close to one of the metal bolts and shock himself. Somewhere along the way, whether it was from a particularly nasty jolt or from total exhaustion, Oli passed out. He only noticed because he woke up to someone tapping his shoulder.

  “Wha—?” Oli sat upright abruptly. His phone clattered to the ground, and he had flashbacks to the day in his old shithole apartment when his phone had smashed into pieces. Luckily, this one remained intact.

  “Mr. McKellar?” It was Dr. Miller. Oli resisted the urge to glower. “I’m pleased to inform you that Mr. Alcrest is in stable condition following his surgery, and is being brought to recovery.”

  “He’s...” Oli rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “He’s okay?”

  “The surgery went well, and we predict he’ll make a speedy recovery.”

  “He’s okay!” Oli covered his eyes and barked out a laugh. “Oh my god, I don’t have to haunt your ass. I’m so happy!”

  “Excuse me?” Dr. Miller asked, confused.

  “Nothing.” Oli dropped his hand and looked up at the doctor. “Tell me how it went. How long was it? What’s going to happen now? When can I take him home?”

  “Early signs indicate that Mr. Alcrest’s body should accept his new lungs, although measures against rejection will have to be taken for the rest of his life, and follow-up blood work will need to be routinely performed.” There was an undercurrent of irritation in Dr. Miller’s tone that Oli was fairly certain stemmed from hours upon hours of overseeing his patient during surgery. “The surgery took close to twelve hours. Both lungs were replaced. Mr. Alcrest will need to remain in observation here for several days before he is given permission to go home, and after that he’ll need to report back regularly for follow-up appointments and attend rehabilitation lessons.”

  “Rehabilitation?” Oli blinked. “Like... breathing lessons?”

  “No.” Dr. Miller didn’t smile, and Oli was pretty sure it was in his best interest to tone down his enthusiasm. “As his body heals, he won’t be able to lift heavy objects or perform strenuous tasks. By slowly introducing him to physical challenges in a controlled environment, he’ll regain the strength he’s lost and work his body back into shape.”

  Oli itched to make a joke, but held back. “Thank you for updating me. When can I go see him?”

  “Once he wakes up and is transported to his private room, you’ll be able to visit.” Dr. Miller’s voice changed, and Oli was surprised to see his expression did, too. Some of the irritation once there slipped away. “I do want to say, privately, that if you were the one who changed Mr. Alcrest’s mind about the surgery, you have my gratitude. There is nothing more depleting than witnessing a patient turn down the care he needs.”

  Oli glanced away, but even as he did, he smiled. “You’re welcome. Really. I’m glad that he changed his mind, too.”

  For all of the late-night conversations and the unwavering support. For all of their time together between the sheets—even though they weren’t conventional encounters, and Oli always had to be careful not to push too far. For every laugh, and sarcastically spoken word, and teasing utterance.

  For the insanity, and everything that came with it.

  Oli eased off the chair and offered his hand to Dr. Miller. “Thank you for taking such good care of him, doctor, even though he was probably an ass to you at some point along the way. I know you probably don’t think too much of it, but... it really means a lot to me that you managed to keep him alive. I don’t know what I’d do if he wasn’t around to laugh at my jokes anymore.”

  Dr. Miller hesitated before he spoke. There was something a lot like wonder in his voice, which Oli much preferred to the usual disdain he received. “You’re welcome.”

  “So where can I go wait now?” Oli asked brightly. “I hope it’s somewhere with chairs that don’t suck.”

  Dr. Miller snorted. “Follow me.”

  Oli followed, and as he did, he left behind all of the stress and anxiety that had plagued him over the last twelve hours. The relief was outstanding. The worst day of their lives was almost over. In just a little while, they’d be able to look toward an uninhibited future—one that they could make theirs without fear. He had to be patient for just a little longer.

  For a man like Marshall Alcrest, the wait was more than worth it.

  27

  Marshall

  Stray thoughts lurked in the darkness. A laughing face with thick brown hair. Gorgeous brown eyes, locked with his in total devotion. Beautiful, full lips that whispered a single word, “Daddy.”

  Marshall barely felt as he lifted his arm until his hand collided with the oxygen mask strapped to his face. He groaned in disappointment as the pretty thoughts slipped away and the face disappeared from his mind’s eye.

  Oliver.

  “Baby?” a voice asked. Young, bright, and hopeful.

  Oliver!

  Marshall smiled. He pushed at the oxygen mask again, groggy. There was a disconnect between his body and his mind, like he was trapped in a bizarre fever dream where nothing quite made sense. Whenever he chased a thought, it stopped making sense halfway through.

  “Are you waking up again?”

  Marshall tried to open his eyes, but his body wasn’t responding. He groaned again and let his arm fall to the side. The young voice beside him laughed.

  “Oh my god, you’re so cute like this. I need to get you on anesthetic more often. What else can we get transplanted? What about hair? You’ll probably start losing your hair soon, right? Do they knock you out for that?”

  This time, Marshall did manage to open his eyes. The room was blindingly bright, and he squinted against it, displeased. To his left, a human shape blotted out the overhead lights. As Marshall’s eyes adjusted, he saw who it was.

  Oliver.

  “Hey, good morning. You sleep okay?” Oliver ran th
e backs of his knuckles gingerly down Marshall’s cheek. “You had a big day yesterday. Um. Samantha says hello, and she’s sorry that she can’t be here in person for when you wake up.”

  Marshall squinted, then closed his eyes again. Oliver made a disappointed noise.

  “And here I thought you might stay awake for a little while. This is probably the only time in my life I’m going to have a captive audience. Before you pass out again, if you’re not already gone, I just want you to know that you’re okay. The surgery went really well, and every nurse I’ve spoken to so far has been really pleased with how you’ve been recovering.”

  That was good. Marshall let his eyes rest for a moment, then opened them again. Oliver was still hunched over him, blotting out the light so Marshall didn’t have to deal with it. How considerate.

  How wonderful.

  Marshall smiled, but his mouth wasn’t responding right, and he wasn’t sure if Oliver could see it, anyway. The damned oxygen mask was still in the way. Marshall was in no way ready to speak—his tongue felt like it was made of leather—but Oliver would know he was okay if only he could see him smile. He had to move it aside. Marshall reached for the mask again and curled his fingers around the tubing. Oliver’s eyes widened, and his hand came out of nowhere to grasp Marshall’s. Soft skin and warm hands. Marshall hummed, content.

  “Hey, whoa, we’re not supposed to take your ventilator off. It’s making sure your lungs are moving. We have to wait for someone to come take it off for you, and I have no idea how long that’s going to be. Leave it in place, okay?”

  Marshall deflated. It wasn’t the news he wanted to hear.

  “It’s only going to be for a little while. You’ve been in and out, but if you’re going to be more in, I think they’ll come along and run some tests soon to make sure you’re fully functional. When the ventilator comes off, I think you’re going to feel so much better.” Oliver paused. “Well, I mean, your chest is going to feel like shit because they were messing around in there like you were their gory embroidery project, but your lungs are going to feel so good. I bet it’s going to be like how when you have a cold, you forget how much you appreciate being able to breathe without being congested. It’s a whole new start, right? A second shot at life.”