Bringing Him Home by Penny Brandon

Anger flared deep, and he almost stood up in an act of confrontation, but a firm hand on his stopped him.
    "Wasn't his fault." Kyle's whispered words were barely audible. Jared looked back down onto Kyle's white face.
    "What were you doing here, Kyle?" It wasn't the question he wanted to ask, but it was close enough, and Kyle would know what he meant. But Kyle didn't answer. Or perhaps he did. His hand fell away, and he closed his eyes again, turning his face in the opposite direction. The same hurt and anger that had filled Jared earlier filled him again. Though the hurt was swift, sharp, and fierce, it quickly dissipated, leaving behind a dark, menacing ball of resentment that stewed below the surface, prevailing simply because Jared wouldn't let it go. He stood up and moved away, watching impassively as the paramedics worked on Kyle, lifted him onto a gurney, and loaded him into the back of the ambulance.
    "Where are you taking him?" he asked just before one of the men climbed into the back after Kyle.
    "The hospital on Dean Street. Do you know it?"
    "No, but I'll find it."
    The man paused before closing the door to the ambulance. "Do you want to go with him?"
    Jared shook his head. "No." Then at the man's frown, he indicated his truck. "I can't." He needed to move it; the cops wouldn't take too kindly to him leaving it there.
    The man nodded before a curious gaze settled on his. "He was calling out your name, just before you got here. Seems like he needs you." Then he closed the door, and within seconds the ambulance moved off, lights still flashing, the siren starting up again.
    Without him wanting it to, his anger drained away to be replaced with confusion. Kyle had called out his name? Why, when it had been Kyle who had walked away? With no immediate answer, Jared returned to his truck, his mind numb, his body on automatic. He climbed inside but then just sat there, staring straight ahead, vaguely aware that the police officer was walking back to his car, clearing the way for Jared to move his truck, but Jared didn't think he could drive. Gripping the steering wheel, he felt his hands start to shake and his body grow cold, and with partial awareness he realized he was going into mild shock. Teeth chattering, Jared felt like a fool. He hadn't been injured, hadn't been hurt, but seeing Kyle like that... Tears suddenly blurred his vision, and unable to blink them away, Jared let them fall.
    It took him several minutes to pull himself together, several minutes in which he began to think. Had he been wrong about Kyle? Could there have been a reason for Kyle to leave that he hadn't thought of? Not sure if he needed to find out, not sure he could handle finding out, Jared nevertheless fired up the engine and set the truck in gear. He couldn't just sit there; he had to do something. He had to get to the hospital. He had to see for himself that Kyle was going to be all right, but after that...?
    Bright lights sent new pinpoints of pain into the backs of his eyes, fighting for dominance with the pain that already flooded the rest of his body. Kyle groaned and tried to put an arm over his eyes to block out the light, but his arm felt heavy, tied down. He tried to remember why, tried to think about what the pain meant, but his head seemed fuzzy, disjointed, as if it didn't belong to him.
    Jared. He remembered Jared, remembered seeing his distraught face, his terror-stricken eyes. Why? What was wrong? What had happened? Confused, Kyle tried to lift his arm again, this time getting it to move but noticing as he did so that he was indeed tied down. No, not tied, attached--he was attached to something. Coordination only barely there, Kyle focused his gaze on his arm and fuzzily recognized the clear plastic tubing and needle stuck into his skin. A drip? He was on a drip? Why?
    Then it all came back to him. The road, the car, the pain, the loss of consciousness before he came awake to see Jared kneeling over him, that look in his eyes.