Sex Lessons (Peterick) **REWRITTEN**

10

CH. 10 — PETE

"The literary magazine, eh?" I ask, and Patrick rolls his eyes.

"You seriously never want to get laid, do you? You pick the worst time to bring up shit." Patrick says, pressing his lips to mine again.

"I'm just proud of you." I pull back to say, and Patrick rolls his eyes, leaning in to kiss me again.

"Motherfucker." Patrick says when his phone vibrates for the fifth time since I've been here. "Why can't Spencer understand that I'm fucking busy?" He picks up the phone, holding up his finger for me to wait. "Hello? Yeah, this is him. Where's Spencer?" After a few seconds, Patrick's eyes widen, and he's scrambling out of the bed, finding a shirt. "I'll be there in an hour. What room?"

Patrick hangs the phone up and tosses it on the ground, grabbing his glasses and his hat. "What's wrong?" I ask frantically, grabbing my own shirt to put it back on.

"Spencer had an accident. He's in the ICU at Chicago Medical Center." Patrick says, his voice shaky. "Dallon was with him. He's fine, just broken a leg and an ankle, but they think Spencer might have damage to his L1 lumbar."

"What the fuck?" I ask, pulling my shoes on when he finishes talking. "L1. Doesn't that cause paralysis?"

"They took Dallon, too, because he refused medical attention without Spencer. So they're both there. We need to go, now." Patrick pulls his own shoes on, ignoring my comment about paralysis, and we rush out of the house to Patrick's car.

My mom is standing outside, like she's just gotten out of her car. "Peter? What are you doing?"

"Mom, Spencer is hurt. It's bad. He's at Chicago Med. We're going to see him." I say quickly, and Patrick has already gotten in the car, waiting on me.

"Be careful. Let me know how he is." She says without hesitation, and I nod my head, getting in the car with Patrick. As soon as I shut my door, he's driving off, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles are white.

"Hey, calm down." I try, grabbing one of Patrick's hands from the steering wheel to hold in my own.

"Calm down? How in the fuck am I supposed to calm down when my best friend could die?" Patrick exclaims, pulling his hand out of mine. "He's the only person besides Mark that's ever stuck beside me through everything. Through the Gerard thing, the Brendon thing, all of it. My own fucking parents even shut me out and moved to the Hamptons to disassociate themselves with me."

My eyes widen at his confession. He basically just told me his parents left him because they were so ashamed of him. "Patrick.." I trail off, going to reach for his hand again.

"Just don't, Pete. I'm not talking about it." Patrick says, and I sigh, leaning back in my seat and keeping my eyes on the road. No wonder Dallon and Spencer had an accident, it's pouring cats and dogs out here.

"Slow down." I say after a few seconds, realising how fast we're going. Even with our hazards on — to signal that it's an emergency — he's going too fast, well over eighty. He doesn't listen to me at first, so I raise my voice. "Slow. Down."

Patrick lets his foot off of the gas when I get more stern, and we slow down to seventy-five. Still too fast, but it's better than close to ninety. We drive in silence, most people moving to the slower lanes of the interstate so we can get by.

We pull into Chicago Medical Center forty-three minutes after Patrick's phone call with whoever was on the other line. Patrick puts the car in park, takes the key out, and jumps out of the car before I have a chance to take my seatbelt off.

I'm struggling to catch up to him as he sprints inside the building. I stopped playing soccer in middle school, but Patrick has been on the varsity baseball and hockey teams since he was an eighth grader. So it's no surprise that, by the time I catch up to him, he's not out of breath, compared to my wheezing.

He hastily asks a nurse for directions to the stairs, claiming we don't have time to wait for an elevator. She points them out, and we're running again, suddenly up four flights of stairs this time.

Finally reaching the fourth floor, I stop to catch my breath, hands on my knees. However, I don't have long to rest, because Patrick is reappearing in the door to the stairs to grab my arm and drag me with him to the door of Spencer's room.

He pushes the door open, and Dallon is sitting in a wheelchair next to Spencer's bed, holding Spencer's hand. Spencer has a neck brace on and has an oxygen mask over his face. He looks pale, and his hair has been smoothed back to get it out of his face.

"Dal, you okay?" I ask, bending down in front of my best friend since elementary school, taking his hand that isn't holding Spencer's.

"I'm so sorry." Dallon says, kissing Spencer's hand. "I'm so fucking sorry."

"Hey, hey, calm down." I stand up to pull Dallon to me, hugging him. "Tell me what happened."

"He was driving. He took his eyes off of the road for a second to grab my hand. A truck ran a redlight and hit us on his side." Dallon's voice is unsteady, and as soon as he finishes speaking, he begins crying.

"Hey, Spence." Patrick says in a raspy voice, sitting in the chair next to Spencer. As I comfort Dallon, he speaks to Spencer, begging him to wake up.

A doctor enters the room, eyes widening when he sees Patrick and I. "I'm sorry, you can't be in here unless you're family."

He walks over to Patrick to grab his shoulder, and I know this isn't going to end well. "Don't touch me." Patrick spits, shaking the doctor's hand off of him.

"Sir, you have to leave. You cannot be here unless you are related to Mr. Smith. We couldn't get ahold to his parents, and he has no siblings." The doctor tries again, hand migrating to touch Patrick again.

This time, Patrick catches his hand halfway, twisting it backwards. "How much of your career rests on your hands, Doctor?" Patrick asks, his face emotionless as he continues to bend his hand.

"A-All of it, Sir." The man clenches his teeth together, probably to keep himself from yelling in pain.

"Then I suggest you leave now, and transfer someone else to Spencer's case." Patrick releases the man's hand, and he nods, walking out of the room.

"'Trick, you're threatening my doctor now?" Spencer asks, using the hand that isn't in Dallon's to move the oxygen mask off of his face.

"Oh my god, Spence. You had me so worried." Patrick kneels down next to the bed and puts his head on Spencer's chest.

"I can't feel my toes, 'Trick." Spencer says, a smile on his face. "I'm never going to walk again, am I? I'll never play another game of baseball. 'Trick, baseball is my life. It's who I am."

Patrick lifts his eyes up to meet Spencer's. "Baseball doesn't define who you are, Spence. You're Spencer fucking Smith, for Christ's sake.  Think of all the girls you'll get from this."

That makes Spencer smile again, his eyes drifting over to look at Dallon, whose eyes are wide as he waits for Spencer to answer. "I don't want girls, 'Trick. I want Dallon."

"Boy, have I got some good news for you." Patrick says with a laugh, reaching up to push a piece of hair out of Spencer's face.

"Do you think the blood will come out of my shirt? It's my favourite." Spencer asks, and it makes all of us laugh.

Baseball doesn't define Spencer Smith. Stupid fucking jokes do. And that'll never change.

ooh look an update

how are we feeling about this character development