Promise Rock 03 - Living Promises (MM) Read Free

flesh.
He and Kevin had been in love. Kevin had sent letters, and he reread them until they were in tatters, and in spite of the danger of being read, in spite of the risk of losing everything he'd worked for in the military, he had signed them, “I love you, club boy” every time. Jeff had enough experience with sex for sex to know the difference between Kevin's touch and other “club boys” out for a quick fuck. He'd had them, given them, enjoyed them—but wouldn't be willing to die for them.
He'd spent two months of his life wishing he could have died for Kevin, because it sure as shit couldn't hurt any worse than being alive without him did.
The thought consumed him one cold, loveless day in February as he waited in the CARES clinic in midtown for his consult with Herbert Schindler, MD. Herbert had been Jeff's advisor in med school and had probably saved Jeff's life. The day Jeff had gotten his HIV test results back—the white cell count so suddenly spiked that there was no doubt in his mind that his last month with Kevin, the month after the rubber broke, had been when he'd been exposed—he'd gone to Herbert, holding his angular jaw as stoic as he could make it, and told him he'd probably have to quit med school.
Herbert had seen the devastated young man and not the tough, bitter, aged one, and had canceled his next class and taken Jeff into his office for a sit-down.
When Jeff was done with their little chat, Herbert had steered him away from quitting entirely and along the path to be a physician's assistant.
“Less pointy shit,” the big, bluff, balding doctor had harrumphed.
“Less chance of cross-contamination, easier to get a job. Less time in medical school too.”
Even the blunt-spoken Herbert Schindler trod delicately around pointing out that, new gains in drug therapy or no, time might not be a luxury Jeff could indulge in, so that would be a factor. He didn't have to.
Jeff was a med student. He knew the facts.
The facts were that he didn't have the insurance or the cash to keep himself alive—the drug cocktail and the viral load testing and all of that shit was expensive. For a moment he actually wondered if he would die before he had a chance to regret falling in love with Kevin Turner. And Herbert literally saved his life.
“Here, fill this out.” He threw a chunk of paperwork across the desk at Jeff, and Jeff barely managed to reassemble the mess of it and put it neatly back in the battered manila folder.
“What's this?”
“It's an application to the VA hospital to be an intern. Once you're working here, you get health insurance, regardless of prior conditions.” “But I'm only a first year med stu—”
“Which is long enough to be an intern if you're going to be a PA— and if you have a little help from your friends.”
“So I'm connected?” Jeff asked, impressed with himself—and with Herbert, of course.
“My boy, consider me your benefactor,” Herbert said expansively, and he had a little twinkle in his eye, so Jeff took a risk that maybe he could crack a joke.
“So, sort of like a godfather to a fairy?” He amplified his “gay,” flopping his wrist and trilling, and Herbert laughed good-naturedly. “No hitting on me,” he said with a totally straight face. “My wife gets jealous.”
Jeff had laughed then with complete relief. He'd enjoyed Herbert's class—had, in fact, been one of the few students to suspect that Dr. Schindler had a wicked sense of humor underneath his rather placid exterior, and it was wonderful to “play” a little with a friend. “Well, sugar, it's a good thing you told me that. You give me this much help, and my inner flirt is going to peek out.”
Herbert raised an eyebrow, and Jeff flushed, and then Herbert grinned—out-and-out grinned—and said, “I think your inner flirt needs to stay in your pants where it belongs, young man. Those things tend to get into trouble when you let them off their leash. I should know. I have six kids.”
Jeff had