It took all Beckett’s powers of restraint not to glare at the doctor and give him a piece of his mind. As far as he was concerned, the only thing that provided Noah a shred of relief from his torment was the affection they shared. The only time he had seen Noah smile at all in the last few days was when the two of them were tangled up in bed together, either before or after making love.
Dr. Carmichael sighed and rubbed his temples. “All of our efforts have failed so far. The next step is electroshock therapy. And as this is a dire case and an emergency, I’ll have an appointment made for Monday.”
Beckett was deeply wary of taking the treatments any further, but he’d been reading every paper and article about using electricity to cure disease that he could in the last week, and he held onto hope that electroshock would be the cure.
“We don’t have to worry about it until Monday, though,” he explained to Lawrence, Kelsey, and Robert at the club that evening.
After a short nap at home to clear Noah’s head, he’d taken Noah down to The Slope again. He told himself it was because Noah needed to be around cheerful people enjoying themselves, but really, he desperately needed the care and support of his friends for himself.
“Isn’t electroshock therapy a little extreme?” Kelsey asked nervously.
Robert reached over and took his hand. The question and Robert’s reaction made Beckett wonder if the treatment had ever been suggested for Kelsey. He knew his friend had had a difficult time in the past, but it wasn’t the sort of thing one spoke of, so he didn’t know how far Kelsey had gone with things. He wished he’d asked his friends more questions now.
“I’m willing to try anything that will make Noah better,” Beckett said, failing to keep the emotion from his voice.
Noah sat close beside him, slumped sideways, resting his head against Beckett’s shoulder. His eyes were closed and misery pinched his otherwise blank expression now and then.
Beckett turned his head to gently kiss the top of Noah’s head and asked, “Would you like a pint, love? Perhaps something stronger?”
Noah straightened, taking his time to open his eyes, and shook his head.
“How about a soda?” he asked. “Graham just purchased a soda fountain machine. A cherry soda might be nice.”
Noah managed a weak smile. “If you’re having one.”
Beckett hadn’t been planning on it, but if Noah would join him in one, maybe the bubbles would help improve his spirits.
“I’ll be right back.” He stood, kissed Noah’s cheek, then stepped away from the table. He sent Lawrence a pleading look, asking him to watch out for Noah, even though Beckett had the impression Lawrence didn’t like him much. No one from The Slope liked Noah much.
Lawrence nodded, which freed Beckett to head over to the bar.
He was a bit alarmed to find Graham, Marcus, and Blaise watching him as he approached. All of them wore looks of sheepish awe.
“Is something the matter?” he asked, meeting each of his friends’ eyes with a look that said he was ready to fight them if he had to.
After a long, uncomfortable pause, Blaise asked, “What did they do to him? He looks….” She gulped instead of finishing her observation.
“Today it was the spinning machine,” Beckett said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Two cherry sodas,” he said to Graham.
Graham nodded awkwardly, then turned to make the sodas.
“I’ve seen him in a black mood,” Marcus said, his eyes fixed on Noah as Noah slumped to rest his elbows on the table and to plant his head in his hands, “but not like this.”
“What is a spinning machine?” Blaise asked, her voice hoarse.
“It is exactly what it sounds like,” Beckett said. “It spins the patient until they are completely disoriented. It’s supposed to confuse his brain and return it to a natural state.”
“Did it work?” Marcus asked, looking deeply concerned.
“No,” Beckett said, anger boiling within him, but for reasons he couldn’t figure out. “It made him sick, that’s all.”
“But at least you’re trying,” Marcus said with a surprising amount of shame in his voice and his look. When Beckett stared questioningly at him, he said, “I never tried. Not once. It didn’t even occur to me to try to find ways to heal Noah’s mind. He vexed me and drove me halfway to madness myself, so I broke things off with him. I never tried to help him. I—”
He seemed to choke on his words. He reached for his beer and downed a few, long swallows before setting the glass on the table and saying, “You’re a better man than I am, Beckett Smith. And you care for Noah far more than I ever did.”
“I love him,” Beckett said in a hard, flat voice, glaring at Marcus as Graham brought him two bubbling glasses of soda.
He swiped up the glasses and took them away from the bar and back to the table. As he sat, he let out a heavy breath. He shouldn’t be angry with Marcus. Marcus hadn’t done anything wrong, even if he hadn’t done what was right. Noah truly wasn’t his responsibility, and if he hadn’t broken things off with Noah, Beckett would never have found him. His life would still be a string of endless, boring days of being his father’s social secretary and nothing more. He held onto that as he handed Noah his soda and pretended to be excited about it and cheery to draw Noah out of his funk.