Page 11 of Love Wells Kept

“Yeah—yes. Yes, we are.” I quickly scramble to my feet, smoothing my shirt down. The boys are quick to follow, standing at attention in front of seats that likely have permanent butt-imprints in them by now.

“Come on in.” She beckons us over and points at a hand sanitizer dispenser on the wall.

Once she confirms we’re adequately sanitized, the nurse leads the way down yet another foreboding, fluorescent-lit hallway filled with medical equipment and staff speaking in hushed voices.

“Jackson’s right this way.”

Bright lights wash everything out in the hall of endless closed-off rooms, and after a few sharp turns, I’m disoriented entirely. Good thing I don’t need to know where I’m going, because I’m not leaving Jackson’s room until he does.

The petite nurse abruptly stops in front of a door. The floor-to-ceiling windows on either side have white curtains pulled across them. “Has anyone talked to you about his condition yet?”

All of us shake our heads, and Austin’s first to open his mouth. “No. We, uh…we haven’t heard anything since they loaded him into the helicopter.”

“I’ll send a physician in to speak with you, but I don’t want seeing him to be a shock.” Her eyes meet mine. “He does have a drain in his skull and a ventilator in place to help him breathe. Right now he’s in a medically induced coma, so he won’t be responsive, but I still suggest talking to him, holding his hand, and that sort of thing.”

I hear the words, but I can’t make sense of them.

A drain? Ventilator? Coma?

“You can go in and see him. I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.”

Breath held, pulse racing, I’m first to step into the cool, dark room. The door closes behind us with a soft click, and somewhere under a mess of tubes and wires and bandaging and stiff white hospital blankets, I see him.

My Jackson.

The inside of my cheek has been gnawed raw, and still the tinge of stinging pain does nothing to stop me from grinding my teeth against my flesh. It’s the only thing preventing the scream rattling against my sternum from escaping.

I frantically search the small space for a wastebasket or some type of receptacle to off-load bile from my empty stomach. Tears burn at my eyes and every dry heave into the small plastic trash can burns my throat. Gasping for air, I shut my eyes and flatten my palms against the wall to steady myself before I collapse.

“Are you okay?” Denny asks, curling a hand around my bicep to pull me up and into the chair Austin is dragging over. The last thing I want to do is more fucking sitting, but it’s either that or collapse to the dirty hospital floor.

“No.” What I want to say is, Are you fucking kidding me? How could I possibly be okay right now? What the hell kind of question is that?

“I’ll find you some water,” Austin says quietly before slipping back into the hallway.

Denny pulls up a chair beside me and sinks into it with a heavy sigh. “Fuck.”

“Yeah…” I swipe my fingers across my lips, squinting to see the slow rise and fall of Jackson’s chest. The only movement in a still room.

Denny’s phone buzzes violently in his pocket, echoing in the small, cramped room.

“It’s Blair,” he whispers.

I nod. “Answer it.”

For the next minute or so, I listen to him describe the worst moment of my life. His voice low, words stammered as he explains every detail of the sight in front of us. The tubes and pale skin and tufts of wet-looking brown hair sticking up above the bandage they’ve wrapped around his head. His brother and my husband—barely recognizable and barely alive.

On shaky legs, I stand and drag my chair closer to the bed. The metal scrapes across the floor, and I watch Jackson’s face, waiting for a wince at the grating squeal. It doesn’t come.

My fingers weave between his on top of the bed, and I’m careful not to touch any of the lifesaving appendages attached to his body when I lean in close to whisper, “Hi, handsome. I love you….” My voice wavers, breathing hot and shaky against his cheek. “Hope you’re having a really nice sleep right now. You know…if you wanted to take a nap, there were easier ways to go about it.”

I’ve never craved a smile from him the way I do right now.

My lips brush the short stubble along his jaw. “And if you were trying to get out of buying Odessa a horse…you’re not off the hook.”

When Austin walks back into the room holding a white Styrofoam cup, I press a soft kiss to Jackson’s warm skin and accept the ice water from my brother-in-law with a thin smile. Denny’s hushed conversation with Blair is still happening in the corner of the room, and Austin steps in close to me to give Jackson’s shoulder a loving squeeze.

“Thank you,” I say into the open cup. “For the water and for being here.”