Page 82 of Fated Shot

I don't press him on it. It’s obvious he’s struggling, and maybe this is just his way of distracting himself. I instead turn to the room and leave on a mission of my own, finding some coffee and attempting to be helpful.

By the time I return with two coffees, a fresh fluffy pillow, and the softest blanket I could find, the room is filled with color. Three get-well-soon balloon bundles are scattered around theonce-dull space. The bedside table is stuffed to the brim with what looks like the entire snack section of the hospital gift shop, and a TV has mysteriously appeared, turned on to ESPN. I walk in to see the culprit of all these gifts pacing back and forth, watching over a now-sleeping Penn. Poor guy.

I spread the blanket over him and rest the extra pillow beside his body, which takes up the entirety of the hospital bed. I’m careful not to tussle him around too much, too fearful to mess with the excess of wires hanging off of him.

Moving to stand beside Jack, who hasn’t stopped watching Penn for a moment, I nudge him softly with my hip.

“How’s he doing?”

I wait for a moment as he clears his throat.

“Doctor said his tests looked okay, but he’ll get the official MRI and CT results tomorrow to confirm. He’s staying overnight. They said he’s okay to sleep, they’re monitoring and—” I grab his hand gently, but he slips it away from mine.

“He’s going to be out for a few games. You should go home, it’s late. I’m going to stay here, make sure someone’s with him if he wakes back up.”

I try to meet his eyes, but he doesn’t break his gaze from Penn.

“Oh, okay.” I walk over to grab the coffee I got for him and offer it.

“Thank you, Mia. For everything.” His expression isn’t one I recognize, and his tone has a sense of finality that makes my heart pause for a moment. I don’t have a chance to study him further as he turns his body, moving closer to the bed, leaving me to exit quietly.

***

I struggle to sleep, tossing and turning, replaying the strangeness of the evening. I realize I’ve never seen Jack so vulnerable; it’s as if he shut down on me. Grabbing my phone, I check the time: 3:02 am.

Not a single text from Jack since I left, but looking at our conversation, I see all of mine that have been left unread. It’s possible he fell asleep, but it’s just so unlike him not to reply. Worry tightens in my chest.

What if he tried to come home and got locked out? What if his phone died and he couldn’t Uber home? I’m not cut out for what-ifs. Rising from my bed, I throw on the first thing I can grab from my dresser and head out of my apartment.

When I reach his door, everything is quiet. Not a single sign of him. I pull out the key he gave me, scanning my way in. As I open the door, I’m greeted by nothing but darkness, no lights apart from the glow of the city coming in through his windows.

The sound of rushing water pulls my attention as I hurry toward the slightly ajar bathroom door. Shoving it open does nothing to illuminate the space, my eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness. My gaze falls to the tile floor beneath the waterfall shower, spotting the outline of a muscular figure. I rush over, immediately noticing the distressing scene. He’s seated on the floor, hunched over with his head buried in his hands.

I fling open the glass door, shivering as stray droplets from the shower splatter against me.

“Jack?” I call to him, a desperate plea that barely escapes my mouth, clearly not audible over the rush of the water. I lean forward, shutting off the shower and kneel on the floor beside him. My hand lands on his back, the ice-cold temperature of his skin causing me to recoil.

A more panicked tone comes out this time. “Jack, you’re freezing.”

He doesn’t reply, he doesn’t even move.

How long has he been in here? How long has he been like this? I change course, turning the faucet back on to warm, feeling with my hand until the temperature is neutral enough to raise his body temp while not scalding him. He stays hunched over, oblivious to my presence. The sight is driving me to the edge.

“We’re going to warm you up,” I say, pulling his hands away from his face.

“Jack, look at me,” I demand, and thank gosh, he turns to me, though his eyes are devoid of expression. “We have to warm you up. Can you stand for me?”

He does so, letting the warm water roll down his body. I rack my brain for what the hell to do. I’ve never seen him like this, never seen him not composed, so desperately needing me. I stand next to him, not caring about all the splashes soaking me. This has to be some form of panic attack, leaving him frozen in place like this. I try my best to ensure every inch of him is under the spray before turning to grab a towel from the linen cupboard and wrapping it around him.

He lets me lead him upstairs as I pull back his comforter and guide him into bed. I follow suit, stripping off my damp clothes, throwing on one of his sweatshirts and nustling into him. When we’re finally face to face in bed, I can see the stream of tears escaping him. His whole body is still trembling as I soothingly trace my hand across his face.

“It’s okay, I’m here.”

“I couldn’t protect him.” It comes out in a deep and broken voice.

“This was not your fault, Jack.”

He looks right at me, certainty in his eyes. “I failed him.”

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