Page 135 of Burned & Bound

Everything else was a blurred mix filled with doctors, nurses, my mom, Mickey, the understanding I probably wouldn’t ever walk again, and theFriendstheme song.

“You better not be watching that goddamn show again,” I growled, my throat uncomfortably dry.Fucking Mickey. I didn’t even have to open my eyes to know the old man was watching reruns on my hospital room TV.

“It ain’t like they got anythin’ better to watch,” he retorted.

“It’s a stupid fucking show,” I snapped. “Turn it off.”

I blinked slowly, trying to bring everything into focus. My mom motioned to the TV before sitting on the bed next to me. She did so slowly, doing her best to not move the bed. It didn’t fucking matter. I couldn’t feel a goddamn thing. Not even my teeth.

“How are you, baby boy?” she asked. Sitting this close, she swam in my vision.Fuck, these drugs were so strong.

“Where’s West?” I replied instead. My question was greeted by utter silence. Fuck. That was so goddamn telling.

“Baby boy,” Mom began carefully.

“Don’t.” I shook my head. My heart was already shattering. I didn’t want to hear her say the words. It wouldn’t do me any fucking good.

“No one has seen West in four days,” she continued anyway.

I shut my eyes against the burn and ignored her attempts to comfort me. While deep down I knew West never intended to stay—was never mine to keep—a part of me had hoped I’d change that for him.

What a fucking idiot I was.

CHAPTER 97

jackson

eight months later

Jackson. Door!”

I rolled my eyes and ignored my mom. There was no way in hell I was answering the goddamn door. I didn’t want to see a single fucking person.

“Jackson—”

“Tell ‘em to fuck off!” I practically shouted back. I ignored whatever the hell else she said. She was all about being polite whenever I had visitors. I was not. I was so far down a hole that I didn’t want anyone to see me.

Not in this fucking chair.

Rampage had ruined me. I’d been a fucking idiot to think I could ride that bull and last eight seconds.

Instead, I probably wouldn’t walk again. My hip had been replaced, and my left leg was all metal plates and screws. They wanted me to do physicaltherapy and work toward some semblance of walking again, but I didn’t fucking want to. Everything hurt, and pain meds did jack shit to fix the problem.

My mom came into the room and shut off the news, eliciting a scowl from me.

“There’s someone here to talk to you, Jackson,” she said.

“Tell them to fuck off,” I snapped.

“You need to talk to him.”

“Unless it’s Peter or Mickey, I don’t want to fucking talk to anyone.” I spent months in and out of the hospital between surgeries and recovery. At first, the visitors were in excess—riders, bunnies, my agent, and other random people I knew. But I didn’t want to see any of them. The only person I wanted to see had left me. With the way my mood grew increasingly angrier, my list of guests dwindled.Not that I fucking blamed them.

“Jackson Ford Myles.” She put her hands on her hips as she leveled me with a menacing glare.Except I didn’t give a fuck anymore.“I raised you better than that.”

“There’s not a damn person—”

“Either you go to the kitchen to talk to him, or I’ll bring him out here,” my mom threatened. She’d fucking do it too.

---