Page 4 of Finding Hope

2

JACK

I DIDN’T DIE

“Pneumothorax, laceration of the lung, tears of the spleen and kidney, multiple rib fractures, fractured ulna and radius, shoulder dislocation…” The doctor shakes his head like I’m a naughty little boy. “I don’t know how you stood up, son.”

Don’t fucking call me son.

“I don’t know how you stayed conscious for as long as you did. Frankly, I don’t know how you’re alive. Instead of asking for help, you figured swan diving onto the I40 was a great idea. You could’ve died.”

I don’t dignify his stupid fucking comments with an answer.

What am I supposed to say?Well sorry, doc, I didn’t mean to upset you.

Idiot.

Instead, I turn away and study the faded CPR poster on the side wall of my hospital room.

My sister is here, and her husband, Bobby. Iz and Jimmy stand in the corner. Aiden and Tina, by the door. Jon and Tink squish into the far corner.

Everyone’s here; all my brothers and sisters watch me carefully. They’re waiting for my emotionless, seemingly mute ass to break down and sob.

Fuck that.

Can’t break down, because that requires emotion.Heart. I have neither… They went to heaven with Steph.

Stepping forward with tears in her eyes, Kit’s shaking hand takes mine. “Jack.”

I attempt to squeeze my fist closed. I don’t want her kindness. I don’t want her anything. But broken bones scream through my cast and deny my wishes to be left the fuck alone.

“Jack–”

My unused voice comes out gruff and hoarse. “Where’s Steph?”

Kit’s tears fall heavily, sliding onto her lips, and dripping off her chin. I don’t want my sister to hurt. She’s been through enough, but I can’t find it inside me to tell her to stop. To tell her I’m okay.

I’m not okay. I’m dead inside.

“Um,” her voice shakes. “Her mom and dad… they took her.”

“Has she been buried yet?”

She shakes her head. “No. She’s at the… she’s at the funeral home. She’ll be buried Friday.”

Pain crashes over my body in excruciating waves. Over my chest. Through my stomach. Deep in every bone and muscle in my body. “Where’s the guy? The guy that hit us?”

“He’s in his own room recovering,” the doctor answers softly, almost regretfully. “He’s under police watch until he’s well enough to leave, then he’ll be formally charged.”

I glance toward my sisters-in-law; toward Izzy and Tina, then to the five foot nothing Tink as she leans against her husband. All three have tears in their eyes, white faces, shaking hands. And all the guys hold them, though I see the shaking in their hands, too.

I turn back toward the doctor. “He’s inthishospital?”

Pen hesitating over his paperwork, he stops and looks into my eyes. Pressing his lips together, he shakes his head. “Jack, I can’t–”

I look up at my brothers. “Is he in this hospital?”

Bobby shakes his head and presses his broad fighter’s chest against my sister’s back. He’s not saying no, he’s saying he doesn’t want me to know the answer. He doesn’t trust me with the answer.

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