Page 6 of The CEO I Hate

Jake Collins was many things: Former firefighter. The guy who’d once helped me perfect my rec-league three-pointer. Mia’s fiercely protective older brother. But the one thing he’d never been was the kind of guy who’d put up with a pity party, so I did my best to muster a smile. “How’s it going?”

Jake glowered, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“That’s not why I’m here. Bad day?”

“Aren’t they all?” His voice was hollow, flat. He rocked the wheels of his chair back and forth, nudging the coffee table. Jake had always been the person who could turn a bad day around with a joke or a laugh or a quick one-liner.

Forget half full—his cup was always filled to the brim with enthusiasm and purpose. But that was before the accident. Now it was like some light in him had gone out. He didn’t joke anymore. Hell, he barely smiled. And if his glass was filled, it was only with resentment.

“Hey, so Connor says he’s going to have an advanced copy of BladeBound Legacy soon. I’ll bring it over so we can test it out.” Since Jake had been wheelchair bound, we’d transitioned from sports to video games. Thankfully, my youngest brother’s company was always working on projects, so I at least had that small distraction to offer Jake.

“Cool.” Jake’s response was as flat as the last one. No enthusiasm. No spark. Just words to fill the silence.

I sort of wanted to bring up his fight with Gabrielle. They’d been arguing a lot more lately, and things were clearly not okay. Then again, they hadn’t been okay since Jake walked into that high-rise fire last year. His legs had been crushed when part of the building collapsed under him, and though his crew dragged him out, it took multiple surgeries to patch him back together.

He was still healing from his latest procedure, which would be followed by physical therapy. Last I’d heard, the doctors said he might get some mobility back, but there was too much damage for his legs to hold his weight anymore.

He’d never walk again, and that was a hard pill for Jake to swallow. He’d never run down a basketball court again. He’d never fight another fire.

Sometimes he could barely maneuver his wheelchair through this cramped, narrow maze of an apartment. But heavy, emotional conversations weren’t my forte. When I saw a problem, I wanted to fix it, not talk about it.

“But seriously, man, how are you feeling?” I asked. “How’s the pain been?”

Jake let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Manageable.” His tone was thick with sarcasm. “Which seems to be the magic word for the doctors. As long as things are manageable, I’m fine.”

I knew he was frustrated, and I wished I could make things easier for him. But right now, all we could do was slog through one day at a time and see what came of it.

“Anyway, don’t feel like you have to hang out with Debbie Downer,” he muttered. “I’m sure you’ve got better shit to do.”

“You’re not a downer,” I lied, trying to keep things light.

“I am,” he shot back. “I can see it in your face.”

“This is just my face,” I said.

He snorted. “True. You have what Mia likes to call ‘resting grouch face.’”

I scowled, but Jake was oblivious as he wheeled himself in the direction of the kitchen. “Can I grab you anything? A drink? I think I have some beer in the fridge from the last time you were here.”

He got snagged on the corner of the couch. I watched him struggle to get the wheelchair unstuck. He shoved harder at the wheels, grunting with effort and frustration as he twisted his upper body. He still lived in the same place he’d lived in before his injury, and nothing about it was accommodating for a wheelchair—especially not the wall-to-wall carpeting.

“Nah, I’m good,” I said. “I need to keep a clear head for work. I’ve got problems coming out my ears.”

Jake turned his chair around. “Whatever.”

“Hey, you know you’re more than welcome to move into my place, right?” I’d made the offer before—multiple times—but I felt the need to make it again. Jake’s North Hollywood building had a fresh coat of paint slapped on the exterior, but the interior was terribly maintained. My place out in Studio City had tons of space and everything he’d need on one level.

Jake opened his mouth to protest.

“Just think about it,” I cut in. “No more crappy elevator to deal with. Plus, there are hardwood floors. And the jacuzzi! You have to admit that’ll feel nice after your PT sessions.”

Jake’s expression hardened. “Gabrielle would probably complain that I’d get in there and drown.”

“Well, she could stay over and enjoy it with you any time she wanted. You could have the whole guest wing to yourself. And you wouldn’t have to worry about cooking or cleaning,” I added. “The staff would take care of that.”

“Man, this is the last time I’m gonna say this.No!” The word was so forceful I couldn’t bring myself to argue, no matter how frustrating it was to see him struggle with an issue I could easily fix.

“I’m just saying, the option is there.”

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