For four years, I pined over him, going to all his games and helping him pass out flyers when he ran for Student Body President and gave him extra coverage in the school newspaper on his lacrosse wins. I remember this one time, I was visiting his sister, when I walked into his kitchen and found him at the table with his thumb and forefinger formed in a circle as he waved them wildly in the air.
“Did you glue your fingers together?” I asked as I approached him.
He stopped shaking his hand at the sound of my voice. With a self-deprecating smile, he grinned, “This is so embarrassing. I’m as useful as a trained monkey.”
I swayed from side to side. “Actually, I think trained monkeys would know how to glue.” I approached the table as he laughed, lightly, with his head down. “What are you doing?”
“He pushed his hair off his face as he answer, “Trying to glue the aortic valve onto a piece of metal wire.”
On the table was a large 3D model of the human heart with tubing going through it to depict the vena cava. “Did you make this yourself?”
A smile that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be bashful or cocky crept along his face. “Yeah. I made it from newspaper and duct tape. See the vena cava,” he pointed to the tubing that was running through the heart in multiple directions. “That shows blood flow. I cut these windows in the tubes to show where the valves are that control the blood flow. Except, I just glued my fingers together.”
I covered my mouth to cover a laugh. “Go run your fingers under cold water or you’ll blister. I’ll help.” I took a seat a the table.
There were four round makeup sponges on the table, cut in the enter, lying next to metal wire. I held a sponge in the air, “Is this from your personal stash?”
He turned around from his spot by the sink. When he saw the sponge in my hand and the look on my face, he burst out laughing.
“Now you know my secret,” he winked and for the first time in my life my stomach whooshed.
Turning back to the project, I lifted the gun to the sponge and added some glue alongthe top. “Like this?”
He nodded and took a seat next to me. “Perfect. I’m going to wrap the metal around the tube.”
My brain wasn’t registering his words. Just the way he was seated so close and smelt so good, like warm honey. I never cared for the stuff but sitting next to him made me crave a cup of tea with honey like I was sick and in need of a cure.
I shook my head at how ridiculous I was sounding, even in my own head.
I gave myself a shake. “What’s this for?”
He took a second to long as if lost in his own thought as well. “Anatomy. We got to pick any organ in the body.”
“Why the heart?” I asked. It was a simple question, but the answer I got stayed with me forever.
“Because it’s what controls our emotion, courage and wisdom.”
I furrowed my brow and shook my head slowly. “No. That's the brain.”
His finger tapped his head. “The brain tells us know. The heart stresses when we’re mad or sad, and it beats steady and true when we’re happy and content. The heart influences processing, perceptions, and emotions. It tells the brain how we feel about the information in our heads but what it’s feeling right here.” He placed his hand over my heart and I nearly died. I also wound up burning myself with the glue gun.
I never told Ella I had a crush on her brother for fear she’d think I was her friend for the wrong reason. But I was secretly in love with him. Secretly, until that fateful day in March of my Junior year when he asked me out. I wanted to say “Yes,” but couldn’t. I was too young to date.
“Technically, I didn’t ask you out.” He placed his hands in his pockets and looked up at me with a devilish grin.
Fighting the embarrassment that was creeping up my cheeks, I tried to backtrack. “Obviously. I mean, yeah, when you said let’s go out you really meant—”
He took a step closer. “You see, if you were able to date, I’d ask you out and we’d date.”
I could feel my jaw drop. “We would?”
With a nod, he inched just a tiny bit closer. “I’d pick you up at your house and drive you to play mini-golf because you love it, and I’d let you have the neon orange ball because it’s your favorite color. Then we’d go out for burgers and end the night at the drive-in to watch that new movie that’s out where the news reporter solves the murder.” He closed the gap between us as his hands remained in his pockets. “And then I’d take you home, walk you to your door and kiss you so good you wouldn’t be able to deny a second date.”
“You w-would?” I was mumbling.
“I would.”
With a quivering lip, I looked down and kicked a stone on the ground. “But, since I can’t date, you’re not asking me out.”
“Since you can’t date I’m gonna ask you to do all of that as friends.” He released his hands from his pockets and grinned. “Except at the end of the night I’m gonna park my car around the corner so your daddy can’t see my kiss you so good you won’t be able to deny me a second non-date again.”
I run my fingers through his platinum locks. The strands are dry from bleaching, but I caress my hand through it again, feeling the tendrils as they weave between my fingers.
In another world, he could have been a decent man. In another world, all this beauty would be put to good use instead of the villain he became. In another world, he could have been mine as once promised. Instead, he became the devil.
“Is this heaven?”
The low, dry voice beneath me causes me to jolt, releasing my hand from his head and jumping back.
“Did I die?” He speaks again, his voice sounding like he’s in desperate need of a glass of water.
My head spins. My body is frozen except for the erratic swirling in my gut and thoughts.
I look down and see Jackson Davis staring back at me for the first time in nine years.
chapter THREE
“St. Peter opened the gates.” He has a smile on his face, and his eyes are glazed over in mild hallucination.
My body trembles. “You’re not dead.”
He starts to get up, but falls back down, clutching his arm in pain. His head rolls back as he bites down and clenches his eyes tightly shut.
I try to focus on anything but him: the awful green walls, the fluorescent light over his bed, the faux-leather recliner in the corner, the brown tray table with the Pepto Bismal-pink water jug, or the catheter tube peeking out at the bottom of his bed. Yes, anything but him.
Of course, that fails.
Jax rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm. When his eyes are open, he takes another look in my direction and blinks a few times. His brows furrow in slight confusion. The glazed-over look is now gone, and in its place is realization and surprise.
“Then this must be hell,” he announces before dropping his head on the pillow and staring at the ceiling.
I clench my teeth and squint at him. “Well, good to know you’re not dead,” I says as I turn around and head toward the door.
“How did you know I was here?” he calls out, his voice deeper than before.
I stop. Speaking into the open air, I reply, “Your sister. Apparently, I’m the only person she thought to reach out to. You burned a lot of bridges.”
“Surprised to see one’s still standing.”
Revolted by his audacity to even think we still have ties to one another, I proceed toward the door, only to find it opening as I approach.
“Sorry. Almost hit you there,” a nurse apologizes as she walks in and then speaks to Jax. “Good. You’re up. How’s the pain, honey?” She checks the bag of fluids hanging from the metal post by his bed waiting for his answer.
“Like I broke my fucking body,” he says, and I want to punch the disdain off his face. He’s the idiot that got himself into this predicament. At least he could be kind to the nurse trying to help him.
She doesn’t seem bothered by it. “I’ll up your drip. The mo
rphine will kick in soon.”
“Is Dr. Abler on his way?” I ask the nurse.
“Who’s that?” Jax’s chest constricts from what I can only assume is the blinding pain of his injuries.
“He’s the surgeon that should be looking at your leg.” I give my attention to the nurse. “How long can he sit here until infection sets in?” My words demonstrate more concern than they should.
“Dr. Abler is on his way.” She lifts the blanket from Jax’s lower body, looks at his wound, and breathes in sharply. “That’s quite a break you have there. You’re still clean, but we’ll try to get you into surgery soon. This damn hurricane has us over capacity.”
I take a step toward her, my hands out in exasperation. “What happens if you lose power? Can you still operate?”
She nods. “We have backup generators. He’ll be fine.” She turns to Jax. “You’re going to be okay. We’ll just make you as comfortable as possible until an operating room is available.”
“I need surgery?” His eyes are wide, the whites lined in crimson.
“We’ll wait and see what Dr. Abler says. You two just try to relax,” she states.
The thought of being in this little room any longer makes my skin crawl. “I’m not staying. I have to get back downtown.”
“You aren’t going anywhere,” she says alarmed. “The Mayor put a travel ban on the entire city. No cars are on the road, and I wouldn’t advise walking anywhere outside. We have people coming in with injuries from falling tree limbs to someone who has a stop sign embedded in their skull. It’s a category two hurricane. Make yourself comfortable because you’re bunking here for the night.”
“Here?” I ask incredulously. “All night?”
She nods.
I throw my hands in the air in defeat. “Fine. I’ll hang in the lobby or the cafeteria—”
“You’re staying right here. Every space in the hospital is being used. I’d advise you to stay with your…” She motions toward Jax to indicate our relationship.
“Brother,” I answer, causing him to chuckle.
She seems satisfied. “Stay with your brother. He needs you, and I need you in here and out of the way. We expect more patients throughout the night. Please, for everyone’s safety, don’t leave this room.”
I run my hands through my hair and take in the predicament. Stay in a room with Jax, all night. It can’t be too bad. She just upped his morphine. Maybe he’ll pass out again, and I can commiserate in silence.
“Yeah. I’ll stay.” I fall into the pleather recliner and tap my feet.
“Good. I’ll see if I can get you a blanket and pillow.” She raises her hand to the blue curtain by his bed.
“He needs a hospital gown,” I get a strange look back from Jax.
The nurse closes the curtain, blocking my view of the bed. I’m not sure what’s happening on the other side, but from the hissing and faint cursing coming from his mouth, I assume she’s cleaning his wounds.
While I wait, I pull out my phone only to see I don’t have service. I log on to the free hospital Wi-Fi and open a message to Ella Davis.
Jax is okay. He has a broken arm and leg and is awaiting a consult with a surgeon. He’s awake and lucid. You have nothing to worry about.
I take the time to contact my parents as well. I won’t dare tell them where I am. Instead, I lie and say I’m at my apartment, still have power, and I’m going to bed.
The nurse opens the curtain, and Jax is now wearing an awful looking, maroon and gray hospital gown that makes his pale skin look extra dismal.
His bed is raised slightly, and his pillows have been rearranged, so he’s more comfortable, with one propping up his injured arm. The nurse leaves, closing the door behind her.
Jax and I sit in silence while he stares at the ceiling, and I stare at him. His hair is combed back, most likely with his fingers when the nurse had the drapes closed.
His eyes travel from the ceiling to the matted, red locks on my head, to the zip-up hoodie that shows zero curves, down my thighs, and settles on my leg. He lingers too long on my right foot, and that’s when I realize, I’m shaking like a leaf.
I curl my leg under my left thigh. “How did you hurt yourself?”
He seems surprised I asked the question. “We were supposed to perform at a club, but it got canceled due to the storm, so we got shit faced. Last I remember, I was hanging from one of the beams along the ceiling. Pretty sure I fell.”
“That would be a safe assumption.” Sarcasm radiates in my voice. “Nice of your buddies to come to the hospital with you.”
“They called an ambulance.”
“They sound like winners. Where did you find them?”
“L.A.”
“Long way from Virginia.”
“Not long enough,” he mumbles.
I cross my arms at his audacity—like he’d have anything to run away from home for. I uncurl my leg and catch his eyes as he watches my knee bounce up and down wildly.
He squints for a moment, possibly wondering if I’m really just a hallucination. “What are you doing in New York?”
“Work,” I say, and he doesn’t follow up with another question.
Instead, he lies there, looking at me, waiting for more of an explanation. Since I clearly have nowhere to go, I may as well entertain myself with conversation. “I’m an assistant at a production company.”
He shakes his head slightly; his brows furrow and eyes look down at his sheets. “What happened to being a reporter?”
I open my mouth in disbelief. “You kinda ruined that dream when you released a sex tape of me.”
Jax’s eyes pop up in surprise of my harsh words. Apparently, he didn’t expect me to address the elephant in the room.
He looks back at me, expressionless.
I hold his gaze and wait for him to say something profound. Maybe an apology. Perhaps an acceptance of the douchebaggery he was a part of.
Instead, he purses his lips and shrugs his shoulders. “It worked for Kim Kardashian.”
My jaw drops. I try to speak but stop because I have so many things to say I don’t know which one to release first.
“You selfish prick,” I finally blurt out. Tears build like the Berlin Wall behind my eyes and threaten to come crashing down with one whip of a sledgehammer. I fight to keep them up as my body quivers with each word. “Do you have any idea what I went through? I had to change schools. My family moved out of the state. My face and body still live on porn sites, and here you are making jokes? Is that all life has become for you? One big joke?”
The emotions and the feels—all the feels—come pouring out of me in four, short sentences. I’ve waited years to confront the man who destroyed me. I’ve rehearsed my speech; the most vindictive words so perfectly planned in my head. Yet, here I am, standing in front of him, and it’s just raw emotion coming through.
“I shouldn’t be surprised by what I’m looking at,” I continue. “A wannabe musician who gets piss-ass drunk and lands himself in a hospital where no one, not even his closest friends, wants to come see him. You messed with my life and faced zero consequences. I don’t know why I ever expected more from you.”
I begin to shiver, my wet clothing getting the better of me. I stand and spin myself around to face the door.
“Don’t leave.” The way his words sound like a plea make me halt in my step. My fingers itch to open the door yet my feet are planted firmly on the ground. “Why are you here?”
“I thought you were dying.”
He lets out a low rumble of a laugh. “Came to see me off?”
I turn and stare deep into his soulless eyes. “Something like that.”
His pupils dilate. His brow furrows as he tilts his head just slightly. A wary look of…regret, maybe, crosses his face. His lips part as he takes in a shallow breath. If he didn’t already have a bruise half the size of his face, I’d punch him square in the temple just for looking at me the way he is.
Our moment of co
ntention is broken when a nurse—different than the one before—walks in.
“Mr. Davis, I’m here to take you for your scan.”
“He already had one,” I state.
“Doctor Abler called for one more,” she answers without looking at me. Her attention is solely focused on Jax. Another orderly comes in to assist the transport.
I step out into the hallway to give him privacy. I text Kelli to let her know I’m fine, Jax is alive, and that I’m waiting out the storm in the hospital. Then I do the usual newsfeed check on Instagram and Facebook. The storm is in full force. As much as I don’t want to be here anymore, I’m glad I stayed. Nothing is worth risking my life. Even spending the night with him.
The door to Jax’s room opens, and the nurse and orderly wheel him out. I don’t even glance their way as they roll his bed down the hall to God knows where.
Walking back into the room, I’m oddly startled at how big and empty it feels. Without the bed, it’s barren, sad even.
The recliner welcomes me, and I rest my head and run my hands along the arms of the chair. When I woke up this morning, this is the last place I ever thought I’d be.
There’s a plastic, drawstring bag on the windowsill filled with clothing and personal effects. Rising, I walk to the window and lift the bag assuming it was what he was wearing when the ambulance brought him in.
I tug on the drawstring and see what’s inside: a pair of ripped jeans, green-plaid boxer briefs, a black t-shirt, black socks, and fuchsia-colored, high-top sneakers. They’re, quite possibly, the ugliest shoes I’ve ever seen, and I have pretty eclectic taste.
At the bottom of the bag is his wallet. I prop it open and find his Virginia license. In the picture is a man who resembles the Jackson Davis of my youth. Brown hair, light-brown eyes, and a grin. There’s a little heart on his license stating he’s an organ donor. I’m surprised he’d sign himself up for something so selfless. That said, I’d pity the man who wound up with his cold, loveless heart.
He also has a black Amex, probably being paid off by his daddy. There’s a gym membership, a bunch of credit cards, six hundred dollars in cash and two condoms.
True Abandon Page 4
