“Now I’ve seen Jake, I’m a lot calmer,” admitted Lori with a weak smile. “It’s all so hard to take in. Hard to believe. I can’t believe Gary’s gone.”
She stopped and turned to face Grey. “Has anyone called Scott?”
“I’ll call him when I get home,” promised Grey sadly. “He’s out of town until Monday. Nothing he can do anyway.”
“I know, but he deserves to know.”
“True,” acknowledged Grey.
By the time the staff had transferred Jake and Rich to a small private room on the first floor, the two injured musicians were exhausted. Both of them had detested being transported by wheelchair, but neither of them were in a fit state to argue with the two burly hospital porters. The small private room was laid out with the two beds facing each other. There was a comfortable chair and a locker beside each bed plus two chairs and a small table in front of the window. Once the nurse had seen them both settled into bed, she left to fetch Jake a late dinner. He protested that he wasn’t ready to face food, but she insisted that he had to attempt to eat a little.
“Guys, I need to head home,” said Grey, reaching for his truck keys. “I’ve a few calls to make.”
“Take Lori home will you,” said Jake as he lay back on the pillows with his eyes closed.
“No,” protested Lori sharply. “Not yet.”
“Grey, take her home,” stated Jake firmly.
“Jake,” began Lori, fresh tears welling up in her eyes. “I can get a cab in a while. Don’t send me away yet. Please?”
Taking her hand, he kissed it gently, then looked her straight in the eyes. “Please let Grey drive you home. Call me when you get there, then I’m going to try to get some sleep. My head’s pounding. The world’s spinning. I’ve asked the nurse for something to help. I’ll be out of it before you know it.”
“But I don’t want to leave you here,” she protested, knowing in her heart that it was pointless to even try to persuade him. “I hate leaving you like this.”
“You look exhausted, li’l lady. Go home. I’ll be right here when you come back in the morning. Promise.”
“Come on, Lori,” said Grey, taking her arm. “Let’s leave these guys to get some rest.”
Having said an emotional good night to Jake, Lori allowed Grey to lead her out of the hospital to his truck.
In the dark a few hours later, neither Jake nor Rich were sleeping. Both of them had gone over and over the crash repeatedly, trying desperately to make sense of it all. Despite the pain medication that had been administered, they were both in agony. Most of it a pain that no amount of medication could touch.
At the beach house there wasn’t much sleep going on either. After Grey had dropped her off, Lori had gone in and called Lucy to tell her about the accident. It had been a heartbreaking phone call to make. Both girls had sobbed through it. Lori had just ended the call when the phone rang again. This time it was Maddy and there were more tears. When she eventually went down to the bedroom, the bed felt huge and cold and lonely without Jake sprawled out beside her. Lori finally curled up round one of his dirty T-shirts from the laundry basket, inhaling the familiar scent of his deodorant mixed with sweat. Wrapped in “essence of Jake”, she fell into a restless nightmare–filled sleep.
When she awoke a few short hours later, the sky was growing light. The first thing she did was send a message to Jake’s phone to check if he was ok. When there was no answer after an hour, she called the medical centre. The duty nurse assured her he was fine and had had a restful night. She advised he would likely be discharged after the doctor’s morning ward round.
There were a handful of journalists lurking outside the medical centre when Lori pulled into the parking lot shortly after nine. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the Mercedes, lifted out the back pack she had brought, containing a change of clothes for Jake, and walked confidently towards the main entrance. The press reporters tried to block her way, but she held her head high, maintained her silence and somehow mustered enough courage to walk through them. With the doors closing automatically behind her, she could still hear them calling her name. There was no one at the main reception desk, but there was a security guard over at the coffee machine. Lori approached him, explained about the unwanted press attention and asked that he ensure they were gone by the time Jake was discharged.
Up in the room on the first floor, Jake was picking at the breakfast tray in front of him. Two orderlies had come to collect Rich an hour earlier to take him to the operating room to have his nose reconstructed. The guitarist had been anxious about the surgery and Jake had promised that he would wait at the hospital until he was back safely. As he sipped the cold coffee, the door opened and Lori breezed in.
“Morning, rock star,” she said, kissing him gently on the cheek. “How are you this morning? Where’s Rich?”
“He’s in surgery. They’re fixing his nose,” replied Jake, wincing in pain.
“You ok?”
“Sore. Tired,” he sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I just want out of here.”
“I know that feeling,” agreed Lori, taking a seat beside the bed. “Has the doctor been in yet?”
“He’s due in any time but I promised Rich I’d hang about until he came back up.”
“Did you get any sleep?”
“Not much,” admitted Jake. “Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it all happen again and again.”
“I know that feeling too,” sighed Lori softly, remembering her own accident all too clearly. “It gets easier in time.”
Changing the subject, she prattled on about calling Lucy and about bringing him a change of clothes. She was saved from making a complete fool of herself by the arrival of the doctor. Much to her great surprise, it was John Brent, who entered the room. He did a double take when he saw who his patient was.
“When I saw the name on the list it never clicked. I’m sorry, Jake,” he apologised, setting the chart down on the bed. “How are you this morning?”
“Ok, I guess,” answered Jake, struggling to sit up a bit. “Feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”
“No need for humour, Mr Power,” chastised the doctor. “I’ve read these notes. You have to be in quite some considerable pain.”
“Hurts like hell,” he confessed, closing his eyes as a stab of pain shot through his ribcage.
Realising she was in the way, Lori excused herself, saying she was going to fetch a coffee. Jake asked if she would bring one back for him too.
As the door closed behind her, the doctor looked Jake straight in the eye. “No need for the brave face now. Do you need any pain medication before I examine you?”
“No. The nurse brought some with breakfast. I took the two pills, but they’ve not kicked in yet.”
“I’ll be as gentle as I can then,” promised the doctor.
Even the gentlest touch to his ribcage caused Jake to flinch. Dark purple bruising stretched round from his chest and across his back. The left hand side was more deeply coloured than the right. As he moved, every inch of him ached- the muscles in his neck were stiff, his hips throbbed dully too. Removing the sling, Dr Brent cautiously tested the range of movement in Jake’s injured shoulder.
“I expected that to be worse than it is,” he commented as he put the sling back in place.
“Old injury,” replied Jake, rubbing his aching shoulder. “It’s popped out a few times over the years. I first did it falling off my bike as a kid.”
“Be careful with it,” cautioned the doctor, scribbling on the chart. “If it comes out of place again, we may need to look into it further. It might need surgery.”
Jake nodded without commenting.
“How’s the headache? Any blurred vision? Nausea?”
“Head’s sore, but I’m ok. Feels like a migraine. Lack of sleep isn’t helping. Eyes are ok. The sick feeling passed last night,” replied Jake sounding weary.
“You’re good to leave then,” said John Brent warmly. �
�Lots of rest over the next few days. No strenuous activity whatsoever. Keep that sling on. I’ll slot you in for an appointment on the 16th. The nurse will take those stitches out then too. If you need anything before then, call me. I’ll leave a script for some anti-inflammatory and pain meds. Follow the pain management regime to the letter until I see you.”
“Thanks, John,” sighed Jake with a weak smile. “Am I ok to wait around until they bring Rich back?”
“Of course. Take your time getting ready. I suspect you won’t have much choice though. Let Lori help you.”
Right on cue, the door opened and Lori returned with the two cups of coffee balanced one on top of the other. The doctor grabbed the top cup and set it down safely on the bedside locker, scolding her for carrying them like that.
“Relax, John,” she said with a mischievous smile. “I had only piled them up till I got the door open.”
“Well, I don’t need you in here with burns, Mz Hyde,” he chastised, picking up the chart. “I’ve signed the discharge papers. You’re free to take Jake home.”
“Thanks,” said Lori, relieved by the news. “I just want him home safely.”
“Look after each other,” suggested the doctor. “Jake, I’ll see you on the 16th.”
At Jake’s suggestion, Lori took their coffees over to the two seats at the window. It took all of her will power not to try to help him as he walked stiffly across the room. Every inch of him hurt as he took each step, reminding him just how badly shaken about he had been by the crash. With a grimace of pain, he lowered himself into the seat opposite his fiancée. He sat back with an audible groan.
“You ok?” she asked, passing him the tall waxed-paper cup.
“I don’t know. Every bit of me hurts,” he replied, lifting the cup with a trembling hand. “Have you heard anything from Linsey?”
“She called while I was at the coffee shop downstairs. She should be here in about twenty minutes,” replied Lori, taking the lid off her own cup. “Maddy called too.”
“I’d better take a shower before Linsey gets here,” Jake said. Looking slightly embarrassed, he added, “I might need some help with that, li’l lady.”
“Do I get to wash you, rock star?” teased Lori playfully, trying to lighten the mood.
“Perhaps. Let’s see how I get on,” he replied, smiling at her. “Can you unfasten this fucking sling for a start?”
With the sling removed, Jake sat and finished his coffee, then walked slowly towards the bathroom, holding his arm protectively across his chest. Silently Lori fetched the backpack that she had brought and took the toiletries and clean clothes into the bathroom for him. She set them down on the stool that sat just inside the door and told him to yell if he needed help. Returning to her seat by the window, she listened to the sound of the running water. In the background, she was vaguely aware of the hum of normal hospital routine. The sound of Jake calling her name jolted her back to reality. As quickly as she could, Lori limped over to the bathroom and stepped inside. Jake stood naked and dripping wet in the middle of the floor, the towel clutched in his hand.
“What’s wrong?” asked Lori concerned.
“I can’t get dried off,” he confessed, passing her the towel. “Be gentle. Everywhere hurts.”
Tenderly Lori dried him, trying not to let the extensive bruising to his normally strong body distress her. As soon as she touched his back and ribs, she heard him take a sharp intake of breath. Apologising for causing him extra pain, she moved to dry the rest of him. Eventually he was dry enough to begin to get dressed. With Lori’s assistance he managed to get his boxer shorts and jeans on. She had brought him a white cotton shirt and very gingerly slipped it on over his injured shoulder.
“Can you button it up, please, li’l lady?”
“Of course.”
“I feel like a baby,” he muttered, as she nimbly fastened the mother of pearl buttons.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” said Lori, kissing his damp bare chest. “Come on. Let’s go and get your hair combed through. You look like a scarecrow.”
“Thanks,” he grumbled as she held the bathroom door open for him.
Linsey was sitting on Rich’s empty bed when they stepped back into the room. Her face was pale and her eyes bloodshot from crying Lori noted as she hugged her tight.
“I thought he’d be up from surgery by now,” commented the art teacher tearfully.
“I’m sure he won’t be much longer,” Lori said, trying to sound reassuring.
“Is he really ok?”
“Linsey, he’s alright,” replied Jake, as slid his arm slowly back into the sling. “Lori, can you fasten this fucking thing?”
While Lori secured the sling, then began to comb out his long, wet, tangled hair, Jake filled Linsey in on the details of the accident. Several times he paused to compose himself, not prepared to let her see him getting over emotional. Before he could finish the sad tale, the door opened and an orderly, accompanied by two nurses wheeled Rich back into the room. With an arm around Linsey to stop her from rushing over and getting in the way, Lori watched the medical staff help the battered guitarist back into bed.
“He’s still a bit groggy,” explained the nurse as she ticked off his chart. “I’d let him sleep for a while.”
“Thanks,” said Jake, the little colour he had draining from his face as he watched his friend.
Breaking free of Lori’s embrace, Linsey rushed over to sit beside Rich, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Hey, babe,” he mumbled through the post-anaesthetic fog.
“Oh, Rich,” she sobbed. “Your poor face.”
Both the guitarist’s eyes were black and swollen. His nose was taped after the surgery and there was a ragged line of stitches above his left eye.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’ll heal.”
Coming over to stand at the other side of the bed, Jake put his hand gently on his friend’s shoulder. “I’ll call you later. We’re going to get out of here, buddy. Leave you to rest and catch up with Linsey.”
“Ok,” sighed Rich reaching up to take Jake’s hand. “You take care of yourself. Don’t overdo it.”
“He won’t,” interrupted Lori warmly.
When they reached the reception area, Lori asked the security guard to check that the journalists had left. He nodded and headed outside, returning a few moments later to say the coast was clear. A blast of hot air hit them as they left the building. The heat wave was continuing and the late morning temperature was already touching ninety. The short walk to the car left Jake shaking and breathless. Very gingerly, he lowered himself into the passenger seat, then sat patiently while Lori fastened the seat belt for him. They drove back to the beach house in virtual silence, Jake staring out of the window, lost in his own grief-stricken world. To break the silence, Lori switched on the radio and the car was filled with the midday news report about the band’s accident. Immediately she reached to turn it off.
“Leave it,” stated Jake plainly.
The newscaster kept to the facts, didn’t over dramatize the events, declaring there had been two fatalities and that the road had now fully re-opened to traffic.
“Guess the truck driver didn’t make it,” commented Jake, closing his eyes on the tears stinging at them.
“Have you spoken to the police yet?” asked Lori, reluctant to keep talking about the tragic events of the day before.
“Briefly,” he answered, still staring out of the window. “They never said if they needed any more from me. Two officers spoke to Rich and I last night just after you left.”
“Did they give you any idea what happened with the tanker?”
“Not really. One of them said the driver was in the ER with a suspected coronary. If he’s dead, we may never know.”
“I guess,” sighed Lori sadly as she turned the car into the driveway. “Home sweet home.”
♫
Neither of them knew what to do when they entered the house. Knowin
g it was pointless to fuss over Jake, Lori left him to wander from room to room while she took the backpack and plastic bag, that the hospital had given them with the remains of his clothes from the day before, down to the bedroom. From there, she heard the screech of the sun room’s patio door opening and guessed Jake had stepped out to get some air.
Out on the sundeck, Jake stood gently breathing in the warm, salty, ocean air, glad to be rid of the clinical smell of the hospital. Now that he was home, he didn’t know how he was meant to feel. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. Inside, he felt numb, still not truly believing that it had all happened. He expected Gary to call at any minute. Slowly, he wandered over to the BBQ grill. A pile of ashes covered the bottom of it, left to burn out when Lori had rushed off to the hospital. Trailing a finger through the soft, grey, powdery ash, Jake felt a tear slide down his cheek. Closing his eyes, images of the tanker careering towards the car filled his head. A cold shiver ran through him, despite the warmth of the sun’s rays on his back. In his pocket, his phone began to vibrate. It was Grey’s number on the screen.
“Grey,” he said calmly as he picked up the call.
“Hey, I was just checking to see how you were today. Didn’t want to call too early.”
“We just got home,” said Jake, lowering himself carefully onto the sun lounger. “I feel like shit if I’m honest.”
“Sore?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“What about Rich?” asked the concerned bass player.
“He’s still in the hospital. He’d just come back from surgery when we left. Linsey’s there. He was ok, I guess. Looks hellish. His eyes are black and almost closed. That cut over his eye is nasty.”
“You were both a bit of a mess when I left last night,” joked Grey, trying to lift the melancholy mood.
“I guess,” agreed Jake, before adding, “Are you busy today?”
Impossible Depths (Silver Lake series Book 2) Page 18
