“I thought you said it was nothing,” I told him.
“Don’t argue,” he replied, and warned Mike, “you stay here, moron.”
Mike didn’t listen—he never listened to anything—and so, despite Jack’s best efforts, he wound up in the car with us. In different circumstances, Imight have felt some kind of thrill that Jack was driving me somewhere, but I was too worried about whether I’d survive the night. Not just because of the cut, but because of the way the car was screeching through the streets. Jack, as always, was driving like a maniac. I looked down as he blew through a yellow light and realized the sleeve of my sweatshirt was soaked in blood. Some of it had even gotten onto my pants.
“Shit,” I said.
“What?” Jack asked.
“Nothing, I’ve just ruined my outfit.”
“There’s no way you’re actually worried about your clothes right now.”
“I love this sweatshirt, Jack.”
“Let’s just focus on saving your hand for now, and we’ll worry about your wardrobe later,” he said.
You’d better focus, too, I thought. Jack glanced at his rearview mirror, crossed into the opposite lane, and passed two cars that were already going well over the speed limit. Then he repeated the feat, blowing through a red light this time, and yelled back at his brother, who had lowered the window and was flipping someone a bird, “Get your damn hand back inside the car!”
“They started it,” Mike said.
We parked in front of the emergency room, and Jack guided me inside with a hand on the small of my back. Mike followed close behind. At the counter, Jack explained calmly what had happened, and the woman told us someone would be with us shortly. Then we sat down, with Mike in the middle, uncomfortable.
“So, like, if you die, what happens?” Mike asked. “Not that I’m planning on it, but I’m just wondering who gets to keep your things? And my brother’s old room? Because if you’re considering leaving it to someone in your will, I wouldn’t mind getting first dibs.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I responded, “but dying isn’t on my agenda this evening.”
“Mike, I’ve got an idea,” Jack said. “There’s some vending machines down that hall. Why don’t you go buy something you can stuff in your mouth.”
“I’m not hungry,” Mike told him.
“I didn’t say you were, I said you need to block the hole all those stupid ideas are coming out of,” Jack replied.
Mike informed his brother that he didn’t have any money, and Jack rolled his eyes before handing him a five. Mike snatched it and skipped off happily. A moment later, he was back with two chocolate bars and a Coke. I thought he’d share—you usually got a cookie when you gave blood, and I had to assume my blood sugar was out of whack after losing what felt like two gallons of blood—but no, he dumped everything down his gullet as if neither his brother nor I existed.
The woman at the desk called Jack over again. I overheard her say we’d left a box on the form blank. It surprised me how perfectly he remembered all my information. And that reminded me of something: I had a birthday around the corner. Less than a week away. Jack checked the box, handed the form back to the woman, and nodded as she smiled at him.
“Does it hurt?” he asked when he sat back down.
“Not much. Maybe we didn’t need to come all the way here.”
“Maybe we did,” he replied with a raised eyebrow. “It’s pretty deep. I’m surprised to see you acting so chill.”
I shrugged and said, “Sorry, Dad.” Jack complained that having a bit of common sense didn’t mean he was acting like my father. Mike nudged me and said, “Hey, do you think that chick’s making eyes at me?”
He was referring to a cute girl who was typing away on her phone. She looked up every now and again and took a glance at one of my companions. Alas, it wasn’t Mike, but his brother.Grrr.
Jack didn’t notice. All his attention was turned to my hand. He seemed to be genuinely worried about it. As for Mike, I guess he was seeing what he wanted to see. And who was I to stop him?
“Yeah,” I responded. “I’m pretty sure she’s digging you. You should go for it.”
Now that’s what I call strategy.
“Don’t touch my Coke,” he said, “there’s still a little bit left. I’m going in for the kill.”
“Good luck, soldier,” I egged him on.
He stood and walked over to the girl with a smile, then sat down, ready to work his, ahem, magic. To my surprise, she quickly turned her attention away from my boyfriend and toward him. Sorry, not my boyfriend—just Jack, I keep forgetting.
