“Sorry.” The word comes out rough. “Didn’t mean to wake you guys.”
“Don’t apologize.” Jess stands. Moves closer. Her hand finds mine. The one that’s not bandaged. Her fingers are relatively steady. “You’re in pain. It’s okay.”
It’s not okay.
None of this isfuckingokay.
But I don’t say that. Just squeeze her hand once. Let her know I heard.
Why can’t I be one of those fucking heroes? The ones who get mauled by sharks or crushed in car wrecks and show up on morning talk shows crackingjokes about their missing limbs. All smiles and positive attitudes. “Just grateful to be alive.” Bullshit like that.
Instead I’m lying here begging for morphine and wishing everyone would just fucking leave me alone so I can fall apart in peace.
Ben climbs out of her chair. Frederick is tucked under one arm.
She approaches the bed slowly. Like I’m something fragile that might break.
Which I probably am.
“Daddy?” Her voice is so small. “Do you need more stickers?”
“Not right now,piccola.” I try to smile. Have no idea if my face even moves anymore. “But thank you.”
She nods. Serious. Then climbs into Jess’s lap when Jess sits back down. Jag meanwhile gets up and moves to the door to stand watch.
We sit in silence. Just the four of us. Jag by the door. Jess and Ben in the chair. Me in this fucking bed feeling drowsier than ever. That’s the problem with morphine. It dulls not just pain, buteverything.
Finally I break the silence. I need to talk to them before sleep takes me again. “Ben needs to go to school.”
Jess’s head snaps up. “Marco.”
“She’s missing too much. It’s not good for her.”
“She won’t be able to concentrate.” Jess’s voice is firm. Not arguing. Just stating fact. “This... what happened to you... will make her anxiety worse. Not better. School is not a good idea.”
She’s right. Of course she’s right.
I know my daughter. Know that sitting in a classroom pretending everything’s normalwhen her father’s in the hospital looking like something from a nightmare will break her.
“Homeschool her then.” I adjust my grip on the bed rail.
“I want her to be close you,” Jess says. “Home—”
“Fine,” I say, defeated. “Do it here. There has to be a room nearby you can use. I’ll have my people get in touch with the hospital head.”
Jess studies me. I can see her weighing it. Deciding if I’m being reasonable or just controlling everything from my hospital bed like usual.
Probably both.
“Okay.” She nods slowly. “We can do that. For now.”
“And at night.” I push on before I lose my nerve. “You both should sleep at the townhouse. Not here. You need real beds. Real rest. And it’s a hospital! They don’t want non-patients here 24/7.”
“Marco.” Her voice softens. “We’re fine here. And the staff don’t mind.”
“You’re not fine.” I let some of the command back into my voice. The executive tone that makes people listen. “Look at you. You’re exhausted. Ben’s exhausted. Go home. Sleep. Come back in the morning.”
She opens her mouth. Closes it. I can see her running the numbers. Weighing the pros and cons.
