“To be clear, Jack has sustained serious burns that will require him to wear special dressings for weeks to prevent infection. That he clenched his hand into a fist likely saved his fingers, and there’s no underlying damage to fascia or tissues, which means I think he can avoid surgery. We’ll keep him here a few more days and keep a close eye.”
“That all sounds really good,” I said. “Can I see him?”
Dr. O’Connell’s gaze flickered over my shoulder, looking for the parents that were surely racing down the hall to their son… Seeing no one else, her brow furrowed, and she gave me a smile.
“Go on in. He’s awake, but the painkillers are strong. He might not be himself.”
I nodded as if I knew what Jack was like as himself. He’d hardly spoken to me in years.
The doctor left, and I knocked. “Jack?”
“Go away,” came a tired voice.
I stepped inside anyway. Jack was lying in the bed, the head elevated, staring out the window at the parking lot below. His left hand was wrapped in a strange, gauzy-looking glove, and he had IV lines trailing out of his elbow. His face was pale against his dark hair, but he looked okay. Better than I’d expected, just like the doctor had said.
“Hey,” I said, slowly drawing closer. “How are you feeling?”
“Great. Never better.”
“Jack—”
“What do you want, Emery?” he snapped, his clear blue eyes—eyes like Dad’s—turning to glare daggers at me.
“Why are you so mad at me? Why are youalwaysso mad at me?” I waved a hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to argue. I just wanted to see you and make sure you’re okay.”
“It’s a little late for that,” he muttered.
I took a seat beside his bed. Closer, I could see gel smeared down the skin of his forearm below the gauzy mitt. I wished Mom were hereto smooth his hair and tell him she’d take care of him. And that Dad would sit beside him and vow to help him through whatever he might be struggling with that made him do such a thing…
But those were fantasy parents. All he had right then was me.
“Jack,” I said, trying again. “Why?”
My brother’s gaze moved to the ceiling, shining with tears. “Because I had to get it out.”
“Get what out?”
“All this pain,” he said, his voice a whisper. “For Grant. I feel like I’m going to explode because Mom and Dad don’t…” He swallowed hard, and a tear slid down his cheek. “So my brilliant drunk idea was to force it out. Just…reach into the fire and grab it and show them.”
Tears flooded my vision. “Oh, Jack.”
He sniffed and wiped his eyes with his good hand. “But whatever. They don’t care.”
“Mom is coming,” I said quickly. “She’s just slow and Dad said—”
“Ah, there it is. The Emery Excuse Express, right on schedule.”
“What? No, I’m just—”
“You want to know why I’m pissed at you, Emery? Because you do this every time. Make excuses for them. Defend them.”
“I’m not defending them. I just wanted you to know they’re coming soon—”
“Oh, thank fucking God, they’re comingsoon.” Jack rolled his eyes, his voice thick with bitter sarcasm. “Good to know. Next time I’ll stick my head in the fireplace and see if that gets them to pick up the pace.”
The image sent a cold shiver down my spine. “Don’t say that. I’m not making excuses. I just…”
I don’t want you to feel so alone.
