“No need for all that, go clean yourself up,” says Beverly. “We will go back and sit with Jordan and have a nurse escort you and Peter down there. We can all take turns to visit with him.” She looks over at Pete, who throws himself at her, wiping his wet face all over her cardigan as they embrace. I can see tears pricking at the corner of Beverly's eyes, but she holds steady, refusing to let them fall right now. She is determined to stay strong for her boy.
Not wanting to waste another moment, I rush to the bathroom and stand in front of the mirror. Beverly was right. I do look like shit. I can already hear what Jordan would say if he saw me like this.“Grim reaper, much?”I smile to myself as I splash some water over my face and try to tame my hair from the hours I’ve spent running my hands through it. There isn’t much I can do about the outfit. It was the only thing that Drew and Ryan could find at a late-night Target. Sweatpants and Iron Man T-shirts will have to do. In fact, if this outfit makes Jordan laugh, all the better.
The bathroom door pushes open and Pete’s head pops in. “Come on, let's go. They’ve taken him to the ward now.” He doesn't need to say another word as I rush out the door behind him.
Reaching Jordan's room, we follow the nurse inside. I’m breathing deeply to prepare myself for what he is going to look like. The blinds are pulled and the only light source is a dimmed lamp at the side of the bed. Beverly and Christopher Bell are sitting either side of their son on cushioned visitor chairs. My heart pounds hard as I step forward and grip the rail at the end of his hospital bed.
Sucking in a sharp breath, my eyes finally land on my Lashes. Once again, he looks like he is sleeping peacefully. Except this time, he has an oxygen mask over his mouth and wires seeming to come out of everywhere. The large bandage over the right side of his chest and shoulder is a stark reminder of how close he came to death.
“I will give you a few minutes, then I will need two of you to wait outside.” The nurse speaks in a quiet tone so as not to wake Jordan. I appreciate her letting us have a few moments. We all nod in acknowledgement, then turn back to Jordan. I force a soft smile as Beverly reaches over and takes my hand.
“Why don't you bring a chair over and wait with us? I’ll shoo that nurse away if she comes back again.”
Christopher drops a chair down softly beside his wife and motions for me to sit down.
“Thank you both. This is not the way I would have wanted to meet you for the first time,” I whisper, keeping my eyes glued to Jordan’s face just in case he so much as blinks. I don’t want to miss anything.
“Well, as much as I wish we were meeting under better circumstances, it is still wonderful to finally meet the man who has stolen my baby’s heart.” Beverly smiles, squeezing my hand.
“I don’t know about that, but I am working on it. Your son is incredible.”
“Pft, I know my boy and he is head over tits for you. Don’t let him tell you otherwise.”
“I hope you are right, because I’m definitely head over tits for him.” In the quiet room, my admission sounds so loud, even to my own ears.
“Eww, why are you being so gross? Wait, are you wearing an Iron Man shirt?”
The croak of Jordan’s voice has me jumping to my feet and leaning over the bed to make sure that I wasn’t just hearing things.
“Jesus Christ, Lashes! You scared the shit out of me,” I whisper, a laugh busting from my lips as I lean down and kiss his forehead. Taking the oxygen mask out of his hand, I rest it on the bed beside him so it's within easy reach.
“You're leaking all over me, Dimples. I’m not sure I like this side of you.” He hasn’t lost his snark, then. That’s a good sign.
“I’ll make you a deal—you don’t get shot again and I won't have to leak over your hospital bed.”
“Deal.” He grins softly, moving his hand into mine. He slowly turns his head to see his mom, then back to the other side to see his dad and Pete. His voice turns to a whisper as he tugs me lightly to bring me closer.
“Please tell me I am hallucinating and my parents aren’t actually here.”
“Hush, you brat. Of course we are here, you got shot!” Beverly retorts. She leans in a little closer. “Now, be honest, we won't judge you. Have you joined a gang? Was this some kind of retaliation? Is there a king pin your father and I need to have a word with?”
Both Jordan and I stare at her, wide-eyed. For a moment I think she’s joking, but no, she's very serious. I lose it then. I need to step back to hold my stomach from laughing so hard.
“For fuck’s sake, Ma! No, I didn’t join a gang. Why is that the first place your mind goes?” The tone of his voice rises into soprano territory as he jerks up, causing him to wince and lay straight back down again.
Beverly is clearly not fazed by Jordan’s dramatic outburst, and she merely shrugs.“Well, you hear all sorts of things. Better to be direct. If it’s not a gang attack, then how did you end up shot?” She asks this as if it was the only conclusion possible.
I have asked myself the same question over the last five hours. Pete was the first one outside, but he didn't see anything. I was too fucked up to pay attention to what people where yelling about. The cops showed up to check on Jordan, but he was still in surgery at the time, and of course they wouldn't tellusanything. They took what little statements we had, and said they would be back tomorrow. I probably could have pulled the attorney card, but without Jordan’s permission to represent him, it would only cause problems down the line. And besides all this, I had better things to worry about at the time.
“Wait—you don’t know who shot me? Shit, give me my phone! We can’t let that bastard get him.” Jordan tries to lift himself up on the bed, crying out in pain at every movement, but it isn't stopping him.
“What bastard? Who shot you, Jordan?” My voice is laced with renewed fear as I try to get him to calm down. He's going to burst his stitches. Fuck, none of us ever considered that whoever shot him would come back to try and finish off the job. I guess we just assumed it was a drive-by or something. How could we have been so stupid?Jordan was a target.
“Blakes’s brother! We need to make sure he hasn’t gotten Blake. Please, Eric.”
The fear in Jordan’s eyes is palpable as I step back, frantically searching my pockets for my phone. When Pete rushes past me, he grabs my arm, pausing only long enough to remind me that Roman is in the waiting room.
“Yes, Sunshine, get Roman to call Derek,” Jordan presses, laboring with every breath. “Or go find Blake and bring him here. Call the cops too.”
