“Jackson.” I hear a voice fade in from the back of my mind. “Jackson.” I hear again.
I blink open my eyes, seeing Easton standing over me. His hair is a disaster. It looks like he’s ran his hand through it about five hundred times.
There are also heavy bags underneath his eyes that make him look older. They’ve been there for a while, growing worse as the days go by. I know he’s going through a lot. He’s the last of our crew. I mean, I guess I’m still here, but am I really even here?
“Hey, bro. How you feelin’?”
I blink at him, hating that he’s still trying.
I’ve lost track of the days, but since I woke up in this room, he’s been here. Day after day, he stops by with hope on his chronically angry face. It makes me pissed that he keeps trying. Trying to make me talk, trying to help me get better. Even though, I know if roles were reversed, I’d be standing exactly where he is.
If I had any indication on how he was feeling, I’m sure he’s lost without any sense of direction on where to go from here.
“Rose told me she stopped by earlier.”
My eyes roll up to his, and I blink.
Blink. Blink. Blink.
“She said you were talkin’.” He has an edge to his voice, and it’s then I hear how angry he is.
I lift my eyebrows.
“You’re tellin’ me, I’ve been tryin’ to talk to you for days, and you don’t say a word to me, but the moment they walk in you’re spittin’ paragraphs. What the fuck, bro? Not tryin’ to be a little bitch or anything, but I’ve been tryin’ here. It’s just me.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My throat feels strangled in a vice and the words are unable to escape.
He leans down in my face, venom in his eyes as fury spits from his lips. “Talk to me, Jackson. Fucking talk to me or I swear I’ll make you feel pain. I don’t give a shit if you can feel something or not. You’re my brother. Talk to me.”
“Fuck you.” I grate out, relieved and pissed he gets me to this point.
He smiles, razor sharp teeth ready to chew up any weakness and spit it out at my feet.
“There you are, fucker. Now, tell me how you are. Really.” He falls back into the chair behind him and folds his arms across his chest.
“Shit. Wish I would’ve died that night.” I say honestly, because I do. There’s no chance in me taking over the business at this point if I can’t walk. I’ll never be able to go fight or do any more jobs. What’s the point, then?
Easton frowns at me. “Don’t say that shit, dude. What the fuck am I supposed to do without you? You and me are the only ones left.”
“There’s only about a quarter of me left, dude. The rest of me is already dead.”
He sighs, laying his head back on the chair and looking up at the ceiling. “I know this is a shit time for you, and you’re depressed and everything, but it’s not the end. Sure, go ahead and wallow about life for a bit, then pick yourself up and keep fighting. And shit, the doctors haven’t even given anything conclusive yet. You don’t know what the future holds.”
“The future doesn’t hold much of anything if I can’t feel my fucking body.”
Easton clenches his jaw, and I know he wants to punch the shit out of me right now. “Maybe I should have let you stay mute. Quit actin’ like this.” He shakes his head in aggravation.
I turn my head towards the ceiling, looking at the tiles and counting them for the millionth time. Not much else to do here.
“So, Cara tell you she’s keeping the baby?” Easton speaks after a long silence.
My eyes fall closed. I couldn’t even look at the baby. Wesley, is it? Wesley fucking Logan. Cara is really trying to ruin me. I couldn’t look at the baby, because it wouldn’t change anything. I’d still be here, stuck. Not like I could hold him. Touch him. Take care of him.
Still don’t even know if he’s mine. Probably better at this point if he wasn’t.
He continues on. “Rose left to go and pick up a car seat and a couple things. She said she’ll be staying at Cara’s house for a while to help take care of the