Page 4

Dante

The hours stretched into days, each second a relentless reminder of the uncertainty that plagued my mind. The sterile smell of the hospital, the hushed conversations, and the occasional beeping of machines did little to soothe my racing thoughts. I wanted answers, needed them to free myself from this gnawing guilt. Had my actions truly led to this? It was a question without a simple answer and the weight of it seemed unbearable.

“How ya doing, Intern?” Montana said, taking a seat next to me, handing me a cup of coffee. “It tastes like piss water, but it’s hot.”

Taking it, I muttered, “Thank you.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do. We all do. Ace was being a dick. Even he knows it’s not your fault. He’s just scared. We all are.”

“I can’t lose him, Prez.”

“I think for the time being, you should call me Montana. Right now, we are all on the same level.”

I smirked at that. “Not sure about that, but thank you anyway.”

“Fuck,” the larger-than-life man groaned, leaning his head back against the wall. “This is one fucked-up mess, Intern. I don’t envy you one bit, that’s for damn sure. If it were my Tessa in that room, I’d be killing a motherfucker right now. Don’t know how you are staying so calm.”

“I don’t really have a choice.”

Montana nodded thoughtfully, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for answers in the shadows. “You know,” he began, his voice softer, “sometimes, the hardest battles are the ones we fight within ourselves. But you’ve got grit, Intern. And right now, that’s what’s keeping us all together.”

I took a sip of the lukewarm coffee, letting the bitter taste ground me. “What if it’s not enough?”

“It has to be,” Montana replied firmly. “For his sake and for yours. We’ll get through this, one way or another.”

The room seemed to close in on me, the weight of the uncertainty pressing down on me. Yet, in that moment, Montana’s unwavering support felt like a beacon in the darkness.

The waiting was the worst, along with the not knowing if Danny would wake up.

I closed my eyes for a brief moment, trying to draw strength from Montana’s words. The silence between us was heavy yet comforting, a rare moment of shared understanding. I wished I could see the future, to know if Danny would pull through.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway, breaking the stillness. I looked up to see a nurse approaching, her expression unreadable. “Mr. Sharp,” she said quietly, “you’re needed in room 312.”

My heart pounded in my chest as I rose from the chair, feeling Montana’s steady gaze on me. “Go,” he urged. “Do what you need to do.”

I nodded, barely able to find my voice. “Thanks, Montana. For everything.”

As I walked towards Danny’s room, I felt a mixture of fear and hope battling within me. The gravity of the situation was overwhelming, but I knew I had to stay strong—for Danny, for myself, and for everyone counting on me.

Entering the room, I saw Danny lying still, monitors beeping softly around him. I took a deep breath, stepping closer to his bedside. “Danny,” I whispered, “you’ve got to fight this. We’re all here for you, waiting for you to come back to us.”

The doctor adjusted the IV drip and gave me a reassuring nod. “He’s stable for now. Keep talking to him. It can make a difference.”

I grasped Danny’s hand, feeling the coldness of his skin. “You’re not alone, Danny. We’re going to get through this—together.”

The minutes dragged on, and each tick of the clock amplified the uncertainty. But amid the fear, a spark of hope remained. And in that small, resilient flame, I found the strength to keep going, to believe that Danny would emerge from this darkness, stronger than before.

The days in the hospital blended into one another, a haze of waiting and hoping. Each morning, I would wake to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the rhythmic beeping of the monitors—a reminder of the fragile line Danny walked between life and oblivion. Each evening, I would fall asleep knowing our daughter was safe while I waited to see if Danny woke up. I spoke to him every day, recounting memories, sharing news, urging him to hold on. The club brothers took turns sitting vigil, their presence a silent testament to the bond we all shared.

One particularly bleak day, I found myself staring at the ceiling, struggling to keep my spirits high. The constant worry gnawed at my resolve, and I feared what the future might hold if Danny didn’t wake up soon. But just as despair began to take root, a gentle touch on my shoulder brought me back to the present. Montana stood there; his eyes filled with a quiet strength. “He’ll make it,” he said with conviction. “Danny’s tough, and so are you. Don’t lose hope.”

His words were a lifeline, pulling me back from the edge.

I nodded, taking a deep breath as I turned back to Danny. “You hear that?” I whispered, squeezing his hand. “We’re all waiting for you. Come back to us, Danny. We need you.”

As the days dragged on, every small sign of progress became a beacon of hope. The doctors were cautiously optimistic, noting the gradual improvements in Danny’s condition. The brain bleed had stopped, and the swelling was slowly decreasing. It was a painstakingly slow journey, but each step forward was a victory.

Then, one afternoon, while I sat by his side, I noticed a flicker of movement. My heart raced as I leaned in closer, hardly daring to believe it.

“Danny?” I called softly, my voice trembling with anticipation. His fingers twitched again, a faint but undeniable response.

I looked up, catching the doctor’s eye.

She hurried over, her expression one of cautious optimism.

“It’s a good sign,” she said, gently examining his hand. “His body is responding. Keep encouraging him. It could make all the difference.”

Encouraged by her words, I continued to talk to Danny, recounting stories of our adventures, reminding him of the life that awaited him and our beautiful daughter who couldn’t wait to see him again. Each day, the small signs of improvement increased in frequency and with them, my hope soared.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I watched Danny’s eyes flutter open. It was a moment of indescribable relief and joy. He was coming back to me.

Jumping from my seat, I shouted, “Call the doctor!”

Leaning over him, I gently cupped his face. “Come on, Danny. Open those eyes. Let me see those beautiful green eyes.”

Holding my breath, I watched as his brow furrowed and his eyelids fluttered. Like walking out of a raging storm, I felt the sun shine brightly down on my face, and after weeks of worry, I looked into his beautiful eyes.

“You had me worried.” I cried tears of joy.

“Who the hell are you?”

“What the hell happened?” Ace shouted, demanding answers as I stood near the back of the room, unable to comprehend that Danny couldn’t remember anything. Was this some transient thing? Would his memory come back? Was it permanent? How much didn’t he remember? Just me or everything?

“Ace, if you don’t shut the hell up, I will put my fist in your face!” Reaper roared, rounding on Danny’s irate brother.

“Unless you’re family, everyone out!” Dr. Robinette yelled.

“I’m staying,” Montana growled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Just try and make me leave, Doc,” Reaper threatened.

Both clubs left the room, leaving only Danny’s three brothers, the two club presidents, and me, who still hadn’t uttered a word since Danny woke up.

Tension hung thick in the air, every breath heavy with unspoken fears and unresolved anger. Danny’s eyes darted around the room, a mix of confusion and frustration etched on his face. His hands clenched the edges of the hospital bed, as if holding on for dear life to the fragments of memory that still remained.

“Tell me the last thing you remember, Danny,” Dr. Robinette urged gently, stepping closer to the bed. “Anything at all.”

Danny’s brow furrowed deeply. “Where is Mom?” he asked slowly, his voice trembling as he looked at Ace. “I want Mom.”

“Oh shit,” Reaper cursed, punching the wall as he stormed from the room. Montana quickly followed. His brothers exchanged worried glances but said nothing.

This was bad.

Like really fucking bad.

Danny’s mom died almost five years ago. It was a significant turning point in Danny’s life that set him on the path that led to his accident.

Ace took a deep breath, his face paling as he struggled to find the words. “Danny, Mom’s not here,” he began, his voice tight with emotion. “She passed away a few years ago.”

Danny’s face contorted in disbelief, and his grip on the bed tightened. “No, that’s not right. We had dinner last night. Where am I, Ace? When did you get home?”

Dr. Robinette exchanged a concerned glance with Danny’s brothers before addressing Danny again. “Sometimes after a trauma, our minds can mix up memories, Danny. It’s part of the healing process, but I promise, we’re all here for you.”

Danny’s brothers stepped closer, and each of them placed a hand on his shoulder, a silent show of support. The room fell into a heavy silence, punctuated only by the beeping of medical equipment and the distant murmur of hospital staff.

Leaving Danny with his brothers, Dr. Robinette motioned for me to follow.

I did so immediately.

Out in the hall, Reaper rushed over. “What the fuck, Doc?”

“I won’t know for sure until I run more tests, but Danny is clearly suffering from some kind of amnesia. Until I can get a clearer picture of what and who he remembers, I can’t say for sure if it’s a temporary thing or something permanent.”

“Jesus fuck,” Montana groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re fucking screwed! I knew it!”

“Doc,” Reaper carefully said after taking a deep breath. “I don’t give a flying fuck what you have to do, but you fucking find a way for that kid to remember. Everyone’s life depends on what’s in that kid’s head.”

“Reaper,” Dr. Robinette sighed. “It’s not like I can wave a fucking magic wand and restore his memories. His brain has suffered a major trauma. It’s going to take time.”

“Time we don’t have, Mere,” Montana snarked.

“Then make the fucking time,” the angry doctor shouted. “Because that young man has woken up to a world he knows nothing about, and I’ll be damned if either of you dump your bullshit on him.”

Montana’s eyes darkened with a mix of fury and desperation. “We don’t have the luxury of time, Mere. We’ve got enemies closing in and Danny’s the key to everything.”

Dr. Robinette met his gaze with equal intensity. “I understand the urgency, Montana. I’m in the line of fire too, but pushing him too hard could do more harm than good. We need to approach this cautiously.”

Reaper paced back and forth, his agitation palpable. “So, what do we do in the meantime? Just shove our thumbs up our ass and hope his memory comes back?”

“Not exactly,” the doctor replied. “We need to create a supportive and familiar environment for him. Surround him with people and objects he might recognize. It might help trigger his memories.”

Reaper nodded slowly, his mind already working through the logistics. “Alright. We bring in people he knows, things from his past. We’ll do whatever it takes.”

Montana stopped pacing and faced the doctor. “And if that doesn’t work?”

Dr. Robinette’s expression softened. “Then we adapt. We find another way. But giving up is not an option.” With that, she returned to Danny’s room.

Montana placed a hand on Reaper’s shoulder. “We’ll get through this. We’ve faced worse before.”

Reaper glared incredulously at the fucker. “Have we? ‘Cause this is as bad as it fucking gets, fucknuts.”

“I don’t know why you’re yelling at me. I didn’t cause this shit!”

“Oh, shut up, Montana,” Reaper groaned, shaking his head as he walked off, with Montana trailing behind him, the two men bickering and sniping at each other.

Standing there in the hallway, I tried to understand what was happening as my entire world slowly came crashing down around me.