Page 2

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JACK

I DIDN’T DIE

“ P neumothorax, laceration of the lung, tears of the spleen and kidney, multiple rib fractures, fractured ulna and radius, shoulder dislocation…” The doctor shakes his head like I’m a naughty little boy. “I don’t know how you stood up, son.”

Don’t fucking call me son.

“I don’t know how you stayed conscious for as long as you did. Frankly, I don’t know how you’re alive. Instead of asking for help, you figured swan diving onto the I40 was a great idea. You could’ve died.”

I don’t dignify his stupid fucking comments with an answer.

What am I supposed to say? Well sorry, doc, I didn’t mean to upset you.

Idiot.

Instead, I turn away and study the faded CPR poster on the side wall of my hospital room.

My sister is here, and her husband, Bobby. Iz and Jimmy stand in the corner. Aiden and Tina, by the door. Jon and Tink squish into the far corner.

Everyone’s here; all my brothers and sisters watch me carefully. They’re waiting for my emotionless, seemingly mute ass to break down and sob.

Fuck that.

Can’t break down, because that requires emotion. Heart . I have neither… They went to heaven with Steph .

Stepping forward with tears in her eyes, Kit’s shaking hand takes mine. “Jack.”

I attempt to squeeze my fist closed. I don’t want her kindness. I don’t want her anything. But broken bones scream through my cast and deny my wishes to be left the fuck alone.

“Jack–”

My unused voice comes out gruff and hoarse. “Where’s Steph?”

Kit’s tears fall heavily, sliding onto her lips, and dripping off her chin. I don’t want my sister to hurt. She’s been through enough, but I can’t find it inside me to tell her to stop. To tell her I’m okay.

I’m not okay. I’m dead inside.

“Um,” her voice shakes. “Her mom and dad… they took her.”

“Has she been buried yet?”

She shakes her head. “No. She’s at the… she’s at the funeral home. She’ll be buried Friday.”

Pain crashes over my body in excruciating waves. Over my chest. Through my stomach. Deep in every bone and muscle in my body. “Where’s the guy? The guy that hit us?”

“He’s in his own room recovering,” the doctor answers softly, almost regretfully. “He’s under police watch until he’s well enough to leave, then he’ll be formally charged.”

I glance toward my sisters-in-law; toward Izzy and Tina, then to the five foot nothing Tink as she leans against her husband. All three have tears in their eyes, white faces, shaking hands. And all the guys hold them, though I see the shaking in their hands, too.

I turn back toward the doctor. “He’s in this hospital?”

Pen hesitating over his paperwork, he stops and looks into my eyes. Pressing his lips together, he shakes his head. “Jack, I can’t–”

I look up at my brothers. “Is he in this hospital?”

Bobby shakes his head and presses his broad fighter’s chest against my sister’s back. He’s not saying no, he’s saying he doesn’t want me to know the answer. He doesn’t trust me with the answer.

I look toward Jim with the long moppy hair, the eternal joker now wearing an uncharacteristically grim face, then to Jon, with the military haircut and no bullshit attitude.

I stop on Aiden. He’s the most likely to tell me the truth. “Aiden?”

Pressing a kiss to his wife’s brow and avoiding my gaze, he nods. “Yeah, Jack, he’s in this hospital.”

Although the pain throbs through my body and sets every limb on fire, although bile rises in my throat and threatens to choke me the way Steph choked on her own blood, I kick my legs out and attempt to sit up in my bed. Using my less broken arm, I throw my blankets away and swing my pain filled legs over the side of my hospital bed.

Jumping forward, Kit grabs my shoulder and pushes me back. “Jack, no. You can’t get up.”

“Take me home, Kit.”

“Jack.” The doctor steps forward with a hand to push me back, but Jon steps between us and has him warily backing away.

“Jack,” the doctor tries again – and keeps his hands to himself. “You can’t go home. Your injuries are too severe. It’s too dangerous. Your spleen could bleed again, your–”

“Write me a script, doc. I’ll take my narcotics home.”

“Mr. Reilly!”

My eyes snap up with fire. “Mr. Reilly was my dad. He died in this hospital, by the way. Get my discharge papers ready. I’m leaving.”

“But–”

“I won’t ask again, asshole! Get the paperwork ready. Trust me, this is best. If you make me stay, your drunk driver will not survive the night.”

He scurries away with a white face and big eyes, but at least he scurries away.

“Jack,” Kit admonishes softly. Her hand comes to my shoulder, but no one pushes her away. “You need to stay here.”

I shake my head. I don’t want to explain myself, but I can’t bring myself to speak to her the way I spoke to the doctor. She doesn’t deserve my anger. “Remember a long time ago when you were in here? When you wanted to go home? We kept nagging at you to keep your ass put, but you wanted home…”

A single fat tear slides along her pale cheek. “I remember.”

“You wanted to go home.” My voice catches on emotion. “Please take me home.”

Aiden clutches to Tina’s hand and opens the door. “I’ll organize nurses or whatever.” His dark eyes come to mine. “I’ll take care of it.”

I nod toward the empty doorway as the door shuts behind them. “He gets it.”

By dinnertime, I’m set up in my own home, though my room’s been magically moved downstairs instead of up. Eating warm broth for dinner and scowling at my matronly nurse, I push my bowl away. “You can go to bed, Jenny Greenteeth.” I actually have no clue what her name is. “I’m going to sleep.”

Turning away and painfully rolling over in my bed, ignoring my ribs and arm and, well, my entire body, I face my three-legged dog, Annie – my giant half Labrador, half black bear – as she pants in my face.

I haven’t seen her in days. I’m not even sure how long, but a few days, at least. She sits on her haunches and rests her chin on the mattress beside my pillow.

Her eyes are unbearably sad.

She’s just a dog, but she knows .

Bringing my hand up slowly, I play with her whiskers and watch her eyes close the way a woman’s might when her lover strokes her ribs.

The way Steph’s have when I slide my hand along her thigh.

Annie’s in mourning. She knows who’s missing from our home tonight. She knows I’m hurt. She’s the best dog in the entire world, and now that Steph’s gone, she’s my only best friend.

My sister insisted on staying with me tonight. All of my sisters did, but they have families and husbands to take care of. They have a life. And hell, they all live next door. We live in our own estate; seven houses all smacked together and protected by a giant gate.

Family only.

Usually the closeness is amazing. I love having everyone within shouting distance. We never have to eat alone, train alone, be alone… Not unless we want to be.

Right now, I want to be.

I sent them away and promised to call if I needed anything.

I won’t call.

I have Jenny, the old bitch.

I have Annie.

And I don’t have Steph anymore.

Tapping the mattress, I signal to my three-legged bear that I need a hug. Pouncing immediately, she jumps onto my bed, burrows into the hollow my body makes, and becomes my little spoon.

We stay like this until moss grows on us, until the world revolves seven times, until my nephews are old enough to grow beards.

Well. That’s how long it feels .

In reality, we stay this way until Friday. I can ignore reality, I can tell everyone to fuck off and leave me alone until Friday, but then I’m thrust back into the truth, and not even my narcotics can numb the pain.

I’ve been an athlete for a long time. I barely drink, just a casual beer with my brothers and friends, but not during fight camp. I don’t take drugs. I don’t smoke. I eat all the right things, and I treat my body like a perfect machine with regular maintenance – plus pizza .

But today, the day we lay my sweet Stephanie to rest, the day I have to get up and shave and get dressed again, the day I’m forced to face my family again; today’s the day I want to take some pills and escape for good.

Today’s the day I do take some pills. I numb myself to the world. I’ve had Steph for so long, I don’t even know who I am without her. I don’t actually know how to function without her.

We never officially lived together, but her underwear is still in my drawers, and her box of tampons is still in my bathroom. My sheets still smell like her, and my dog continues to peek around hallways looking for her.

I just want her back.

I want to scream at someone.

Anyone.

I want to hurt the man that hurt her, but since I can’t, since she’s no longer mine to keep, I choose to escape reality.

My brothers carried my stupid ass home after I stumbled around the funeral home. I got high, I got drunk, I knocked over a tall vase at the cemetery… then I fell on my face.

I’ve seen this show before; the cemetery, the hole in the ground, the timber box that swallows the person you love the most. I’ve been front and center while people read aloud all the best things they know about the person in the box.

Just like with my dad, I was too weak to step up and speak, and instead left that responsibility to someone else. To the women. Today, I simply sat down when I wanted to nap, and stood when I wanted to annoy my sister.

I didn’t say goodbye to Steph properly, I simply… tapped out.

My brothers took me home, put me to bed with disappointed scowls painted across their faces, then I took some more pills and escaped into oblivion where I told Steph goodbye in my dreams.

In my dreams, she’s still with me. In my dreams, her hair is still smooth and shiny. Her eyes are still green and sparkly. Her body is still healthy and beautiful.

My dreams are where I want to be, because real life fucking sucks.