Page 2 of We Were Never Lovers
He managed to follow where she indicated with his eyes. Jack was curled up in a chair, except he was far too big for it; his legs stuck out, his hands were tucked under his armpits like he was hugging himself, and his head rested on his torso as he breathed quietly and evenly.
The straw was back in Sean’s mouth. He sipped but his eyes never left Jack slumped and asleep in the chair. He was in loose black trackies, slides on his feet, a team hoodie, his blonde hair a mess. Jack wasn’t the most style-conscious dude in the league, but he rarely left the house looking like this, like he’d just woken up and thrown on a hoodie to make it respectable for the drive.
“I’ve buzzed for the doctor. Doctor Harris asked me to page no matter the time, but we’ll probably see Doctor Mercer, the night registrar, first, okay?” The nurse went on quietly as if Sean knew who any of these people were.
He pushed the straw out of his mouth, eyes stuck on Jack sleeping next to his hospital bed like the most confusing tableau he’d ever seen in his life.
“What happened?” he croaked.
Jack stirred and Sean watched as he stretched, blinked, met Sean’s eyes and smiled the softest, most disarming smile Sean had ever seen.
“Sean?” Jack said, his tone matching his smile.
“What…” Sean tried, his voice a husk.
“Sean?” A woman’s voice said from the doorway. She flicked the light on at the same time and Sean winced. “You’re back with us. I’m Doctor Mercer, Harris will be in shortly. How’re you feeling?”
Sean tore his eyes away from where Jack was inching closer, shooting the doctor concerned looks before looking at Sean with a reassurance that made no sense.
“Confused,” Sean answered honestly. He took stock of his body—thigh, ribs, head all fucked. “Fuckin’ sore.”
Doctor Mercer chuckled. “I bet,” she stood at the end of the bed and scanned his chart. “They had to cut you out of that mess. It’s a miracle you survived. Now, I’m just going to run some tests. Can you open your eyes for me…”
Sean was even more confused—what mess? His heart pounded again—he couldn’t see what was happening, but he was frightened, he was stuck, he was dying, he was never going to see him again, never going to be able to tell him he was sorry for this, for fucking up.
The monitors went wild around him.
“Why does that keep happening?” Jack asked—he was angry, but it was his ‘I’m actually scared so I’ll sound mad about it’ voice. Sean had no idea what he was scared about now. Why was he even here? Unless he put Sean here after their last altercation and he was feeling guilty. But that didn’t make sense—Sean was broken, everywhere.
“Sean,” the doctor said, voice firm, “listen to me. You’re in hospital. You’re safe. You’ve been in a car accident and sustained a compound fracture to the left femur, three broken ribs, swelling on the brain and a suspected concussion. You’ve had two surgeries. You’re no doubt in pain, but you’re safe. I need you to hold your breath for me.”
Sean clasped his mouth shut. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he knew what she was asking him to do. He held the breath to a count of ten and felt his heart beat frantically against his chest bone. The thumping felt loud, too loud, but he exhaled for five, inhaled for five, felt the nurse putting something in the back of his hand again.
“Alright, you with me, Sean?” the doctor asked calmly. Sean had endured enough minor footy injuries over the years to be familiar with the confident no nonsense manner the hospitalstaff, trainers, and doctors always brought—they sounded like they could take charge of everything, get it all in hand until you could hold yourself on your own again.
“Sean?” Jack asked.
Sean winced. Jack’s voice always made him wince, but he usually hid it. Because he usually had a damn good guard up around Jack. He’d built that guard to protect himself from the sharp pain being vulnerable around him had caused on the few stupid occasions he’d done it when they’d first met. But having to bring his guard up while he was like this was a bridge too far.
“Why’s he here?” he managed, his voice gritty and hoarse.
A hint of surprise flickered over the doctor’s smooth features. She was a pretty white woman, maybe a decade older than himself, early thirties, with lovely skin, clear eyes, all of her tidy and professional, but his question stirred the life behind the doctor’s mask.
“Your teammate?” she asked carefully, the professional mask sliding back into place with a look that suggested the beginning of a questionnaire.
“Sean, what?” Jack asked. “Of course I’m here, where else would I be?”
Sean squeezed his eyes shut. Jack’s confused, hurt voice was even worse than his usual cheerful teammate voice.
“Did he do this?” Sean whispered hoarsely at the doctor. It seemed impossible—but why else was Jack here?
“Did Jack cause the accident?” the doctor replied calmly though.
“What—”
“Yes,” Sean whispered, his eyes searching the doctor’s, but his awareness was completely fixed on Jack beside him, hovering, filling the room with his presence, the way he entered and absorbed every room; became its fucking sun, or its black hole.
“I was in bed, I was at home in bed,” Jack said, his voice pitching in disbelief, in horror. “You didn’t come back—”
