Page 63 of Ashes of the Past
That’s got to be it.
I’ve known this man for only a week, really. I can’t be having any sort of feelings for him at all.
I mean, I can feel some sort of way about how he devoured me, but…focus, Brynn.
The waiting drags on, every minute stretching into an eternity. I keep glancing at the doors, waiting for someone to come out and tell us he’s okay. I stand up and start pacing. After about ten minutes, I sit down next to Joanne. I reach down and squeeze her hand, offering silent comfort, but it only makes theache worse. I’m supposed to be the strong one, the one who keeps it together. But right now, I feel like I’m falling apart.
And I cannot allow anyone to see that.
Finally, a doctor comes out, his expression serious but not grim. “Jack is out of surgery,” he says, and the room lets out a collective breath. “We were able to stop the bleeding, but he’s not out of the woods yet. He’ll need to be monitored closely for the next twenty-four hours.”
Relief floods through me, but it’s tempered by the weight of his words. Not out of the woods yet. I cling to the hope that Jack will fight, that he’ll pull through, but the fear doesn’t go away. I glance around the room at Joanne, his mom, and the kids, all of them holding onto each other, drawing strength from one another. And I’m here, on the outside, trying to keep my emotions in check, trying not to let anyone see how much this is tearing me apart.
“Can we see him?” Mrs. Renfrew asks.
“You can, but only two at a time. And just immediate family.”
“I’ll stay with the kids until you get back, and then we’ll head home,” I say to Joanne.
She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Thank you.”
She pulls back and helps her mother out of the chair. They follow the doctor behind the doors, and I go sit down next to the kids.
I’m in a daze but putting on a brave face for the kids and everyone around.
The thought of losing Jack—of never getting the chance to explore how I feel, or how he feels after…what we just did—is more than I can bear.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jack
The steady beeping of the heart monitor is the first thing I register. My chest feels like it’s been run over by a freight train, and every breath is a reminder of the smoke I inhaled. My lungs burn, my ribs ache, but I’m alive. That thought alone keeps me grounded.
Alive is a hell of a lot better than the alternative.
The room is quiet except for the faint hum of hospital machinery. I crack my eyes open, wincing at the harsh fluorescent lights. My mom’s voice drifts over to me before I can even turn my head.
“Jack! You’re awake,” she says, rushing to my side. Her face is a mix of relief and worry, her hands fluttering over me like she’s not sure where to start. Joanne is right behind her, her eyes red-rimmed but smiling.
“You scared the hell out of us,” Joanne says, crossing her arms but leaning in like she’s debating whether to hug me or smack me.
“Sorry,” I rasp, my voice rough and dry. “Didn’t mean to cause a fuss.”
My mom lets out a watery laugh, brushing my hair back like I’m still a kid. “Oh, hush. I know how you are. You weren’t thinking about anything other than making sure those animals were safe. You’re allowed to cause a fuss when you’ve been through what you have.”
“How bad is it?” I ask, trying to shift, but the pain in my side stops me cold.
Joanne steps in; her voice is practical but kind. “You had some internal bleeding. They had to do surgery, but the doctor said they got it under control. You’ll be sore for a while, but you’ll be fine.”
“Lucky me,” I mutter, trying to muster a smirk. It falls flat, but they both smile anyway.
“You’re lucky, all right,” Joanne says as she reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I’m glad Rick was there.”
“Me too. Hey, is the dog okay? Do you know?”
“You’re worried about a dog?” Mom asks with a small chuckle.
“He tried to save my life. He was trying to pull me out and push the beam off me.”
