Page 14 of Yours on the Canvas

The nightmares haven’t stopped, though. His screams still drag me out of sleep more nights than not, and I do what I can for him, but some things I just can’t fix.

I’ve talked to him about seeing a therapist, but he refuses every time, shutting down before I can get more than a sentence out. I’ve thought about asking Eli and Finn to try, but I won’t push him; Hale’s had enough adults making choices for him.

If he needs help, I’ll make sure he gets it, and I’ll let him decide when he’s ready.

Hale likes me to check the house before he goes to bed. Every night he follows me while I lock the doors, making sure each window is shut, walking the perimeter. He will only climb into bed once he’s satisfied everything is secure.

Which is fair enough, especially after what happened to him. If checking the house twice gives him peace of mind, I’ll check it twice. Hell, I’ll check it ten times if that’s what he needs.

I force myself off the couch with a sigh and drag a hand over my face before heading down the dim hallway toward my bedroom. I strip off my watch and clothes, kicking everything into the corner because I’m too tired to care about the laundry basket. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. Right now, all I want is a few hours of sleep.

I switch off the light and collapse face-first onto the mattress. I haven’t even closed my eyes when my phone rings.

The sharp sound cuts through the silence, and my head snaps upright.

“Fucks sake,” I swear under my breath as I reach for the phone quickly before it wakes Hale. I frown at the Vancouver number, and my stomach drops.

Jack.

I swipe across the screen and press the phone to my ear. “Jack?”

“Mr. Thorne?”

“Yes.” I stand at the urgency in her voice.

“My name is Nurse Evans. I’m calling from Surrey Memorial Hospital. We’re trying to reach someone named Silas. A patient was admitted this evening. I’m sorry, I don’t have a last name, but he says his name is Jack Cross. He has no identification on him, so I can’t give you much more information. Do you happen to know a man named Jack who would be in Vancouver?”

The room seems to tilt around me.

“I’m Silas, and I know Jack.” I sit upright, every trace of sleep disappearing. “Black hair. Has a scar on his chin. What happened?”

“That’s him.” Her pause lasts half a second too long. She sighs down the phone, and I hear the rustling of papers before she speaks.

“Jack was brought into our Emergency Department a couple of hours ago after being found unresponsive on a side road outside the city. He’s sustained a concussion from head trauma. His throat is extremely bruised, and he has several cracked and fractured ribs along with extensive soft tissue bruising. He was also suffering from hypothermia due to exposure.”

I grip the edge of the mattress until my knuckles turn white.

“I’m sorry to tell you this, Mr. Thorne, but it appears he was beaten and left for dead.”

For several seconds, all I hear is the blood rushing through my ears. “What the hell do you mean, beaten and left for dead?” I’m already pulling out my drawers, grabbing whatever clean clothes I can reach. “Is he stable?” The words scrape out of a throat that has gone bone-dry, my hands shaking so hard I can barely get my shirt over my head.

“He is. We have him sedated, so he’s sleeping for now, but it would be good if you can get here as soon as possible. He woke briefly earlier and specifically asked that we contact you.”

I close my eyes, worry creasing my brow. Jack is thousands of miles away, beaten nearly to death and abandoned in the dark while I’d been sitting on my couch worrying about a few fucking bruises.

“I’ll be on the first flight out,” I say, and my voice sounds nothing like me. It’s too calm. Too controlled. The kind of calm that usually comes right before something breaks. “Keep him stable. I’m coming.”

“Thank you, Mr. Thorne. We’ll see you when you get here.”

* * *

I hang up, grabbing my go-bag from the wardrobe. I snatch Hale’s from beside the door as I pass his room. Tossing everything by the front door, I head back to his room, pushing his bedroom door open. Hale is sprawled face down on the bed, snoring softly, completely oblivious to the panic screaming through my veins.

I shake my head at the thought and reach for Hale, gently touching his shoulder.

“Hale?” He shifts beneath my hand, and I shake his shoulder again. “Hale, wake up, buddy. We gotta go.”

His eyes open, heavy with sleep. “What’s wrong?”