Page 10 of True Abandon

The fluorescent lights of the hospital create an eerie atmosphere. A gray-blue halo glows off the walls and there’s the pungent smell of stale antiseptic. The air reeks of illness. Add that to the scramble of doctors and nurses trying to help their patients, and it’s surreal. So much pain in one area in makes my heart hurt and my fingers twitch.

Beds line the hallways. The critical get rooms while the less serious are in a row in the corridor. Old people with breathing tubes around their noses, a woman moaning in pain, a child crying on her mother’s shoulder, and a boy clutching his stomach are just a few of the those I pass. I look each of them in the eye, waiting to find the man I came here to see. But we don’t locate him in the halls.

The orderly asks another employee who hasn’t seen him before we continue down another hallway where we meet a nurse who tells us which direction he may have been moved. In the third hall, I find Jax’s name on a whiteboard with a room number next to it.

He’s not in a hallway. He’s in a room, which means his injuries must be fairly severe. Just the sight of his name written in black is enough to make my nerves stand on edge.

We step through the door, and I’m taken aback by how small the room is, with barely enough room for the bed and a leather recliner shoved in the corner. It’s as if Jax were stuck in a closet without any further thought. The tiny window depicts the dark, rainy night. The lights over the bed are dim, casting shadows around the room to make the space appear even smaller.

Without any further words, the orderly leaves, and the door shuts behind him.

Every ounce of blood surges through my body at an unexpected pace. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m cold or that I’m in a hospital during one of the worst storms in history. Or, it could be, the fact that just five feet from me is the man who has tortured me mentally for nearly a decade.

Jackson Davis.

Slowly, I walk toward his lifeless figure on the mattress. As I get closer, I see his features more clearly—his eyes are closed, his chest is moving, and he’s most definitely alive.

I take a step back, run my hands over my head, and inhale a couple of oh-shit-I’m-actually-doing-this breaths.

“Okay,” I mutter to myself. “He’s fine. You can leave now.”

Nodding my head at my own comment, I take another step back toward the door.

But, of course, I can’t.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, I ease myself back to the bed. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him in person, which is why the onslaught of emotion that starts racing through my heart and brain surprises me. The same feelings that burned within me as a teenager— a young, dumb, and in-love kid—consume me.

“Come lay with me,” he said, motioning for me to come closer to the spot he was sitting in the field behind our school.

I rubbed my arms as the evening breeze swept in. “It looks like it’s about to rain.”

“Does that scare you?”

“We don’t have an umbrella.”

His face lit up into a cocky grin. “Then we’ll just have to keep each other warm.”

With his hand stretched out, he grabbed mine and pulled me down onto the ground. My butt hit the cold earth a little rough, which caused my head to bump into his. I put my palm to my forehead and laughed.

“Solid as a rock,” he chided, his thumb rubbing his brow where we collided.

I laughed even harder. I was about to make a snarky response when the sky opened up, and rain came pummeling down.

“Oh my God!” I sought protection in the crook of Jackson’s shoulder.

He wrapped his arms around my head in an attempt to cocoon me. It didn’t matter—we were soaked.

“Race you to the car,” I shouted over the deafening sound of rain. I bolted straight across the field toward the parking lot. When I got to the car, I pulled on the handle, but it was locked. I looked at the driver’s side. Jackson wasn’t there to unlock it.

When I turned to look for him, he strolled leisurely in my direction. He had a look on his face that was totally at ease. A look I didn’t understand.

His t-shirt was stuck to his chest, and his hair fell over his brow. His mouth was quirked up, and his eyes were slightly wide in wonder.

I stood, waiting for him to approach, with my head tilted, curious as to why he was acting so calm.

When he got to the car, he stood before me with rain trickling down the bridge of his nose. His mouth was moist, and despite the fact that we were both sopping wet from head to toe, I felt the heat emanating from his body.

I squinted my eyes in question as to what he was thinking.