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Jack’s eyes widen, as he looks around the hospital-style room, and there’s a panic rising in them that is a delight to watch. I smile and lean in, propping my chin in my hands as I watch. This is the best fucking TV show ever.
“Payback’s a bitch, and yours comes with years of interest, asshole.” I grin at the screen.
Jack frowns and shakes his head, rubbing at it like it hurts. He’s probably concussed from hitting his head on the floor, when he passed out from the ketamine he had with his whisky. “We… We haven’t had the Minty meeting yet,” he says, sounding a lot less sure of himself than moments ago.
Cyrus looks at the doctor and motions in Jack’s direction. “He’s definitely lost it. Quin has been trying to get him to manage his health better for months, but he’s as stubborn as they come.”
Quin turns back to Jack and pulls his phone out of his pocket, finger taps and scrolls, searching for something. “I’ll fucking show you how well the meeting with Minty went, Jack,” he declares, handing his phone to his father. He’ll be watching the massive celebratory event at the marina, where Minty is receiving a ton of kudos, for his big win on beating out Montgomery Enterprises in the deal of the century.
I can’t quite see the clip, but I can hear the audio, and I love Minty’s final statement about Jack Montgomery being past his prime, and it being time for him to move on, because there’s a new top dog in town.
Fucking poetic.
The phone drops from Jack’s hand to the bed, and a nurse knocks at the door and enters. Little Ruthie Montgomery must be with the nannies, because I’m pretty sure this is Bo, dressed as a nurse. She looks different in faded scrubs, with her hair up in a tight, restrained bun, and a serious look on her face. She tells the doctor he’s needed down the hall a moment, and that the imaging results came through.
The doctor excuses himself and follows her out, leaving the Montgomerys alone together.
“Bet you’re all fucking happy to see this,” Jack mutters.
“Little bit,” Cy says with a grin. “Hope it’s miserable news. Can’t decide if I want it to kill you fast or slow, though. Either way, it serves you right. You’re a shitty human and an even worse father.”
“Always the fucking pussy, Cyrus. Bitching and moaning that Daddy doesn’t love you. This family will crumble with you and your bleeding heart at the helm. You spoiled every fucking one of these assholes, pandering to their whims and filling their heads with romanticized ideas about taking care of each other. Imagine what they could have become without you.”
“Narcissists and psychopaths or suicide statistics, I would think,” Thaddy says with a smile, as he grips Cy’s shoulder in a sturdy squeeze. “Thanks for saving us, brother.”
The proud smile on Cy’s face is the antithesis of the disgusted grimace on Jack’s.
“You all make me sick,” Jack spits at them.
“You do that all on your own,” Dusty says, gesturing to the hospital room around them. “I hope there’s no cure.”
A knock comes at the door, and the doctor returns, his face grim.
“I’m afraid it’s not good news, Jack,” he says, looking up from the screen of the tablet he’s holding. “The biopsy and imaging results have shown that you have what’s called an astrocytoma. Judging from its size and invasive positioning, it’s advanced, and your symptoms will worsen — quite rapidly, if you’re recent decline is anything to go by.” He hands over the tablet with his patient’s results to Jack and points out to him the magnitude to which his brain is fucked.
“Tell me about treatments,” Jack commands, staring at the brain images from someone else’s medical records with the name and numbers adjusted to suit him.
“We can try to buy you some time by shrinking it with radiation, but surgery isn’t an option, so any treatment the medical field can offer will be palliative. It’s fast-growing, and it’s terminal, Jack. I’m sorry to inform you so bluntly, but there’s no point in sugar-coating it, and I know you’re not the kind of man who’d appreciate the pandering. You’ll need to think about getting you affairs in order; decide who will hold power of attorney to handle your business and medical decisions when you become incapable of making them.
“The position of your tumor in the frontal cortex suggests you’ll begin to experience a lot more psychiatric symptoms before the end. Strange smells only you can detect, visual or auditory hallucinations, fixed false beliefs, and a lot of memory issues.”
That’s my cue. I stand and head down the hall, to where Jack’s special room is. I press my ear to the door, to hear the doctor wrapping up his speech.
“You’ll need full-time care before much longer, I suspect, and I regret the need to deliver such devastating news, but it’s best to be organized, so we can keep you comfortable until the end. I’ll leave you with your family a moment, to absorb the news, but I’ll be just down the hall and can answer any questions you all may have, when you’re ready.”
The door handle lowers, and the doctor pulls the door open, ignoring me completely as he walks out. I hold the door open, standing very still and smiling eerily at Jack.
He sits up, all by himself, when he sees me. He shakes his head, and I don’t look away from his alarmed gaze, as I slowly walk around his bed behind the others.
“No,” he whispers. “You’re dead.”
His gaze shoots to Quin, who’s acting as if I’m not here, as he stares blankly at his father.
“Sorry to disappoint,Daddy,” Quin says with a sigh. “I’m still very much alive. Sounds like you won’t have to put up with me much longer, though.” He checks his replica watch for the time, looking like he has more important places to be.
Everyone else is pretending I’m invisible too, their focus remains on Jack.
Daisy steps closer to his bed. “Are you okay, Daddy Jack?” She follows his gaze and squints in my general direction. “What are you looking at?”
