I smile. “Go. Before I jump in with you.”
Mag showers first, then heads out of the room. I shower and get dressed in yesterday’s clothes, which are still pretty clean because I spent so much time naked.
I bite my lip as I exit the bedroom. When I get to the living room, Jordan sits on the couch fully dressed, sneakers on, ready to go.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I hope I didn’t make us late.”
Before Jordan can answer, Mag steps up beside me and hands me a warm, disposable cup. “You’re fine. Here’s a pick-me-up. Sorry, I don’t have cinnamon.”
“No problem,” I say, slurping the coffee. I swallow the acrid brew and my face puckers. “No sugar either, huh?”
He fails to suppress a laugh.
Jordan jumps up. “Okay, Mag makes bad coffee, breaking news. Can we go now?”
“Sure,” I say, sizing him up.
His moods can be volatile and I wonder what today will bring. He seemed a bit lighter yesterday, but I wonder if it was looking forward to a shiny new year.
Jordan walks out of the door ahead of us.
“I told you. He’s going to kill me,” Mag whispers in my ear.
“You’re very patient with him,” I say encouragingly. “You guys will be fine. It’s just going to take time. Big changes.”
I’m not wrong about the last part. All three people in this penthouse have had their worlds flipped upside down over the past week.
How long can this go on?
How long until some new disaster sends us plummeting into the abyss?
At the hospital, a doctor comes out of Marissa’s room just as we get to the entrance.
He stops and looks at Mag.
“You must be Mr. Heron.” He holds his hand out.
Mag shakes it with a fierce glow in his eyes. “Yes, and you’re Doctor Bahkta? From Johns Hopkins?”
“Yes.” His gaze drops from Mag to Jordan before returning to Mag. “Do you want to talk for a minute, alone?”
Magnus nods. “Of course.”
“No,” Jordan says, tensing.
We all look at him for a beat.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I’m her son. Not him.” He looks at the doctor. “You’re not telling him anything you can’t tell me. He shouldn’t be making decisions for my mom.”
“Jordan—” Mag starts.
“Mag?” I say quietly, laying a hand on his shoulder.
He looks at me, his harsh eyes softening.
“He’s fourteen,” I say, remembering other conversations.
“Exactly. Too young,” he growls.
“He deserves to know,” I hiss back.
Magnus goes quiet, thoughts leaping back and forth in his eyes.
“I’m sure you’re a wonderful son,” Dr. Bhakta says. “However, as a minor, I’m not allowed to provide you with information unless I have—”
“It’s okay,” Mag cuts in. “He’s old enough to hear the truth. Tell us all.”
“You’re sure?” The doctor raises his bushy eyebrows.
Mag nods.
“Well, the good news is she has a lot of healthy brain activity. Odds of survival are overwhelmingly in her favor...” His voice trails off.
“But?” Magnus snaps.
“Sir, with a coma like this, there’s no way to pinpoint when she’ll wake up. Fortunately, I don’t think it’s a question of if. I just don’t believe it’s going to be soon. We’re giving her anti-inflammatories to bring down the swelling. We could be looking at a week or two—” Dr. Bhakta stops.
Jordan lets out an audible sigh.
“You okay, big guy?” I tussle his hair with my hand.
He smiles. “Yeah, weeks aren’t so bad.”
“I wasn’t done,” Dr. Bhakta says reluctantly. “It could be weeks, or months.” His eyes move away from Jordan and he looks at Mag. “Or years, I’m afraid.”
God. I think I can hear poor Jordan’s heart smashing in his chest like fallen glass.
We sit at the hospital for hours. Jordan never says anything to his unresponsive mom, but he never wants to leave the room either.
He won’t go to the cafeteria to eat, and when I offer to bring food up for him, he refuses.
If his bleeding weren’t totally invisible, I’m sure it would look like a crime scene.
“Jordan, we’re going to have to go soon,” I say, lowering my voice.
He nods like his head weighs a ton.
“If we went out for dinner, what’s a place you’d like?” Magnus asks, stepping up next to us.
“Hell if I know.” Jordan shrugs and sighs.
“I know you like pizza.” I smile at Mag. “I could go for a nice warm pizza tonight.”
“Where at?” Mag asks. “I know a place downtown.”
“Oh, no.” I shake my head. “I’m picking the place. We’re not doing fancy pizza.”
He snorts. “How can pizza be fancy?”
“Even his pizza’s fancy?” Jordan asks. “Jesus.”
Mag lifts an eyebrow. “Thanks, Brina.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I just meant you probably do something crazy like put imported pineapples on it.”
“Gross!” Jordan mutters.
Mag’s eyes dart around helplessly as he says, “Please, I’m a civilized man. I do not put fruit on my pizza.”
I fight back a smile.
“How ’bout Pizza Shack? The reviews are great and it’s tasty without being weird and experimental, but it’s a little bit of a drive.”
“Armstrong doesn’t mind,” Mag tells us.
The Pizza Shack is closer to my parents’ house than downtown, and the drive takes over half an hour. Mag makes a few awkward attempts to talk to Jordan on the way, but he doesn’t get more than one-word grunts back.
When he gives up at last, he places his hand over mine in the dark car.
I enjoy his touch, and my heart aches for him as hard as my body does.
He’s trying so hard. Jordan just isn’t giving in.
Stubbornness is definitely a Heron family trademark.
At Pizza Shack, we plop down in a teal-green booth with a big lamp hanging over our heads. The server comes for our drink orders and scurries off to grab them.
“Just like home! My parents used to bring me here once a week sometimes,” I say, inhaling the delicious scent of fresh baked pizza, garlic, and everything good in life. “They’ve still got the arcade, I see. Mom and I would team up on Dad and fight over tickets. I always got to choose what the tickets bought.” I laugh.
“I had play dates at the golf club so my dad could close deals with my friends’ parents,” Mag says, taking a long, irritated sip off his water.
I smile. It’s easy to see how he comes across as arrogant, ever the stuck-up suit, but that’s not who he is.
He’s kind and generous with Jordan and takes care of his employees.
When push comes to shove, he lets his inner asshole guard down, and a good man steps out.
“Howdy, folks, all set to order?” The server brings drinks to our booth and sets them down on the table.
Jordan looks at Mag, blinking like he’s unsure.