Chapter Four – Jay
You’re thinking that we should spare Alison pain by not telling her she is our mate, his bear said.
I am, Jay admitted.
Even though she is the one truth in our life right now, his bear said.
What if she is the one good thing in our life and we ruin it? Jay replied.
How? his bear asked.
Jay sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. What if she is tainted by who we are, what we are?
And what if she is not? His bear huffed loudly. Fate brought us together for a reason.
Well, until we know more about that reason, she is better off without us, Jay told his bear bluntly.
Then you had better get remembering, his bear said adamantly. Since she belongs in our life.
If only it was that easy.
Jay closed his eyes, but the dull ache in his head persisted. Why couldn’t he remember?
Not just his past, but what he was doing in the mountains when he got injured.
Had he slipped and fallen?
His forehead creased as he strained to recall even the smallest detail, but all he got was a maddening blur and a spike of pain that made him wince.
Wasn’t there something the doctor could give him?
For the headache or the memory loss? his bear asked.
Good question. He gnawed on the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. Perhaps that was the trouble. Maybe he didn’t want to remember. Perhaps his brain had blotted out the memories because they hurt too much.
You know you might be being over dramatic, his bear warned him.
You saw the look in our mother’s eyes, Jay replied. She is afraid of how we might react if we do remember.
Then maybe we should find someone who will tell us straight what happened, his bear said.
You think we should get out of here? Jay asked, flexing his limbs, testing for pain or resistance. His left leg was wrapped in a bandage, and any movement caused a deep throbbing pain, but nowhere as bad as his head. Leaving the hospital would be a risk. Not least of all because he had no idea what waited for him outside the sanctuary of this room.
We don’t necessarily have to leave, his bear said.
Okay, enough of the riddles, Jay replied. What’s your plan?
We have a big family from what our mother said. All we need is for one of them to come visit and spill the tea. His bear grunted, very pleased with himself.
There might be another way, Jay replied and pushed himself up to a sitting position, but a wave of nausea sent him crashing back against the pillows. He took a few deep breaths and waited for it to pass.
His bear was right, at least in part. They needed answers, and soon. But trusting anyone, even family, felt like venturing into a minefield blindfolded.
Slow down, his bear cautioned. We’re no good to her, or to ourselves if we rush this.
I know, Jay muttered as he tried again. This time he was ready for the wave of dizziness and rode it out with his eyes shut tight. When it passed, he fumbled for the call button on the side of his bed and pressed it. A soft chime sounded in the hallway. We need help.
Who are you going to ask? his bear asked.
Whoever comes through that door, Jay replied.
The door to his room slid open, and a petite nurse peeked in. “Mr. Thornberg, how are we doing?” she asked, unaware of his disappointment.
He’d half-hoped Alison would come. But maybe it was better to leave her out of this.
“Please, call me Jay,” he said, masking his impatience. “My head feels like it’s about to burst open. I wondered if there was anything you could give me for the pain.”
The nurse stepped into the room and studied a tablet. “We can certainly manage that,” she said, tapping a few notes into the screen. “But the stronger stuff can make you groggier. We don’t want it affecting your recovery.”
“Of course,” Jay said smoothly, even though all he wanted was for the pain to stop. “I just need to take the edge off.”
She gave him a sympathetic smile. “I’ll be right back.” With that, she slipped out of the room, leaving Jay alone with his thoughts once more.
You still haven’t told me who you plan to ask about our past, his bear prodded.
No one, Jay replied.
Now who’s being cryptic? his bear grumbled.
“Here we are, Jay.” The nurse reappeared with a glass of water and a small cup holding two pills. “These should help,” she said, handing them to him.
He took them gratefully, swallowing them in one gulp. The cool water was a brief but welcome relief from the dryness in his mouth. “Thank you,” he murmured, sinking back into the pillows.
The nurse lingered for a moment. “Is there anything else? We’re here to help, you know.”
Jay hesitated. This was his chance. “Actually,” he started, then paused.
Choose your words carefully, his bear reminded him.
“I’d like to get up and stretch my legs,” Jay finally said. “Maybe take a shower.”
“Are you sure you’re up for that?” the nurse asked as she assessed him with an expert eye. “You’ve been out of it for a few days.”
Jay nodded slowly. “I think it’ll help clear my head. And I promise to take it easy.”
She sighed, then smiled. “I’ll go check with the doctor. Until I come back, just rest and let the pills work their magic.”
With that, she left Jay to his thoughts once more.
A shower? That’s your plan? his bear asked, unimpressed.
A shower gets me out of this bed and out of this room, Jay replied.
And once you’re out of the room? his bear pressed.
Jay’s grip tightened on the blanket. I might not have any memories of who we are and how we got here, but I still know how to function. I want to get to a computer and do some research.
Research? his bear echoed. Then, realization dawned. You’re going to research us .
I am.
His bear fell silent, contemplating Jay’s logic for a moment. And that is how you intend to find the truth?
Yes, Jay replied. The facts would be laid bare in black and white.
Are you sure that’s a good idea? His bear did not like the idea. The cold hard facts might not be what we need right now.
Yes, it’s time to rip the Band-Aid off, Jay replied.
If we get this wrong, we might need more than a Band-Aid, his bear grumbled.
The door slid open again, and Jay tensed, hoping beyond hope that this time it would be Alison. Not that he wanted to drag her into the quagmire of his life, but there was such comfort in her presence. She gave him a sense of connection that he sorely needed.
Instead, the petite nurse reappeared, alone. “The doctor says it’s fine for you to take a quick shower,” she said, “but you’ll need to use the wheelchair until you’re steadier on your feet.” She gestured to a collapsible wheelchair parked by the door. “Do you want some help getting there?”
“I can manage,” Jay said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The sudden movement made his head swim, but he gritted his teeth and waited for it to pass. He couldn’t afford to look weak, not even to a well-meaning nurse.
“If you say so,” she replied, though her tone suggested she expected him to call her back within seconds. “Just take it slow.”
Jay gingerly stood up, grabbing the bed rail for support. His legs wobbled like a newborn calf’s, unsteady after days of disuse. He took a tentative step toward the wheelchair, then another, each one a minor victory over his body’s betrayal.
The pills had dulled the sharpest edges of his headache, but a fog of fatigue still clung to him, making every movement feel like it was done underwater. He collapsed into the wheelchair with a thud, the sudden release of tension sending a shiver through his body.
The shower room was just down the hall, a short distance that felt like a marathon to Jay in his weakened state. He wheeled himself slowly, and deliberately, taking the time to gain an awareness of his surroundings.
But then he sensed her. It was as if his shifter senses had suddenly been rebooted. He hadn’t realized how dimmed they were until that spark of recognition flared in his mind.
He wanted to go to her… His shower, his mission to unearth the truth…his truth…almost swept away by the undeniable pull toward her.
But he needed to do this.
For himself. For her.
And so he kept going, forcing himself to stay on course.
Not to the shower.
But to find answers.
There.
A small lounge area for staff. A coffee machine hummed in the corner, and a refrigerator stood beside it, but Jay’s attention zeroed in on the desktop computer against the wall.
He paused just outside the room, taking a deep breath.
This was risky. If someone caught him, they might send him straight back to bed.
But he needed answers.
And he needed them now.
He wheeled himself into the room and parked near the computer. His hands trembled as he reached for the mouse, partly from physical exhaustion and partly from the fear of what he might find. The screen flickered to life with a soft glow, and he thanked whatever deities looked over hapless shifters like him that it didn’t require a password to access.
He navigated slowly, every click a herculean effort. His head thumped as he scanned the headlines, searching for anything that might explain how he had ended up here.
Nothing.
At least, nothing about him.
But there was plenty about the other members of the Thornberg family.
A photo of his family flashed across the screen. His mother, his father, and his brothers standing together at some town event. He studied their faces, looking for something…anything that might pull at his memories.
Instead, all he felt was emptiness.
Until— “Jay.”
Jay jumped at the sound of his name, and he swung around, too fast. A sharp pain sliced through his skull, and he pressed a hand to his temple as his brain felt like it was about to explode.
A man stood in the doorway.
A man with his eyes. His nose.
“Dad?”
The older man’s lips tipped into a smile, relief flickering across his face, and Jay felt an unexpected pang of guilt.
He thinks you remember him, his bear said forlornly.
“You’re…my dad?” Jay asked.
The smile faded, disappointment clouding his father’s features for just a moment before he recovered. “I am,” his father replied, stepping closer. “What are you doing in here? You need to rest.”
“I wanted some answers,” he admitted. “I needed to understand what’s going on.”
His father’s gaze shifted to the computer screen, his expression unreadable. “And did you find what you were looking for?”
Jay slumped back in the wheelchair, the last of his energy draining away. “No. Nothing.”
“Not surprising,” his father murmured.
Jay lifted his head. “But you know?”
The older man let out a slow breath and raked a hand through his hair. “I know…that you blamed yourself for something that wasn’t your fault.” His father’s voice was steady, but there was a weight behind it. An old sadness once buried deep but now had come to the surface. “I know that you told us you couldn’t stay. As for what happened after you left…” He shook his head. “We don’t know, Jay. You didn’t tell us.”
Jay’s stomach twisted. “I didn’t contact you? At all?”
His father’s lips pressed into a tight line. “Not for the last couple of years.”
Jay felt the air leave his lungs.
Two years.
He had been gone for two years without a single word to his family.
Which meant only one thing.
Whatever had happened.
Whatever he blamed himself for…
Must have been bad.
Very bad.