Chapter 59 On the Edge of Silence
JADE
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I DON’T REMEMBER the ride. Not who was driving or who was in the back seat.
I remember gripping my phone so hard my fingers went numb.
Not to text anyone.
Not to scroll.
Just to hold.
“Hart Wilde.” It’s the first thing Levi’s said since we loaded in the car.
He was in the car. I think.
A woman in scrubs looks up from her monitor.
He takes a visible breath. “My brother just came in the ambulance. We weren’t far behind. His name’s—” His voice falters.
For a second, it’s like he forgets what to say.
“His name is Hart Wilde,” I say.
The woman’s expression softens as she types quickly.
“We have him. They’re taking him back now.”
“Can we see him?” I ask.
“No. He’s being evaluated. We’ll update you when the doctor has something.” She gives him a polite smile.
A practiced smile. The kind you give when you’ve done this too many times.
Levi manages a thank you, low and tense.
The waiting room is a blur of overhead lights, low murmurs, vending machine hums, and that awful clean hospital smell soaks into my skin.
His parents and brothers sit nearby, faces drained and distant. Bronx, Wyatt, and Hope are here too, but I can’t stay with them.
I need space.
Not because I don’t care, but because if I stay too close, I might crumble.
So I step away.
I walk.
Down the hallway.
Back again.
Just outside the waiting room. Close enough to listen, but far enough not to feel the blame in every breath they take.
I did this.
I dig my fingers into my temples, pressing down on a headache that won’t ease.
I try not to think about what Hart looked like lying unconscious. So pale. So limp. And the medics shouting things I didn’t understand.
But the image won’t let go. It presses behind my eyes every time I close them. I see him fall again. That crack. The way his limbs bent.
I walk the length of the hallway again, arms folded tight across my chest. The floor tiles blur—beige, beige, beige—under my boots. I turn at the end, sharp and automatic, and start back the other way.
My footsteps echo.
My pulse does too.
Twenty minutes pass before a door swings open and a nurse comes out to update us.
“Family of Hart Wilde.”
I freeze mid-step.
My breath catches, sharp and sudden. My feet won’t move at first. It’s like my body needs a second to catch up with my heart, which is already racing ahead.
Then I’m moving.
His family all stands in a loose half-circle around the nurse.
I slow, unsure where to fit in—where I fit in.
They don’t notice me. They’re listening.
So I stay just at the edge, close enough to hear, but far enough to feel like I don’t belong.
“They’ve taken him into imaging.” The nurse’s eyes flick briefly to them before settling back on her notes. “CT scan to check for internal bleeding. He’s stable for now. Still unconscious.”
“He hasn’t woken up yet?” Hart’s mama stands in front of me, and I hear the crack in her voice.
My eyes close for a second. This is the second time she’s been in this position. The first time was because of my father. Now, because of me.
Because I didn’t believe Hart, and I drove him up that ladder.
“No,” the nurse says gently, hugging the tablet at her chest. “But that’s not uncommon. Sometimes, when there’s head trauma, the brain protects itself. It can take time.”
That explanation doesn’t make me feel any better. It just layers on the guilt.
I did this. I did this.
The nurse lingers for a second as if waiting for more questions before she says, “We’ll update you as soon as we know more.”
She steps back through the double doors, and the waiting room swallows the silence again.
Mrs. Wilde sits stiffly in the closest chair, her hands locked around a Styrofoam cup of coffee she hasn’t touched. Mr. Wilde is next to her. His elbows rest on his knees, and his eyes fixed on the floor.
Dean paces in a tight loop, his Stetson clenched in one hand, the brim bent from how hard he’s holding it. Levi sits stone-still between Hope and Harper, jaw clenched. The rest are scattered.
“Hey.” Hope touches my hand. “Sit down. Beside me.”
I collapse on the chair beside my sister, who takes my hand in hers, like I’ve done with her, reversing the roles we play.
“She said he is stable.” She hooks her fingers between mine like we did when we were young.
I’m so worried, I don’t have it in me to hate my vulnerability. To hate how much I need her hand in this very moment because stable means nothing when someone you love still hasn’t opened their eyes.
The doors behind us swing with that quiet swoosh.
And then I hear his voice.
“Is he okay?” My daddy’s voice scrapes like he’s holding everything in.
I freeze.
Then turn.
And there he is, standing just inside the waiting room, Stetson clenched in his hand, hair a mess, worry etched into every line of his face. My mama is at his side, clutching his arm.
It all slams back to me—Hart’s confession, me defending my daddy, my hero, and his dirty little secret.
I can’t find the rational woman I pride myself on being. The one who would tell me this isn’t the time nor the place. The one who locks my emotions away so I can make wise decisions. She’s nowhere to be seen.
I rise to my feet.
“You need to leave.” It comes out flat, but sharp.
“Jade?” Hope reaches for me, but I step away from her.
My daddy blinks. “I just want to know if he’s—”
“I said leave.”
Mr. Wilde stands up slowly, and his eyes lock on my father’s. One year ago, they’d already be at each other’s throats. They’d ultimately get kicked out. It wouldn’t be a new game. It was the same fucking game on repeat.
Dean and Levi are already on their feet. Their shoulders squared like they don’t know what this is yet, but sensing it might go bad.
My daddy looks from him to me. “Sweetheart—”
“Don’t call me that.” My words are cold. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t lie to me all these years—to everyone.”
“It’s complicated—”
“You shoved Hart’s father off a goddamn loft!” The words come out louder than I mean them to.
My voice cracks on the last word, breaking somewhere between anger and heartbreak.
I hear the rustle of everyone.
The soft gasps.
“That’s right. At the fair, after the big game that Hart won, Mr. Wilde was rushed to the hospital after falling off the loft. Where Mr. Wilde almost died. Daddy did that. On purpose.”
I want to add that he ruined Hart’s career. Hart hurt his knee in that game because he was so distracted. But that’s not mine to share.
“Daddy?” Hope is beside me. “Is that true?”
Our daddy’s eyes flicker from Hope to Mr. Wilde and back again.
He lets his head fall with a soft nod.
Silence reigns so quickly and so hard that it’s almost suffocating.
“I don’t know what to do here,” Dean says. “I’ve never hit an old man before.”
“There will be no hitting.” His father steps forward. “We were different men back then.”
My gaze swings to him. “You’re standing up for him? He nearly killed you.”
“And what a guilt that would’ve been to carry.” Mr. Wilde’s voice holds no anger, just the kind of sorrow that makes everyone else fall still.
Except me.
“That doesn’t excuse him.”
He runs a hand over his mouth, then lets it fall, heavy at his side. “I forgave him.”
The room remains silent. Even the machines in the hallway seem quieter for a second.
I look at him, my mouth slightly open. “You what?”
“I forgave your father.” There’s pain in his eyes, but also peace. “We’ve made a lot of mistakes over the years, but the biggest one was our lack of forgiveness.”
“You know Hart witnessed it. You know what this did to him. What his actions did to him.” I point at my daddy.
Mr. Wilde nods. “I do.” His voice is even. “But I also know what losing a temper can do. And I know he carried that guilt longer than I ever did.”
The men breathe in the exact moment, slow and ragged, like they’re staring at the same ghost. And the stillness says more than words could.
“Don’t blame him for Hart. We share that blame. We share all the blame. And what has blame gotten us?” He looks at each of us for a brief moment. “What our families need now is forgiveness.”
I shake my head. “I can’t.” My voice chokes.
None of it matters right now.
Not the past. Not forgiveness. Not the truth.
Not until we know Hart is going to make it. Because if he doesn’t, I’ll never forgive myself.
“Hart Wilde’s family?” A doctor stands behind us, white coat crisp, tablet tucked against his chest, expression unreadable.
We all turn.
“That’s us.” Mrs. Wilde steps closer, and the rest of his family follows.
The doctor steps forward, offering a calm, reassuring smile.
“Good evening, I’m Dr. Lee. I’m overseeing your son’s care right now.” He pauses before continuing. “He’s stable. He has a linear skull fracture and signs of a significant concussion.”
It’s like we’re standing at the edge of a cliff just waiting for someone to push us over.
“There’s no evidence of bleeding in the brain at this point, which is good. We’ll be admitting him for neuro monitoring for the next few days, just to be safe.”
A sense of something like relief prickles through me. He’s okay.
A quiet exhale escapes me. I allow the tiny flicker of hope at the possibility of him being okay.
“Is he still unconscious?” Mrs. Wilde asks.
“Yes. It’s not uncommon,” Doctor Lee continues. “He may wake soon, or it could take a while. We’re keeping a close eye on him.”
She steps forward. “Can we see him?”
He nods. “One at a time. While he’s still unconscious, he may hear you. It’s okay to talk to him.”
I step back.
“Jade?” Hope reaches for my hand.
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“You can.” Levi takes my other hand. “He would want you there.”
“I drove him up that ladder.”
Dean shakes his head. “We all did, and we’d do it again. We play hard, Jade. You know that.”
“But I called him a liar.”
Levi smirks. “You’ve called him worse.”
I almost laugh.
A smile even lifts the edges of my mouth.
But then the smile fades, and the weight of it all hits me like a punch to the chest.
It’s the truth. I’ve called him worse.
But this time, this time, for the first time ever, he bared his soul to me—his deepest secret. And I used it against him to protect myself.
My doubt, my disbelief, may have shattered everything between us.