Chapter 39 Jess
Jess
The hospital corridor smells like a mixture of antiseptic and disinfectant and...
Ah, I don’t even want to think about it.
I’m sitting in a plastic chair that’s somehow both too hard and too soft at the same time. Ben’s asleep in my lap. Actually asleep. Like her brain just decided to shut down rather than process what happened.
Smart brain.
Wish mine would do the same.
Instead I’m stuck replaying the same ten seconds on loop. The bear charging. Marco stepping into the open. The shotgun blast that should’ve stopped it but didn’t. The claws. The blood.
So much blood.
My hands won’t stop shaking. I’m gripping Ben so tight I’m probably cutting off her circulation but I can’t make myself loosen up. If I let go she might disappear. Or I might. Or we’ll both wake up in those woods again with that thing tearing into—
“Jess.”
Ethan’s voice cuts through the spiral. He’s still beside me, wearing his paramedic uniform.
Oh yeah. That’s right.
He just finished a morning shift when we arrived.
Lucky timing.
Or unlucky.
Depending on how you look at it.
“Eyes on me,” he says quietly. His tired face is calm. The same expression I’ve seen him use with patients who are two seconds from losing it completely. “Breathe.”
I manage a full breath. Then another. A third.
The shaking doesn’t stop but it gets slightly less violent.
“I’m okay,” I tell him. My voice sounds wrong. Flat and distant. “I’m okay.”
He doesn’t call me on the obvious lie. Just nods in the chair beside me.
We sit there in silence once more. Ben’s breathing is slow and steady against my chest. Monitors beep from behind closed doors. Someone’s paging a doctor over the intercom. Normal hospital sounds.
Except nothing about this is normal.
My phone buzzes in my jacket pocket. I don’t want to check it but Ethan gives me a look that says I should.
It’s the ranger. The one who arrived first on scene. Who took the shotgun from my white knuckle grip and told me the bear was gone even though I already knew that because I’d watched it run into the brush after I sprayed it in the face with enough capsaicin to drop an elephant.
Found the bear. Put it down.
I stare at the words until they stop making sense. Then I put the phone away.
“They shot it,” I tell Ethan emotionlessly.
“Good.” His voice is hard. Protective brother mode fully activated.
I should feel something about that. Relief maybe. Justice. Closure. Whatever you’re supposed to feel when the thing that almost killed the man you love and might kill him yet gets killed in return.
Instead I feel nothing.
Just. Nothing.
The double doors at the end of the corridor swing open. A doctor appears. Young guy. Tired eyes. Surgical scrubs still on.
“Family of Marco Fiore?”
I stand up so fast Ben slides off my lap. Ethan catches her before she can fall and settles her back into the chair. Still asleep. Still breathing. Still okay.
“I’m his—” I stop. What am I exactly? His employee? His lover? The woman who let him get mauled because she moved the bear spray to her pack instead of keeping it clipped to her belt where she could actually reach it when she needed it?
“She’s family,” Ethan says firmly. “So am I. How is he?”
The doctor glances at Ben. Sleeping. Then back to us. “The surgery went well considering the extent of his injuries. We had to reconstruct significant portions of his face and shoulder. The scarring will be permanent and extensive but he’s alive. And stable.”
Alive.
And stable.
The word hits different than I expect. Not relief. More like a reprieve. A stay of execution.
“Can we see him?” My voice cracks on the last word.
“He’s in recovery now. Unconscious. Will be for a while. But yes. You can see him. Just keep it quiet. And brief.”
“How brief?” Ethan asks.
“As long as you need.” The doctor’s expression softens slightly. “Within reason.”
Ethan lifts the sleeping Ben into his arms and we follow the doctor through the double doors. Down another corridor. Past more rooms with more people having more emergencies. Everything blurs together except for the sound of my shoes on the linoleum.
Squeak.
Squeak.
Squeak.
I’m dreading seeing Marco.
Dreading seeing the damage to his beautiful face and body.
Terrified of it.
The doctor stops outside a room with dim lighting visible through the window. “He’s in here. Take your time.”
Then he’s gone.
Ethan shifts Ben in his arms. She’s still out cold. Her face pressed against his shoulder. Frederick clutched in one hand that refuses to let go even in sleep.
“You ready?” he asks me.
No. Absolutely not. I’m never going to be ready to see what’s behind that door.
But I nod anyway.
We go inside.
The room is small. Quiet. The monitors beep softly. There are two chairs in the corner. A tray table. A window with the blinds pulled shut.
And Marco.
Except it’s not Marco.
It’s a body in a hospital bed with bandages wrapped around its head. Thick white gauze covering everything from forehead to jaw. Only his mouth and eyes visible. Except his eyes are closed. Taped shut actually. And his mouth is slack.
He looks... dead.
When the man who made you count orgasms last night looks like a mummy today.
No. Stop. Don’t think about that. Don’t think about anything except putting one foot in front of the other and making it to that chair without collapsing. Or balling your eyes out.
Shellshocked, I sit. The vinyl squeaks under me. Ben stirs slightly in Ethan’s arms but doesn’t wake.
“Want me to take her out?” Ethan asks quietly.
“No.” My voice is too loud. I dial it back. “No. She should be here. When he wakes up. She should be here.”
Ethan nods. Settles into the other chair with Ben still cradled against him. She weighs nothing. Just a small warm bundle of kid who shouldn’t have to deal with any of this.
I reach for Marco’s hand. The one that’s not wrapped in gauze. His fingers are cool. Still. I thread mine through his and squeeze.
Nothing.
No response. No squeeze back. No sign he even knows I’m here.
The monitors keep beeping. Steady. Reliable. Proof that his heart is still working even if the rest of him isn’t.
“Hey,” I whisper. My throat is tight. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”
Lies. Such obvious lies.
But what else am I supposed to say? That I’m sorry? That I should have been faster with the bear spray? That I froze when it mattered most and now his face is gone and it’s all my fault?
Yeah. That’ll help.
I focus on breathing instead. One. Two. Three. The Brave Rules we taught Ben.
Ben shifts again. This time her eyes crack open. She blinks at Ethan. Then at the room. Then at Marco.
Her face doesn’t change. No tears. No screaming. Just. Blank.
Probably like my own.
“Hey sweet girl,” I say softly. “You okay?”
She nods. Slow. Mechanical.
Ethan sets her down. She stands beside my chair and stares at Marco with those big brown eyes that usually sparkle with questions about snails and pizza dough and whether clouds have feelings.
Now they’re just empty.
“Is Daddy... sleeping?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I pull her closer. Wrap my arm around her waist. She’s still gripping Frederick like a lifeline. “He’s sleeping. The doctors fixed him up and now he needs to rest.”
“When will he wake up?” she asks.
“I don’t know, baby. Soon. Hopefully soon.”
She accepts this with the same blank expression. Then reaches into her pocket and pulls out a sticker. A star. Gold and shiny.
“I love you Daddy,” she says.
She peels the sticker off the backing and presses it carefully to the blanket covering Marco’s chest. Right over his heart.
“There,” she says. “Now he knows I was here.”
My throat closes up completely. I can’t speak. Can’t breathe. Can only watch as she pulls out another sticker. A flower this time. Pink.
She places it next to the star. Then another. A rainbow. Then a snail that makes me want to cry and laugh at the same time because of course Frederick would make an appearance even here.
The stickers keep coming. She covers the blanket in them. Methodical. Focused. Like this is her job and she’s going to do it right.
Ethan and I exchange a look over her head. His eyes are wet.
Mine are, too.
When she runs out of stickers she just stands there. Staring at her work. At the colorful constellation she’s created on top of the white hospital blanket.
“Good job, piccola,” I whisper. Using Marco’s word for her. Our word, now.
She doesn’t respond. Just keeps staring.
The door opens. A nurse pokes her head in. “Everything okay in here?”
“Fine,” Ethan says. His paramedic voice. Calm and professional. “We’re fine.”
She nods and disappears.
We sit there for another hour. Maybe two. I don’t know anymore. The monitors beep. Marco breathes. Ben runs out of stickers and then just sits cross-legged on the floor next to him, holding Frederick.
I try to remember what Marco looked like the night before.
The thought hits me suddenly.
Without warning.
I can’t picture his face.
Not the way it was before the attack. Just the way it was after. Torn open. Blood everywhere.
No. Wait. That’s not right either. I can’t actually remember what it looked like after the attack. The image is there but it’s... blurred. Fuzzy around the edges like my brain decided to pixelate it for my own protection.
All I can remember clearly is putting myself between him and Ben. Making sure she couldn’t see. Pressing her face into my jacket and whispering don’t look don’t look don’t look.
And the bear spray. I remember that. The orange stream hitting the bear’s face. The sound it made. Half scream half roar.
But Marco’s face? Gone. Blank. A void where the memory should be.
When your brain decides to protect you by deleting the worst parts but also deletes the good parts too because it can’t tell the difference anymore.
My face goes hot. Panic rising. I can’t remember his face. Can’t picture the way he smiled when Ben made a joke. Or the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. Or the exact shade of olive in his skin.
All of it. Just. Gone.
Already.
“I need to—” I stand up too fast. The chair scrapes. “I need air. I’ll be right back.”
Ethan nods. Takes my spot next to Ben without a word.
I make it to the hallway before my knees give out. End up sitting on the floor with my back against the wall because standing seems like too much effort.
And then I’m just crying. Balling my eyes out.
A doctor walks past. Different one. Older. She stops when she sees me.
“You okay?”
“Fine.” The lie comes automatically. “Just needed a minute.”
She studies me for a beat as I wipe the tears away. Then sits down next to me. Right there on the floor in her white coat and everything.
“Family of the bear attack patient?”
I nod.
She smiles patiently. “Thought so. You have that look.”
I frown. “What look?”
The grief-stricken, tears streaming down my face look?
“The one people get when they’ve seen something their brain can’t process yet.” She leans back against the wall. Matches my position. “It’s normal.”
“Is it?” I tell her. “I can’t remember his face. Not at all. Neither his face before, nor after, the attack.”
“That’s normal, too,” she says. “The blank spots where the memory should be.”
My throat tightens. “How do you know?”
“I’ve spent twenty years in ED. Trust me, trauma does weird things to memory. Your brain protects you by hiding the worst parts. Sometimes it hides too much.”
“Will it come back?” I ask. Even though I’m not sure I want the answer.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Depends on the person. Some people get it all back eventually. Some people never do. Some people get bits and pieces.” She pauses. “Do you want it back?”
The question catches me off guard.
Do I?
Do I want to remember what Marco’s face looked like when the bear was done with him? Do I want that image burned into my brain forever?
“No,” I whisper. “I don’t think I do.”
She nods. “Then don’t force it. Let your brain do its job. It’ll give you back what you can handle when you can handle it.”
“What if I can’t handle any of it?” I press.
“Then you get help. Therapy. Medication if you need it. Whatever it takes to get through.” She stands. Brushes off her coat. “The kid, too. She’s going to need support processing this.”
I nod. “I know.”
“Good. Make sure she gets it.” She’s gone before I can respond.
I sit there for another minute. Then two. Then force myself to stand.
My legs shake but they hold. I head to the toilet and wash my face in the sink, then dry it after with a paper towel.
I make my way back to Marco’s room. Ethan’s still there with Ben. She’s sitting in the chair now. Frederick in her lap. Staring at nothing.
“Hey,” Ethan says quietly. “You good?”
“Getting there.” I move back to Marco’s bedside. Take his hand again. “Any change?”
“No. Still out.”
The monitors keep beeping. Proof of life. Proof that somehow, impossibly, he survived.
I look down at the stickers covering his chest. Stars and flowers and rainbows and one perfect little snail.
“He’s going to be okay,” I tell Ben. Even though I have no idea if that’s true. “Your daddy’s strong. He’s going to fight through this.”
She doesn’t respond. Just holds Frederick tighter.
My phone buzzes. Again, I don’t want to check it. Finally I sigh, and without letting go of Marco’s hand, I grab the phone.
It’s Sabrina. Heard what happened. Press is circling. Want me to handle it?
I type back with my free hand. Yes. Please. Keep them away from Ben and I.
Three dots. Then: On it. Take care of yourself.
I put the phone away.
Ethan’s watching me. “You need to eat something. When’s the last time you had food?”
“I don’t know.” Breakfast at the cabin feels like it happened in another lifetime. “I’m not hungry.”
“Doesn’t matter. You need fuel.” He stands. “I’ll grab something from the cafeteria. Watch Ben?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
He leaves.
It’s just me and Ben and Marco now. The three of us in this small room with the beeping monitors and the smell of antiseptic and the weight of everything that happened pressing down like gravity.
I squeeze Marco’s hand. Still nothing.
“Come on,” I whisper. “Wake up. Please wake up.”
The monitors keep beeping.
Ben keeps staring.
And I keep holding on.
Because what else can I do?