32. Jayce
THIRTY-TWO
Jayce
T he antiseptic sting hits my nose before I’m fully awake. My neck cracks when I lift my head off the arm of the plastic chair, the kind of sound that makes morticians nostalgic. Rosie’s still out cold on the bed, black hair fanned across the pillow like she’s posing for some Gothic painting. Monitor lights pulse green over the bandages peeking under her hospital gown—three inches of cotton gauze where Peter’s bullet decided to redecorate her waist.
I’m halfway through rubbing feeling back into my dead arm when the door clicks open. Riley’s standing there in last night’s hoodie, eyes darting between me and the empty space where a second visitor could be.
“Coffee is in the staff lounge,” I say before he can ask. “They ran out of those little creamers you like.”
He doesn’t move. Just shuts the door with his elbow, hands shoved deep into his pockets like he’s trying to hide the anger burning in his fists. “How long?”
The question lands like a weight in the room. The heart monitor skips. Not hers—the beeping’s erratic—but I know it’s mine, probably. I can feel it in my chest, this rapid thumping that refuses to slow down. The air feels heavier now, the sterile smell of the hospital room pressing against my skin.
“For what? The Dilaudid drip? They switched her to—”
“How long have you been fucking my sister?”
His voice is sharp, like a blade he’s using to cut through everything that’s been left unsaid. It cuts deeper than anything I expected, though maybe I should have.
I swallow hard, my throat tight. The words hang in the air, suffocating the space between us. “Longer than I should have.”
Rosie shifts slightly in her sleep, the sheets rustling gently. I glance at her for a moment, her fragile form still in the bed, breathing in soft, steady rhythms, but everything about her feels distant. Out of reach. Even though she’s right there.
The vinyl chair creaks when Riley drops into it beside me. It’s heavy, his presence, like he’s taking up all the air in the room. He rubs his hands over his face, and I can hear the exhaustion in his sigh. “Christ, Jay.”
“You asked,” I reply, keeping my voice steady, though I can feel it cracking underneath.
I can’t look at him. Not now. Not when the truth is hanging in the air like smoke, filling every corner. We don’t really fight, not like this. We’ve fought before—over stupid stuff, over rivalries, over things that never mattered in the grand scheme of things—but never like this. Never with so much on the line. I don’t know how to explain it, how to tell him everything that’s been building up between me and Rosie, how much I never meant for it to go this far.
The monitors beep steadily, counting the seconds, and all I can focus on is the rise and fall of Rosie’s chest. It’s the only thing that matters now. Riley’s picking at a loose thread on his hoodie, his fingers twitching nervously, but his eyes are locked on Rosie. I can tell he’s trying not to focus on me, trying not to let his emotions spill over.
“You lied to me.” His voice is quiet, barely a whisper, but it cuts through the stillness of the room. It’s calm— too calm—like he’s holding something back, a storm he’s afraid to let out.
I turn my head then, finally meeting his gaze. He’s not angry, not the way I thought he’d be. He doesn’t look like he’s about to explode. He just looks…hollow. Like the weight of it all is sinking in, but he’s too tired to push it back out. I feel a knot in my stomach, but I force myself to keep breathing.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I was…I was so afraid. We always fought over anyone going near Rosie, but she was more to me, you know?” I take a shaky breath. “And I fell for her. I tried, but I just couldn’t…I just couldn’t turn my feelings for her off. It’s impossible. I love her…”
The words tumble out, but the air feels heavier now, like there’s too much to say and not enough time to say it. I didn’t want it to come to this, didn’t want to hurt Riley like this. But I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t stop the way I felt.
Riley leans back in the chair, his gaze still on the floor. His shoulders slump, and I can’t read his face, but it’s like he’s carrying something too heavy to bear. The quiet stretches out between us, each second like an eternity.
But he’s so calm. I thought he’d be raging at me.
“Liora talked you off the ledge?” I ask, trying to break the tension.
My voice feels small, like I’m reaching for something to hold onto.
Riley’s lips twitch, the corners of his mouth curling into a sad, almost bitter smile. “Broke the good whiskey glasses.” He tugs at the collar of his hoodie, as if the fabric can ease whatever is aching inside of him. “Kept yelling about hockey players having commitment issues, and she yelled back that I’m ignorant.”
I can’t help the small chuckle that escapes me. It’s hollow, but it’s there. Liora . She’s always been good at cutting through the noise, even when Riley’s running in circles.
My best friend falls quiet again, and the silence stretches on for what feels like hours. The heart monitor beeps steadily, counting down each second in this room that’s too small for all the emotions rattling around inside it.
Three monitor cycles. Four. Five.
Finally, Riley speaks again, his voice softer this time, like he’s finally ready to say what he’s been holding in. “I get it,” he says quietly. “I…I don’t like it, but I get it. I just…” His voice cracks, just for a second, and he shakes his head, like he’s trying to push everything down. But he can’t. “I just wish you’d told me, Jay. I wish you hadn’t lied. You’re my brother. You could’ve trusted me.”
I don’t have an answer for him. I don’t know how to explain why I did it, why I kept it from him. All I can do is sit here, feeling the weight of his disappointment settle into my chest. The truth was never supposed to hurt this much.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” I say, my voice rougher than I expected. “I really didn’t. Yes, you’re my brother, man. But I don’t know how to explain it…what happened with Rosie. I just—” I take a deep breath, trying to find the right words. I don’t even know if there are the right words. “I’ve been addicted to alcohol. You know that. I’ve told you. And I know I’ve fucked up, I know I’ve let you down. But Rosie…she pulled me out of that. She was the only one able to pull me out because it has always been her I loved.”
I feel the weight of the words as they leave my mouth, and I don’t know if it’s going to make anything better, but it’s the truth. It’s what I’ve never really said out loud, never really admitted to anyone, not even myself. But now, I don’t have a choice.
“I was drowning, Riley,” I continue, my voice quieter now. “I was spiraling, and I couldn’t stop. But then Rosie—she showed me I could get better. And…and that’s when I realized how much I needed her, how much I loved her. She understood me in a way no one else ever did, especially when I was at the lowest point of my life. And I just…I don’t know how to explain it. She saved me in so many ways.”
I let the words settle in the space between us. Riley doesn’t look at me, not yet, but I can tell he’s listening. The tension in his shoulders has eased, just a little, though the pain in his eyes is still there.
“God, Jay,” Riley mutters, his voice strained. He looks up at me then, his gaze piercing. “You know what happens when you hurt her, right?”
“I know,” I say. “I know exactly what happens.” I pause, and the weight of it all presses down on me, more than I thought I could bear. “But, Riley…you don’t need to worry about that. I’ll never hurt her. Not like that. Not ever.”
He doesn’t say anything right away.
He’s studying me, like he’s searching for something behind my words, trying to figure out if I’m telling the truth or if I’m just trying to smooth it all over. I don’t blame him. Hell, I would be doing the same thing if I were him.
But I mean it. I will protect Rosie. I’ve done so much shit in my life that I regret, but I’ll never, ever hurt her. She’s the reason I’m still standing.
Riley leans back in the chair, rubbing his forehead, looking like he’s trying to make sense of everything. His hands shake slightly, but he hides it well, masking it with the flick of his wrist.
“You’re sure about this?” he asks, his voice low, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m the same guy he’s known his whole life.
“I’m sure,” I reply, the words coming out with the kind of conviction I didn’t know I had left in me. “I love her, Riley. I love her in a way that I can’t explain. And I won’t mess it up. I’ll protect her. She deserves that.”
I watch as Riley takes a deep breath, the words coming out slowly, like they’re weighing on him. “You better, Jay,” he mutters, his voice tight. “Because if you don’t, I’ll bury you under a Zamboni myself.”
The words land like a hammer, sharp and clear, and I know he means them. Hell, I know what he’s capable of. I’ve seen it. But there’s something else there too. Something beneath the anger. There’s a level of understanding. A quiet, unspoken agreement that if Rosie’s hurt, nothing else matters.
I let out a short, bitter laugh. “Yeah, I’ll help you with that. I’ll help you do it.”
Riley nods, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. The flicker of something like respect flashes in his eyes.
Just then the door swings wide without knocking and Henry Huntington sweeps in. He freezes mid-stride, taking in Riley’s arm slung over my shoulder from our earlier bro hug.
“Oh,” Henry booms, cuff links glinting as he crosses the room. “So you finally know.”
Riley stiffens. “About Jay and Rosie?”
“About the stick up your ass, son.” Henry prods Rosie’s ankle under the blanket. “Took you long enough.”
“You knew too? Did everyone know except me?” Riley says, and that pang of guilt hits me all over again.
“No, some just figured it out…”
“Great, Liora was right about that too…” Riley sighs.
Henry looks at Rosie and all I can see is hurt in his eyes.
“She’s on morphine,” I tell him.
He flips the chart at the foot of the bed. “Surgeon says the bullet nicked her external oblique. It’s not that bad, thank God. But it hurts and she needs rest…she could still make the Juilliard finals, though. If she wants.”
“Could?” Riley grabs the chart.
Henry shrugs. “Depends if my girl takes orders better than her brother.”
“And Peter?” Riley asks.
“Peter is locked up, we found out some pretty disturbing things about him,” he adds abruptly. “Smuggling ring, illegal arms—the works. Bastard won’t see daylight till his hairline retreats to Albany.”
The cardiac monitor flatlines.
“Can I have a moment with my father, please?”