7. Jack
Jack
It’s been a whole month since I got back from Vancouver, and my body has taken every bit of that time to heal.
My ribs still pull when I suck in a deep breath, but the bruising has finally faded to a dull yellow.
The deeper ones; the ones along my ribs, are still a stubborn yellow-purple, but most of them have settled into that yellow sickly, fading colour that means they’re almost gone.
Silas has been overbearing as ever. He won’t let me lift anything heavier than a coffee mug. A fucking mug.
I swear he’d bubble-wrap me if he thought he could get away with it.
And right now, I’m pissed.
I have a doctor’s appointment– one he insisted on driving me to, so here we are; me arguing that he didn’t need to come, and him ignoring every word out of my mouth.
So, I sit there, sulking in the passenger seat, shooting angry glances at him while he just drives, calm as anything, his sexy-as-hell hands on the wheel like it’s his god-given right to escort me everywhere.
Possessive fucker.
I jump out of the car, and look down at Silas. “You stay here.”
His smug smile stretches across his perfect lips. “Not a chance, Jack.”
“Argh.” I growl, slamming the door and stalking away from him. Seconds later, I hear his door shut and those heavy boots of his following me.
Ignoring him completely, I check in at reception, then march to the waiting area and drop myself into the middle seat between two strangers.
I’m sulking, and I don’t give a shit. The prick can stand.
I pull out my phone the second I sit, pretending to scroll, pretending I’m not furious, and that I don’t feel him watching me.
Two boots appear in front of me, and I hear, “Move.”
I look up, about to tell him to fuck off, but he isn’t looking at me; he’s staring at the young man sitting beside me. I glance at the guy, then back at Silas. “What the fuck, Silas.”
I turn to the kid. “You’re fine. Stay where you are.”
Silas ignores me completely, and he leans down into the young mans space, “I said move.” His voice a low growl.
The young man jumps like he’s been tasered, scrambling out of the seat and relocating to the opposite side of the waiting room without a single complaint.
Silas drops his huge frame into the newly vacated seat, crosses his ankles, and leans his head back against the wall like he owns the place.
“Better,” he says, a smug smile on his face.
I glare at him so hard my ribs twinge. He doesn’t even blink when I say, “You didn’t have to be a dick, Silas. That was unnecessary.”
He ignores me, his eyes closed as I sit there, my face red and hot with embarrassment. I glance quickly at the young man, who sits there looking at Silas, his eyes wide with fear. I give him a small smile, and mouth “Sorry,” to which he gives me a small smile and goes back to his phone.
A few moments later, I’m being called into the doctor’s office, and my groan is loud enough for everyone to hear when Silas stands to follow me.
Walking in, the doctor does a double take at Silas. I ignore them both, climbing onto the exam bed, and Silas plants himself beside me like a brick wall.
He stands there, an absolute beast of a man: white button-down stretched across his chest, black jeans, finger tattoos stark against the crisp fabric, the edge of his neck tattoos peeking from the collar and ending just beneath his chin.
His hair is pulled into a bun today, his ever present backward cap on his head, and for a moment I just look at him.
Look at the man who could kill with his bare hands, but who also treats me with a tenderness that makes my chest ache
And I could strangle the fuckers life out of him this very minute, I’m that angry.
The doctor clears his throat, eyes flicking between us like he’s trying to figure out whether he should be concerned.
Silas doesn’t help, he just stands there, arms folded, jaw tight, radiating that quiet, lethal protectiveness that makes people move out of his way without him saying a word. The room feels smaller with him in it, like his presence alone shifting the air.
I sit there, pretending I’m not embarrassed, acting as if I’m not relieved he’s here, that I’m not still pissed at him for bulldozing his way into the appointment.
The doctor clears his throat, his eyes snapping back to me. “Well, Jack, everything looks good. The fractures and the other injuries have healed nicely, so if you think you’re up to it, I’m happy for you to head back to work.”
I exhale, relieved. Finally. After a month of being benched, hovered over, and nagged at, I’m ready to get back to the café.
“No.”
Aaand he ruins it. Of course he does.
I sigh, hanging my head.
The doctor blinks, confused, and looks at Silas. “No?”
I turn to him. Silas shifts his weight, crossing his arms tighter across his chest.
“He’s not ready.”
“Silas…” I growl.
He doesn’t even look at me, just keeps talking like I’m not sitting right in front of him.
“He still can’t lift properly. His breathing is better, but not stable enough for a full shift. And he’s not going back to the café until I’m satisfied he’s healed.”
I sit up straighter. “I am healed.”
He finally turns his head, giving me that look; the one that says he’s already decided and I’m wasting my breath. The one that shuts down every argument before I even make it.
It’s also the one that makes me want to fucking throw something sharp at him.
“You’re healed enough to walk around without wincing,” he says. “Not healed enough to carry crates of milk or bend over the dishwasher.”
The doctor awkwardly steps away from us, clearly realising this is no longer his conversation.
I throw my hands up, “I’m not made of glass.”
I slide off the table, and the second my feet hit the floor, a sharp bolt of pain shoots through my ribs. I wince, only slightly, but Silas sees it.
His eyes narrow. “See.”
“That was nothing,” I snap, heat rising in my face. “I just moved wrong.”
Silas raises an eyebrow—the you’re full of shit one. He doesn’t have to say anything, the look alone is a lecture.
The doctor steps forward, clearing his throat. “If I can interrupt… Jack is cleared to go back to work. If he takes things easy, there’s no reason he can’t return.”
I smile at him, grateful that he finally found his backbone.
Silas steps closer, lowering his voice. “You push too hard, too fast…”
I hold my hand up, stopping him mid-lecture. “Please, Sol.” Using his nickname like a weapon, and it hits exactly where I need it to. I soften my eyes, and look up at him, my eyes half lidded.
“Please,” my voice, low and soft. I’m begging. I have no shame.
He softens, barely, but enough for me to see the shift, and he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jack. You can go back. Just… not today.”
The doctor looks between us again, clearly unsure whether he should add anything or just pretend he’s not witnessing a domestic standoff.
I swallow hard, frustration burning under my ribs. “I need to work, Sol. I’m going insane.”
“I know,” he says quietly. “And you will. But not until I’m sure you won’t collapse halfway through a shift.”
“How about a few hours a day.” My eyes pleading with him to agree.
Silas raises his hand to my cheek, and I lift my hand to cover his, “Please, Sol. I need this.”
He studies me for a long moment, weighing every breath I take, every twitch of pain I try to hide.
“As long as you promise me, it’s only a couple of hours a day, and no heavy lifting.”
I nod, a smile stretching my lips. “I promise.”
He nods once, his decision made, and he turns back to the doctor. “We done?”
The doctor smiles at me. “Take it easy Jack. It was good to see you.” I notice he doesn’t say that to Silas, and I laugh quietly as we leave the room.
Silas is a bear of a man; all tough and gruff on the outside, tattoos making people assume he’s dangerous. But to me, and to the few people close enough to know better, he’s an absolute marshmallow.
* * *
The next day, Silas keeps his word and lets me go back to work. He even agrees to let me close, on the condition I don’t lift anything heavy.
And in true me fashion, I ignore it.
I bag up the rubbish as I shut down the café for the night. Finns in his office, and the gym outside is empty now. The quiet settles around me, warm and familiar. I love it here.
Finn and I grew up only knowing pain.
We were thrown into underground fighting when I was eight, and had fought for ten years before I finally escaped to Campbell River. Now I run the café at Finn’s gym which he opened with the trust fund his grandfather left him.
So now, instead of screams, I hear the echoes of kids training and the soft shuffle of sneakers, laughter and music. There are no tears here.
I’m wiping down the counter, the familiar scent of lemon disinfectant mixing with the lingering odour of coffee and pastries, when the bell above the door jingles.
I don’t look up at first, because I know Deck and Silas are supposed to be back from whatever pointless errand those two are on, and I’m already bracing myself for ten minutes of bickering about who drove worse.
“If you two brought back another box of unlabeled crap from some abandoned warehouse, I’m throwing it straight into the dumpster.” I call out.
I’m not met with the usual snarky comeback from Silas or a heavy-handed sigh from Deck.
I look up ready to tell the customer we’re closed, but, it isn’t Deck or Silas.
The air leaves my lungs in a rush and my hand freezes in mid-air as I look at the person standing there, and my heart races as I look at the devil in a suit.
Ray.
He’s wearing a heavy, dark coat that looks far too warm for this time of year, his shoulders squared and his stance familiar enough to make my stomach drop straight through the floorboards.
His salt-and-pepper hair is styled perfectly, and his face carries lines that time has hardened rather than softened.
The cloth slips from my fingers, hitting the counter with a dull, wet slap. My breath catches, locking behind my ribs as the room tilts.