Chapter 20
GRACE
The drive across town takes less time than I expect. Then again, after the torture of waiting through the entire performance tonight to go back to the hospital, anything is quick.
Grace sits shotgun. A bouquet of “GET WELL SOON” balloons bob over her head from the backseat like helium-puffed seraphim. I have a plastic bag wedged between my knees—half a rack of ribs from Fowler’s favorite barbecue joint.
Grace silently traces the window condensation with her finger, sometimes glancing at her phone but mostly zoning out.
I want to say something reassuring, she already knows that Fowler is going to be okay.
Another night or so in the hospital and then he’ll be out.
The road to recovery is long, sure. But he’s okay.
We make it to the hospital not long after and take the elevator to Fowler’s floor. The moment we step out of the elevator, we can hear his unmistakable bark of a laugh.
I grin. “Guess that means he’s feeling better.”
Grace chuckles. “Seems so.”
I nudge his door open with my elbow. “We come bearing gifts,” I announce, lifting the bag of ribs like a championship trophy.
Fowler sits propped up at a weird angle, leg hoisted in a nightmare of braces and foam wedges.
He looks like hell with a black eye, IV port taped to the crook of his elbow, and a pair of disposable hospital socks like oven mitts on his feet.
His eyes light up when he sees us. Zev’s already in the room, slouched on the family cot, looking like he’s trying to nap but grinning despite himself.
Grace threads her way through the maze of machines and wires. “Hey, we brought these for you.” She offers the balloon bouquet. The foil ones reflect the room, including warped funhouse versions of all four of us.
Fowler gives her a one-armed squeeze. “Thank you. Are you two fresh off tonight’s show?”
Grace blushes. “Connor didn’t want to wait until tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, I couldn’t wait,” I say. I may have asked Grace if she wanted to come along, but she agreed to just as quickly.
I drop the food on the tray table and push it toward him. “Eat before the nurses catch you.”
Fowler’s hands shake a little as he tears into the container. “You’re a god among mortals, Jones. Zev, you want some?”
Zev shakes his head. “I’d never come between you and your favorite ribs.”
Grace sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to bump Fowler’s leg. “You’ll be out of here in a couple of days, right?”
Fowler shrugs. “That’s what they claim. They said if I behave, I’ll be back on my feet in a month, but not back to the firehouse. I’ve won myself a half year or more of desk duty.”
Grace frowns. “Is that so bad?”
Fowler notices. “Are you worried about me, princess?”
Her blush grows brighter, but she meets his gaze straight-on. “Yes, Fowler. You almost died in a burning building.”
“To save a dog.”
She nods. “Which is admirable, yet doesn’t negate what nearly happened.”
Fowler glances at Zev and me. “I think she might like us again, boys.”
Grace playfully swats his arm. “Or I’m a kind and caring human being who doesn’t appreciate seeing my friends hurt.”
Zev’s eyebrows raise. “Friend.”
“Shut up,” Grace snaps, but she’s grinning from ear to ear. “I don’t know what else to say, but no, I no longer hate all of you.”
I raise my hands in defense. “I think we’ll take that.”
“You better,” Grace says.
Fowler’s face erupts into a smug smile and he digs into his ribs.
The room settles into a weird, cozy rhythm.
Grace tries to convince Fowler to drink water instead of Pepsi, but it’s like convincing a wolf to eat salad.
Zev tells a story about a kid on his summer hockey team who tried to bribe the refs with candy, and even Grace laughs, a sound these last few months so rare I want to bottle it.
It’s easy to forget, in moments like this, that we’re all broken in some way. I feel the old shattered pack dynamic reassembling itself, battered but not beaten. Even Grace, who’s spent the last few months hating us, seems a little softer, her shoulders less guarded.
When the visiting hour is almost up, I find myself wishing we could stay. Fowler’s fading a little, eyelids heavy. No, we should go.
I told my hand out to Grace. “I can give you a lift back?”
Grace stands and smooths her shirt. “Yes, thank you.” To Fowler, “We should let you rest. Which you better do.”
Fowler gives her a mock salute. “I’ll do my best.”
Zev slaps me on the back as we shuffle out. The three of us linger in the hallway, not wanting to say goodbye. Grace hangs one of the balloons on the whiteboard outside Fowler’s room, and she smiles when she catches my eye.
Zev says his goodbyes and hurries off to his own car. Grace rides shotgun again in mine. The whole drive home, I keep thinking about that moment in the hospital room.
All of us together, even for just an hour, felt right in a way I didn’t know I missed.
It reinforces just bow badly Zev, Fowler, and I fucked up in spring. And just how lucky we are that it seems Grace will give us a second chance.