Chapter 13 Gabe #2
Jane picked up her coffee cup, wrapped both hands around it as if drawing warmth and strength from it, but she did not drink. Just held it.
“We were nearly at our turn-off on the highway,” she continued. “It was dark. Late. Maybe nine-thirty or ten at night. Traffic was light, which was unusual for that stretch of road. And then this car came racing up behind us.”
Gabe could picture it. The dark highway, the sparse traffic, the sudden danger approaching from behind.
“The driver was weaving through traffic,” Jane said, her voice taking on a flat, emotionless quality that Gabe recognized.
The tone people used when recounting trauma, when the only way to get through the story was to disconnect from the feeling of it.
“Speeding. Reckless. They pulled up beside us in the lane meant for oncoming traffic, trying to pass on a blind curve.”
Jane’s hands tightened around the coffee mug.
“There was a semi truck coming the other direction,” she said.
“The driver of the car saw it too late. They swerved back into our lane and clipped our front bumper. Darren tried to correct, but we were going too fast. The car spun. I remember the world tilting, the sound of metal screaming, the feeling of being thrown against my seatbelt.”
Tears were forming in Jane’s eyes now, but she kept talking, as if once started, she could not stop until the whole story was out.
“We hit the guard rail,” Jane said. “The car flipped. I don’t know how many times. When it finally stopped, we were upside down in the ditch on the side of the road. I was trapped. The roof had caved in on my side, and I couldn’t move. Couldn’t feel my legs.”
Gabe felt his own throat tighten, his chest constricting with the pain of imagining what Jane had gone through.
“But I was conscious,” Jane said, her voice breaking now. “Semi-conscious, maybe. Everything hurt. Everything. But I could see Darren in the driver’s seat beside me, and I knew. I knew he was gone. There was blood, and the way he was positioned, the way his head—”
Jane stopped, unable to continue that particular thought. She drew in a shaky breath.
“But I refused to believe it,” she said. “I kept talking to him. Kept telling him to hold on, that help was coming, that everything would be okay. And I was clutching my belly, trying to feel for Taylor’s movement, trying not to panic because I couldn’t feel her kicking.”
Tears were streaming down Jane’s face now, but she did not seem to notice or care.
“I told myself she was just sleeping,” Jane whispered. “That she was fine. That we were all going to be fine. I kept talking to Darren, kept talking to Taylor, kept forcing myself to stay conscious even though everything in me wanted to just let go. To just slip away into the darkness.”
“But you didn’t,” Gabe said softly, his own eyes burning with unshed tears.
“But I didn’t,” Jane agreed. “Not right away. I stayed conscious for... I don’t know how long.
Minutes? Hours? Time didn’t make sense. I heard sirens eventually.
Heard voices. Felt people trying to get to us, trying to cut through the metal.
And I kept talking, kept trying to stay awake.
But eventually, the pain and the blood loss.
.. I couldn’t hold on anymore. I blacked out. ”
Jane set down her coffee cup and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.
“When I woke up, I was in the hospital,” she said. “In intensive care. I couldn’t move. There were tubes and machines and pain everywhere. But the first thing I saw was my father and my grandmother, and the looks on their faces told me everything before anyone said a word.”
Gabe reached across the table and took Jane’s hand, holding it gently. She gripped back hard, as if he were the only thing anchoring her to the present.
“Darren was gone,” Jane said flatly. “He had died on impact. The doctors said he didn’t suffer, didn’t feel anything.
One moment he was there, and the next he wasn’t.
And Taylor...” Her voice broke completely.
“Taylor was gone, too. The trauma from the accident, the way I was positioned in the car, the time it took to get us out... she didn’t make it.
They had to do an emergency C-section at the hospital, but she was already gone. ”
“Jane,” Gabe said, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”
Jane nodded, tears flowing freely now. “My back was broken. Three vertebrae were fractured, and one was crushed. The doctors said I might never walk again. That even if I did, it would take months, maybe years of physical therapy. And I remember lying there in that hospital bed, unable to move, knowing that Darren was gone and Taylor was gone and our whole future was just... erased. And I didn’t want to recover.
I wanted to give up. To stop fighting and let go. ”
She looked at Gabe with red-rimmed eyes full of remembered pain.
“But my father wouldn’t let me,” Jane said.
“Neither would my grandmother or Uncle Logan. They pushed me. Every single day, they pushed me. Through the surgeries and the pain and the physical therapy that felt like torture. Through the days when I screamed at them to leave me alone, to let me quit. They wouldn’t.
They just kept showing up, kept encouraging me, kept forcing me to do one more exercise, take one more step, try one more time. ”
Jane wiped at her eyes again, her voice steadier now.
“A year later, I could finally walk again,” she said.
“Not perfectly. I still have pain sometimes, especially when I overdo it or stay in one position too long. But I could walk. I could function. And the first thing I did was pack up everything in West Palm Beach. I sold the house, left the job, boxed up the nursery we had set up for Taylor, and came here.”
“To help your grandmother,” Gabe said, remembering what his mother had told him.
“She had a health scare,” Jane confirmed. “It turned out to be nothing serious, but it gave me an excuse to leave. To escape all those memories and start over somewhere new. Somewhere that didn’t have Darren’s ghost around every corner and Taylor’s empty nursery waiting in the spare bedroom.”
Jane finally pulled her hand from Gabe’s and used both hands to wipe her face. She let out a shaky laugh that held no humor.
“So that’s my story,” she said. “That’s why I flinch sometimes when I move wrong. Why I had to learn to walk again. Why I spent three years just going through the motions of living without actually being alive.”
Gabe sat back in his chair, his heart heavy with the weight of Jane’s pain. He understood now. Understood the shadows in her eyes, the careful way she moved sometimes, the walls she had built around herself.
And he understood why his mother had been so worried about Jane. Why everyone at the inn seemed to treat her with such gentle care. She had survived something that should have destroyed her, and she was still fighting her way back.
“Thank you for telling me,” Gabe said quietly. “I know that wasn’t easy.”
Jane shook her head. “It wasn’t. But it was time. And I knew I could tell you. That you would understand in a way most people can’t.”
“Because I’ve lost someone too,” Gabe said.
“Yes,” Jane agreed. “And because you don’t try to fix it or make it better or tell me everything happens for a reason. You just... listen.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the rain continuing its steady rhythm against the windows. Gabe felt the weight of what Jane had shared, the trust she had placed in him by opening up about the worst moment of her life.
And he knew it was his turn now. Fair was fair, and Jane deserved to know his story just as he now knew hers.
But before he could begin, Jane spoke again.
“Now I’m a wreck,” she said with a watery laugh, gesturing to her tear-stained face.
Gabe pushed himself up carefully, mindful of his injured leg. He leaned across the table and kissed her forehead gently, his lips lingering for just a moment.
“No,” he said firmly. “You’re perfect. And you’re healing.”
He felt Jane draw in a shaky breath under his touch.
“You’re right,” she whispered. “I am healing.”
She wiped her eyes one more time, then picked up her coffee and took a long sip. She grabbed another cookie and ate it slowly, clearly using the time to compose herself. When she was done, she drew in a shaky breath and looked at Gabe with eyes that were red-rimmed but determined.
“Well then,” Jane said, her voice still rough but stronger than it had been. “It’s your turn to heal.”
Gabe smiled despite the anxiety coiling in his stomach. “Fair is fair.”
He settled back into his chair, elevated his leg again, and took a moment to gather his thoughts. He had told parts of this story before. To Christopher, his mother, and father, in carefully edited versions that left out the worst details.
But he had never told anyone the whole truth. The real truth. The part about Abi that he carried with him every single day, like a stone in his chest.
Until now.