Chapter 182 Hospital visit
Sage's POV
Ryder helped me unbuckle my seatbelt with shaking hands and we got out of the truck.
The hospital looked exactly the same as it had when I left for Arizona. Same brick building with the faded red color. Same automatic doors that whooshed open as we approached. The same antiseptic smell that hit us as soon as we walked inside.
But everything felt different now because I was different.
I had walked out of this hospital two weeks ago broken and hurt and convinced that leaving was the only way to protect myself. Now I was walking back in, having chosen to stay, having chosen Ryder and having chosen to fight for what I wanted instead of running from what scared me.
We walked through the familiar corridors toward Jaxon's room after taking the elevator. My heart was pounding so hard I thought everyone could hear it. Ryder's hand was in mine, solid and reassuring, but I could feel his tension too. His palm was slightly sweaty and his grip was tighter than usual.
Nurses passed us in the hallway, some recognizing us and nodding in greeting. We had spent so much time here after the attack that we knew most of the staff by sight.
We passed the waiting room where I had sat for hours during Jaxon's surgery. Where brothers had gathered waiting for news about whether their president would survive.
So much had happened in this building. So much pain and fear and uncertainty.
We turned the corner toward Jaxon's wing and I saw his room number on the wall. Room 412. The same room he had been in since after being moved out of the ICU after surgery. The same room where he was in, the day I left Millbrook with Diego.
My steps slowed as we approached and Ryder matched my pace without comment.
We stopped outside his door and I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart.
"Ready?" Ryder asked quietly.
"No," I said honestly. "But let's go in anyway."
Ryder knocked gently on the door frame and we heard Jaxon's voice call out, "Come in."
The sound of his voice made my chest tighten. He sounded stronger than the last time I had heard him speak. More like himself.
We walked into the room together, our hands still intertwined.
Jaxon was sitting up in bed, propped against several pillows. He looked so much better than the last time I had seen him. His color was better, no longer the grayish pale that had terrified me. His eyes were more alert, more focused. The fog of pain medication seemed to have lifted.
But he was still clearly recovering. An IV line ran from his arm to a bag hanging beside the bed, dripping clear fluid slowly. Monitors beeped steadily beside him, tracking his heart rate and blood pressure and other vital signs. There was a tray table pushed to the side with the remains of breakfast on it.
His eyes found us immediately as we walked in. Found our joined hands first, lingering there for a long moment. Then his gaze traveled up to our faces, taking in our nervous expressions and the way we were standing close together.
His expression was completely unreadable.
I searched his face desperately for some clue about what he was thinking or feeling. Was he angry? Hurt? Disappointed? Accepting? I could not tell. His face gave nothing away.
I wanted to run to him and hug him and make sure he was okay. I wanted to touch him and confirm he was real and alive and here. But Ryder's hand tightened on mine, keeping me in place. Reminding me that we were doing this together. That we were not hiding or pretending or approaching this separately.
We were a unit now. A couple. And we needed to show Jaxon that truth from the very beginning.
We stood there just inside the doorway, and the silence felt heavy and suffocating. I actually found it a bit hard to breathe.
The seconds stretched into what felt like hours.
"Hi," I said finally, my voice coming out smaller and shakier than I intended.
"Hi," Jaxon said back. His voice was neutral, carefully controlled, revealing nothing about what he was feeling.
More silence. The monitors continued their steady beeping. Somewhere down the hall, I could hear a cart being wheeled past and the murmur of voices.
I did not know what to say. I did not know how to start this conversation. I did not know how to explain everything that had happened in Arizona and why I was back and why I was holding Ryder's hand and why I had chosen him over Diego.
The words stuck in my throat.
"You look good," Ryder said, breaking the silence. "Better than when we last saw you."
"I'm healing," Jaxon said. His eyes stayed on our joined hands. "Slowly but surely. The doctors say I'm making good progress."
"That's good," I said, finding my voice again. "I'm glad. I was so worried about you."
"Were you?" Jaxon's question was not accusatory, just curious. "Is that why you left for Arizona and only called once to check on me?"
The words stung but I deserved them.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I should have called more often. I was just so hurt and confused. I was going through a lot and I didn't know what to say."
Another stretch of silence.
Jaxon's eyes were still on our joined hands. I resisted the urge to let go, to hide what we were. We had agreed to be open about this. To show Jaxon the truth from the start. No more secrets. No more hiding.
"So," Jaxon said finally. "You're back."
"I'm back," I confirmed.
"And you're with Ryder."
"Yes."
"Not with Diego."
"No. Diego and I didn't work out."
Jaxon nodded slowly, processing this information. "He told me everything when I spoke with him last night. That's very disappointing because he was a good person."
"He was," I agreed. "He is. But he wasn't the right man for me."
"And Ryder is?"
The question hung in the air between us. This was it. The moment where I had to be completely honest with my brother about what I wanted and who I wanted to be with.
"Yes," I said firmly, trying to put all my certainty into that one word. "Ryder is the right man for me. I love him and I want to be with him."
Jaxon's jaw tightened and I could not tell if it was from physical pain or emotional tension. Maybe both.
"Come closer," he said. "Both of you. I can't have this conversation with you standing all the way over there by the door."
We moved forward until we were standing right beside his hospital bed. Close enough that I could see the lines of pain and exhaustion etched into his face. Close enough that I could see he had lost weight during his recovery. His cheekbones were more prominent than before.
My heart ached at how much he had been through. How much we had all been through.
"Jaxon—" I started.
"Let me talk first," he interrupted gently. "I have some things I need to say and I want to get them out before either of you tries to explain or defend or justify."
I nodded and stayed quiet, waiting. My heart was pounding and my palms were sweating but I held still.
Jaxon opened his mouth to speak, and I braced myself for his anger or disappointment.