Page 17 of Yours on the Canvas

I nod, even though I don’t know if I’m agreeing with him or trying to convince myself.

The lights of Vancouver eventually appear on the horizon, spreading across the darkness in a glittering web of yellow and white. My heart kicks harder as we get closer, each kilometer dragging me toward Jack and whatever condition I’ll find him in.

Nerves suffocate me, twisting into dark thoughts.

Reid’s distorted voice comes through the headset. “I’ll get you as close to the hospital as I can.” He turns his head to me. “But ya might have to run the rest of the way or grab a rideshare.”

I nod and turn my head to the city beneath us. The roads have become ribbons of light, with cars moving through them despite the hour. It’s almost three in the morning, yet the city still carries on as though it doesn’t know it should be asleep.

“Hospital coming up,” Reid says, pointing to my right. I follow his gaze and spot the building rising above the surrounding streets. I look out as the car park comes into view.

“Looks like you don’t need to walk.” Reid circles the car park, finding it empty. “I’ll circle and then land, Rook. When I land, it’ll be a hot exit, so no fucking around.”

I huff a laugh at what he has suggested. “Fuck, you really are a cowboy.”

I smile quietly at the nickname. I was given it not long after my first deployment. Everyone thinks it’s short for Rookie, or named after the bird. But it isn’t.

I was on base sitting in the sun playing chess when a guy sat down and asked if he could play. We played, and I won the game with a checkmate from my rook. Ever since then, I was Rook. One of the strongest pieces on the board. It’s restricting, strategic, and like me, dominant.

I barely have time to process his words before Reid has circled the car park and, because apparently the man has absolutely no regard for someone who might want to keep his aviation license, he brings the helicopter down, landing gently.

The moment the skids touch the asphalt, I rip off my headset, shove open the door, grab my bag, and jump out. I glance back once as Reid lifts away again and give him a quick salute before turning, running toward the hospital entrance.

I don’t waste time wondering what the staff are going to think about a helicopter landing in their car park; they can deal with Reid. Right now, I need to get to Jack.

* * *

The nurse leads me through the Emergency Department and down the hallway, stopping outside a door. She touches my arm gently. “You need to be aware, Mr. Thorne… Jack is pretty banged up. Physically, he doesn’t look good. I just want to bring that to your attention before you go in.”

I look at her hand, then her face. “Thanks for the warning, but I’ve seen bad before.” I push the door open, and the sight of Jack hits me so hard it stops me dead in my tracks. A small sob rips out of me, raw and broken, and I take my first step toward my broken boy.

Jack looks like he’s been put through a meat grinder.

His face is covered in dried blood. Bandages cover the worst of it, but blood—bright red—has seeped through the white bandages, stark red and shocking. His cheekbone and eye socket are clearly broken, both eyes swollen almost completely shut. Purple and black bruises spread across his torso in ugly patches, making it hard to find a single place untouched by violence. His throat is badly bruised, a thick band of purple slashing across it, and thick white bandages wrap his hands and arms.

I move to the chair beside the bed, and taking his hand gently in mine, I sit down slowly, unable to take my eyes off him. I’ve seen men injured before, and I’ve seen what bullets, knives, and fists can do to a body. I’ve watched people bleed and helped put soldiers back together. But none of it prepares me for seeing Jack lying motionless beneath hospital sheets.

The nurse had told me that the IV is carrying warm fluids into his veins to help combat the hypothermia, and I listen to Jack’s heartbeat from the monitor beside him, telling me he’s alive as it continues its steady rhythm. I sit there listening to it, watching the numbers change and settle, needing the constant reminder that he’s still alive.

The nurse comes back into the room, and I watch as she checks Jack’s vitals. While she does that, I step into the hallway to call CJ, who answers on the first ring.

“How is he?”

“Stable.” I drag a hand through my hair, staring through the small window in the door at Jack. “But fuck, CJ, he’s a mess. Whoever did this to him worked him over pretty good.”

“He’s going to be okay, Rook,” CJ says.

“Yeah.” I swallow hard. “He’s going to be here for a few days. Once they release him, I’ll hire a car and bring him home. Is Hale okay with you until then?”

“Yeah, he’s no problem. He’s still asleep.”

Relief loosens something in my chest. “Good.”

We talk for another minute before I end the call and head back into Jack’s room.

The nurse finishes and leaves us alone again, and I sit beside the bed staring at him for a long moment before reaching for his hand.

His skin feels cold against mine, and I gently close my fingers around his and lower my head until my lips rest against his knuckles.