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Hugo sits forward from his spot beside Easton. “No, we don’t. Michigan is still pissed. We might have taken Sanders out and calmed those waters, but we still have an entire cartel over there with their blood on fire. One stroke and they’ll be ready to blow. We can’t give anyone ammunition, we’re not strong enough right now. Logan’s gone, you’re out, Randall’s… done.” He clears his throat and averts his eyes, clearly uncomfortable even speaking that fuckers name. “We just don’t have it in us right now. Not only that, but Santiago clearly isn’t happy with the way things went with you guys last time you were in California. I think if he could have it his way, he’d take us out and take over our region.”
“Why the fuck would he want to do that when he’s all the way down in Mexico?”
Hugo chuckles. “Why not? We’re one of the best-off cartels in the US. We’ve got the best crew, the best allies. Essentially, they want to take our spot. We can’t let them do that.”
I mull over his words. He’s got a point. They’ve both got a point, but that doesn’t mean I like it. We’re not one to fold, back down, or come to any kind of agreement. It’s not who we are. It’s not in our blood.
“So, what’s the plan?” I ask, my voice harsh because I’m pissed as fuck.
“Aziel and Lynx are coming up here in a week. We’ll make a plan then. I’ll be heading down to San Diego eventually, have another meeting with the Mexicans.”
I blink at him. Blink at him again.
Jealousy runs through my veins like white rapids over thick, jagged rocks.
“I can’t go.” I say what’s already known. If I can’t walk, move, or fight, I’ll be stuck here. In The Grove.
Easton shakes his head sadly, passing the joint up to my lips so I can take a hit. “No, Jackson, you won’t be coming with me.”
I inhale until my lungs can’t grab another ounce of air and then keep inhaling. I choke, smoking billowing out of my mouth and nose and I almost get knocked out of my wheelchair. Easton stands up quickly and presses his arm against my shoulder to keep me in place. “What the fuck was that?” He barks at me.
I cough, my eyes watering and finally feeling the high I’ve been needing. “Just fucking kill me.” I gasp. “Please. This shit ain’t worth it to me.”
Easton wraps his free hand around my neck, ignoring Hugo’s protests behind him as he tilts my head up. “The first time you said that shit, I was sympathetic. Now, the second time, I’m pissed. You bring that shit up to me again and I swear to God, Jackson, I’ll bring you within an inch of your life and then keep you there, forever. Don’t play this game with me, Jackson.”
“I just… there’s no point if I can’t work. What’s the point of me being here if I’m a fucking vegetable all the time?”
“Jackson.” Hugo stands up. “Buck the fuck up. The Jackson I know doesn’t pull this kind of shit. He wouldn’t be talking this type of weak talk. Your balls still attached?”
I narrow my eyes at him.
“Great, that’s what I thought. Quit being a pussy. The Jackson I know is the most emotionless, scary piece of shit I’ve ever met. You’re more creepy than this one.” He points at Easton, making Easton scrunch his face up at him. “We’ll get out of here. Have a quick sob and then get back to the Jackson we know, all right? Moving feet or no feet, you’re still in there.” He points at my chest and then excuses himself, saying he’ll see me once Lynx gets into town.
Easton stands there, staring at the empty doorway.
I sit next to him, mirroring his expression.
“Hugo’s got a big dick, apparently.” Easton puffs out a laugh.
“Fuck. Guess so.”
He stubs out the roach in a nearby cup and gives me a look. “He’s right though. You haven’t been yourself. Get your shit together man. Right now, more than ever is when I need you. I don’t need your legs, I need this.” He points to his head. “You’re the calculated one. Always the smartest out of all of us. I need that right now. Get it back. Got that?”
I nod at him.
He nods back. “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” He usually comes over at night, after the nurse stops by and gets me into bed. Cara and I have been sharing a bed, but Easton usually swings by to check in and make sure I don’t need anything.
“I’ve got a fight tonight.”
“Oh.” My stomach sinks. “Good luck.” I smile at him, but it’s fake. He knows it.
“See you tomorrow, Jackson.” He says sadly and heads out the door.
I sit there for a while, staring at the closed door and doing exactly what Hugo says—at least in a sense. I sob internally, but don’t shed any tears. I can feel my emotions tear to shreds and skin ripple with waves of despair of what I’ve lost, what I might not ever gain back.
Then I tuck that shit underneath my immobile ass. So deep it’s not coming out.
Put my Jackson face back on.
And breathe.
Jackson is back.
