Page 48 of Hidden & Held

I groan at the thought. I want to get out of here, out of this recycled air and into comfortable clothes.

“Think of him like a taxi service that you don’t have to tip,” Mack suggests.

When I still don’t look convinced, she continues, “Look, it will be the fastest way out of here and would make all of us feel better knowing you are home and someone is close by. It’s either that or you come stay with one of us for a couple of weeks.”

“Absolutely not, I will not be an imposition on you all and your busy lives,” I say, shorter than I mean. The thought of being in a house again where I am an imposition, like I was all the time growing up with my mom, when she had to find childcare or had to show up at some event …

I suck in my lip, closing my eyes and exhaling, hoping they think my reaction is from physical pain instead of a childhood that doesn’t seem to let go of me.

“Phoenix,” Jackson says in his low timbre I can’t help but be drawn to. “You have never been an imposition to me, and I can guarantee not one of your friends has ever felt that way. Please, do us the honor of letting us help you.”

Mack looks at Jackson, something shifting in her expression.

“Fine, it is environmentally friendly to let you drive me home. I am doing it for the trees, not you.”

Jackson smiles like he found the toy in the cereal box. “Of course, the trees. They are of the utmost importance.”

At that, the lanky technician with a coffee stain on his shirt comes in. “Alright, Ms. Lane, now for the fun part: which color?” He’s holding two of the most aggressively ugly colors I can imagine. Irrational disappointment fills me at the thought of having to wear these atrocious colors for weeks.

Jackson sees my crestfallen face and pulls out his phone. My eyes return to my cast choices, trying to figure out which would clash the least with my wardrobe, then Jackson speaks up.

“These clearly can’t be the full array of your offerings. I see the brand you use; a quick internet search shows it offers over a dozen products. Is this really all you ordered?”

The technician shifts on his feet. “Well, this is all they had on the floor.”

“Great, well, to show full consideration of your patient’s physical and mental well-being, I assume you will go and grab the choices in all the colors. Preferably more neutral, or a lilac if you have it,” Jackson declares as if the matter were settled.

“Oh, sure, I’ll just go …” mumbles the technician as he backs out.

Mack gives Jackson a quizzical look. Her phone beeps again and she glances at it, standing up with a sigh.

“I have to go. Babies are popping out left and right, must be the full moon.” She leans down and gives me a kiss on the top of my head before she levels a glare at Jackson.

“Let’s give Phoenix a minute; walk me out, and I’ll give you some transportation tips.”

“Of course.” Jackson follows her out.

Little does he know, Mack may appear the sweetest of the Zentrology girls, but she is the fiercest mama bear of us all. I smile at the thought of the obliteration coming his way.

14

JACKSON

Mack leads us around the corner, beyond Phoenix’s earshot. I think she is being polite until she turns on me.

Up close, she looks exactly as I imagined from Phoenix’s stories. She seems sweet, calm, and the kind of person who would bake cookies; the kind of person you would trust without thinking twice. There was a softness to her expression when she was with Phi, but now that doesn’t match the way she’s holding herself. It’s as if she has transformed into a protective mama bear. I lean back involuntarily.

“Thank you,” she says tersely, and she means it. “For handling the cast color. Phoenix would never say it, but it would bother her to have a color she hated staring at her every day.”

“Of course, I would never want her to be uncomfortable.”

After the reluctant thank you, her face transforms into what I imagine she would look like before going into battle.

“But don’t mistake that thank you for any type of forgiveness. If there was another option, you wouldn’t be standing in this hospital today. Hell, you wouldn’t be within ten feet of her if I had my say.”

Her blunt response stops me in my tracks. I open my mouth to respond but she bolsters on.

“I want to be clear about something before I go.” Every word is precise and cutting. “What you did to her, professionally and personally, caused measurable damage. Not metaphorical damage; her heart hurts, shit. Her immune system is compromised, her nervous system has been in chronic stress activation, and she broke her damn ankle moving a mattress alone because asking for help was something she didn’t feel she could do.” Her breathing is heavy now. “I am not saying you caused all of that. I am saying you contributed to it. Immensely.”