Jackson was sitting on the ER bed, his body bruised and battered, but miraculously alive. The nurses were still tending to him, but he could feel the anger radiating from the door before you even stepped into the room.

He knew. He knew exactly what you were going to say. The second he jumped in front of that bus, he’d already braced himself for your reaction. He didn’t want to worry you, didn’t want to make you angry, but he couldn’t help it. The kid needed him.

As the door opened, your eyes locked on him, full of fire, and he immediately felt a pit form in his stomach. He opened his mouth to speak before you even reached his side.

“Hey, hey, look, I know you’re pissed. Just let me explain,” Jackson said quickly, his voice soft but firm. He could already tell you weren’t going to hold back.