*PAXTON'S POV*

March 13, 2020.

The most important was that he was alive, and now, we had to focus on moving forward.

That was what froze me as I arrived at his side and brought my fist forward.

"Hey, little bro."

Something wasn't right. It hit me when Asher's hand didn't in our usual fist bump, as strong as the silence when it should have been a curse word in reply to his nickname.

Though nothing could be as violent as his gaze finding mine as he lifted a slate with his other hand.

'I can't talk. I can't move this side.'

Those were the words written on the white slate while his eyes were screaming a thousand more.

"It's what I've been trying to explain." The doctor appeared beside us, but even when I glanced at him, I could still hear the distress in Asher's green eyes. "There is a brain lesion on the right, and the information isn't transmitted to the muscles on the opposite part, meaning his left side is paralyzed in what we call hemiplegia."

Hemiplegia, that word sounded even more deafening, and as it struck me like a bang, I let my arm fall back down, my eyes stopping on the details I hadn't seen before: the abnormal angle his fingers were contracted in, the pull at the left corner of his mouth hidden between two swollen bruises, and the shakes of his other hand as he tried to write more, but the splint around his shoulder was limiting his movements, and he only dropped the pen.

"Is that why he can't talk too?" I asked, picking up his pen and giving him back, even if I already guessed what he was about to write with the first letter A.

"No, that, it's because the paramedics tore a part of his trachea while intubating him."

"What?!" Asher not being able to shout, it was my voice that rose.

"It happens, more often than you think in the rush," Doctor Sanders replied with a sigh, and I was sure I caught his eyes rolling up slightly, although he quickly stopped it with a professional nod. "The important was to save his life, and it's what they did.

"As I've already explained to your brother, we have prostheses for this too. Once he's better, surgery is possible, and the loss of voice won't be definitive. The hemiplegia can evolve too, in fact."

He was a specialist, so he knew what he was talking about, didn't he? At least, I held on to that and to his words, even if he didn't have the best to speak to my brother.

"With some physiotherapy and patience, it can come back. We have lots of people of 50 and more who find themselves hemiplegic after a stroke, and they manage to recover most of their capacity over time. The brain is resourceful, and you're young and athletic, so you have even more possibilities."

—Was, Asher cut off with his pen and slate, and his glare was sharp enough to add the rest as he looked at his right leg. 'Now I'm a vegetable with a missing member.'

"You still are. All those years of practice don't go away that fast in your muscles and brain, and it's a strength. I know it's a lot right now—"

We didn't get to hear his 'but', if there was one, as this time, his pager interrupted him for an emergency.

"Sorry. I have to go. I'll let you talk, and if you have questions, ask Rosa here. I'll come back later. But remember, the most important for now is to rest." He looked between Asher and me, walking away after I gave him a nod, and Asher, the same deadly blank gaze.

It wasn't personal though. He was offering the same glare to the nurse who asked him to stay still while she changed his intravenous bags, and he would surely frown at me the same way as soon as I would find something to say—unless it was...

"Althea," I spoke up the only word that could rise above the beeping of machines and the doctor's previous words, the only one Asher had written on the slate.

"She said to tell you she loves you and misses you so much, and she's waiting for your kiss."

His glare finally dimmed, even if the regret and sadness that filled his eyes weren't less stinging.

"She begged the doctor to come here, but with the new covid restrictions, they only accept family, and the parents are still stuck in Europe for the same reasons. That's why you get me here," I continued explaining, surely more to remind myself than to him, as he was focused on writing again.

'Is she here?'

"Yes, of course. In the waiting room. No one can move her from there—"

'And her interview?'

'—in NYC' he added in front of my furrowed eyebrows, and he was about to scribble more when it clicked in my hazy brain.

"Oh, New York! She didn't go. She was still on campus when you had your accident."

'What the fuck?!'

That, I read it in his wide eyes more easily than his chicken scratch as he threw his right hand up.

"Mr. Rohan, be careful! You have a double fracture of the shoulder." The nurse raised her voice, as neither the splint, nor the pain seemed to stop his movements on this side, and still, he barely acknowledged her, gripping the pen tighter.

"Asher, you were in a coma," I tried softly, putting my hand over the slate to call his attention, although what I received was a flicker of his glare. "She was so worried. We all were, and she... You know what? How about I face-time her?"

Why hadn't I thought about it sooner? It was the best idea to reassure them both, to cheer her up, and to calm him down. At least, that was what I thought until he gasped,

"No!"

The two letters weren't written on his slate. They came out of his twisted lips, as barely more than a croaky breath, yet with the strength of a scream that rose from the depths of his guts and seared everything on its way up, making him jump immediately as a grimace of agony strained the right side of his face as much as the left corner of his mouth.

"Mr. Rohan! If visits put you in this state, we won't allow them."

This time, his 'no' was only a movement of his head, hanging low, and I caught a glimpse of how much pain he was in, when a simple breath seemed to batter him from his tubed nostril all the way down to his missing calf, on one side.

And yet, he moved his shaky hand to write again.

'Can you leave us alone to talk?'

And he didn't budge when the nurse replied, "Let me just put your intravenous of anti-inflammatory."

Asher Rohan never lost, even for this, and she yielded quickly with a sigh.

"Fine, but you've heard the doctor's orders. You have to rest and stay calm. I'll watch the monitors."

"Yes, of course, don't worry," I assured, forcing a smile to convince her and the two fingers she was pointing between us, and thankfully, my charms still worked, in spite of the lack of sleep, because it wasn't Asher who was helping, stirring around to put the slate in a precarious balance on his lap.

When the door closed, and I turned to him again, he'd already lifted it toward me.

'I need you to do something for me.'

"Um, sure...What?" My gaze trailed around from the many machines I didn't know the use to the tubes disappearing under his blanket before I swallowed the lump of nerves in my throat.

He'd gone through so much already, and he was my little brother. Whatever it was, I could do it for him.

Maybe he just wanted to look more fit-to-be-seen before face-timing Althea, or maybe he needed me to scratch his back? Whatever it was, it couldn't be that bad.

I shouldn't have underestimated my brother, though.

Asher never did mild. He did extreme, and when he handed me the slate, it was filled to the brim with his tottering handwriting, and the first sentence wasn't just bad; it was the worst he could have ever written.

I almost believed it was a joke at first, searching through quick blinks for a 'psych' in the following lines, yet only finding too-feasible arguments that made my head spin until I snapped,

"Have you lost your fucking mind?!"

Shouting surely wasn't the wisest if he'd really lost it, but sadly, I couldn't blame his brain injury when he shook his head and cocked an eyebrow obvious enough towards his legs so that I could almost hear the rest of his reply.

That was only Asher in all his splendor.

"We're not in some James Bond movie! You can't do that in real life. It's not possible. How would you even do with the funerals and all that stuff?"

Actually, the most important question was: why was I even considering it?

"You know what? I don't wanna know. It's probably illegal to even think about it, and it's not possible." I shook my head quickly, not letting his unwavering stare get in.

But it was too late when he pointed lower on the slate, nodding for me to read on the answer already written there.

'I know my girlfriend. Althea doesn't ever go in cemeteries.'

"And if—" I stopped as I continued the next line.

'You just have to convince her to go to NYC and she won't come back.'

"Do you realize what you're saying— meaning?" I sighed, my hand shooting up to run through my hair before I remembered I was wearing a hairnet.

We were still in ICU, even if it felt like we'd entered a parallel dimension.

"Supposing it's possible, that would imply you could never ever see her again. You'll regret it. The doctor just told you it isn't definitive, but this decision is. At least, think about it with a clear head, think about how it would break her."

Ever heard of talking to a brick wall? That was what I was doing at this instant, in every sense of the expression, as his index finger gestured for the slate, and I faced his left side while he wrote his reply.

'Don't have time if she has to retake her interview.' And an arrow was leading back to the first lines I refused to read one more time.

"No, I can't do that to you and to her." I threw my hands up, giving him back his slate and fucked-up arguments. "You're not the one who's had to announce to her the love of her life got in a car crash and watch her cry like a lost kid!"

The calm I'd promised to the nurse was forgotten as I started pacing around like a maniac, and I didn't dare to look at the numbers on the monitors if his heart was thumping as fast as mine.

But at least, I glimpsed a crack of reaction in his facade as his Adam's apple moved with a painful gulp, and his hand wiped a line or two on the slate. A little bit more, and the tempest brewing behind his eyes would break through and hopefully knock some sense into him.

"You should've seen her curled up in your shirt for the past four days, worried sick to the point she barely ate anything. Then maybe you'd be face-timing her right now, writing her how much you love her, instead of trying to break her more." I let it all out, the words falling heavily in the air.

So much so that the single tear that escaped him seemed to roll down his cheek in slow motion. Maybe it was also because he couldn't brush it away with his splinted arm, only lowering his head like a defeated soldier.

Had I won this argument? The thick silence as I took in a shallow inhale felt more like standing victorious for a great cause but looking around a bloody battlefield and seeing all it took for it.

What was worse, however, was realizing the war wasn't over.

'Because that's what you'd do with Kylie, if you were the one paralyzed in a hospital bed? Let her ruin her dream for you?'

Like a low blow I hadn't seen coming, he lifted his slate and his gaze again, the tear stain making the green even more piercing as he aimed straight for a raw nerve and knocked my breath out.

"I... I don't know, okay? But if I ever had this kind of idea, I hope someone would talk some sense into me."

'You're not 'someone'. You're my bro. That's why I asked you to do it, not your view.'

He wasn't giving up, even when the pen kept slipping from his fingers, even when his hand was shakier, and even when each letter looked like an excruciating effort.

So, not standing to see him one more second in that state, I did the only thing I could to stop this. I grabbed the slate and put it out of his reach, on a cart one foot away from his bed.

"Well, call me a bad bro, but I'm not doing this." Instead, I placed my phone on his lap, the contact number already opened to Althea's, so all he had to do was press the video call button. "You'll thank me one day."

Unless he killed me before, and although he was paralyzed in a bed, like he'd reminded me so well, I wouldn't have been surprised if he did.

He seemed to be already contemplating throwing the small device at my face as he glanced between the phone and me, his eyes narrowing more and more until I recognized the look in the green shades.

I'd only seen it a few times through my life, but I would never forget that day, one week before I'd got my driving license, when he'd wanted us to enter a street race with my brand new car, and I'd refused, knowing the parents would kill us if they'd found out.

Even without the slamming of doors and curse words, it was the same question: was I with him or against him?

And the same warning in his gaze to not challenge him because, like that night the parents had picked him up at the police station with my wrecked car, it would happen anyway.

***

"How is he?"

The dreaded question came as soon as I exited the double doors. Those same double doors I'd entered, full of hope, what felt like a lifetime ago, too long, yet not enough.

Everything was still the same here, except for the window to my right, letting me know it was already night, and the empty seat with Kylie's holdall bag, as she'd probably gone to the bathroom.

So it was only me and...

"Paxton?" Althea called my attention again, her voice thin and on edge like her fate was hanging on my answer.

I didn't even dare to look at her, my gaze going straight down, while the rest of my insides were slithering the opposite way, a wave of acid already at the back of my throat.

I was pretty sure I'd made a stop at the bathroom on my way, though. A flash of my haunted eyes in the mirror coming to my mind, unless it was Asher's? I couldn't distinguish anything in the blur of memories of the past minutes, hours, days...

"Paxton? Paxton?" she repeated, her voice more and more feeble until the last syllable cracked, and my eyes pinched closed at the broken sound.

I had to answer. The longer I waited, the harder it would be, and it was already impossible as I tried in vain to swallow what was climbing up my throat, grabbing her arm to support her and myself at the same time.

"He... he didn't make it."

Worse than any acid heave, the choked words came out, searing until the tip of my tongue, and contrary to throwing up, I didn't feel lighter once they were out, the sound of her gasping sob falling on me like a ton.

"No, no... The doctor said..."

"I know. He was awake," I croaked, risking a glance up from under my eyebrows to make sure she wasn't going to faint.

But it was even more violent as her eyes were wide and aghast behind her glasses, taking in each of the words I vomited.

"We talked, and I felt something wasn't right. The doctors said it was a lot between the brain trauma and the coma, and there was an aneurysm."

Vomiting, there was no other way to call it as everything twisted, from my insides to the sentences out of my lips with terms from the TV shows Kylie forced me to watch with her, and even the fingers in my back.

"He had a stroke, and they couldn't do anything."

"N-no, you're lying! Please, tell me you're lying..." she begged, holding on to one last hopeless hope, while her features were already crumbling down, and I didn't look past her tear-stained cheeks.

Otherwise, I would have told her that yes, I was lying.

But that scream stayed inside, locked between my crossed fingers and the nip of my teeth drawing blood on my lips, even as she crashed into my chest, sobbing and punching.

I took it all without flinching, standing like an empty fortress.

What I wouldn't do for my brother... Apparently, I could even kill him.

"That's not the p-plan," she stammered, the words muffled in my now-wet shirt stronger than her weakening punches. "It's m-my... fault, and he was m-mad at me..."

"No, Althea... He isn't..." I sighed, as if it could loosen the vice grip of my ribcage trying to push the confession out. "He wasn't mad at you. In that room, you're the only one he talked about, saying how much he loves you and wants you to realize your dreams."

At least, that was the truth, like the 'sorry' I whispered again and again. Still, my chest stayed as tight, and if my fingers uncrossed, it was to draw soothing circles in her back as she shook with another burst of heart-wrenching tears.

One after the other, they never seemed to stop, or maybe it was just an endless eruption from her shattered heart. I didn't know anymore as we stood there in the silence of her unrelenting sobs for what felt like a lifetime, too long, yet not enough until someone walked in.

"Sorry, there was a problem at the bake—" Kylie's soft voice stopped, replaced by the clings of metal on the floor and the bangs of my heart as she understood what was happening—a part of it.

But she would know the full truth the second I would dare to meet her blue eyes, and I prayed then she would forgive me because that day, I already lost two of the most important people in my life.

Okay, who needs tissues? 🤧🤧

I do, and it broke my heart to write this chapter 😭. 

So tell me all your thoughts about it! Did you expect it? Surely if you've read the blurb. Do you think Paxton took the right decision? He didn't have much choice anyway lol. You can say he's a loyal brother 😅.

And what about our poor baby Asher? 🥺

I hope you liked this chapter! And if so, don't forget to vote ⭐ and comment!

And add the story to your library and reading lists (if you haven't already) because more chapters are coming, and I promise there'll be lighter ones too! 😘