I went home Sunday night almost drunk to oblivion and woke up sore all over my body the next day. I groaned and tried to roll to my side but found that even moving my arms and coughing or holding my breath was painful.

What the hell happened?

Something rapidly beeping caught my attention, and as I tried to open my eyes, I found it to be an enormous struggle.

"Mom, he's awake!" I recognized Harris scrambling from the side of my bed and rushing towards my head. He called the nurses, telling them to call the doctor. When he saw me looking at him, his relief turned into a scowl. "What the hell were you thinking, Ace? Oh, hold on. Obviously, you weren't! Fucking idiot!"

I opened my mouth to retaliate, but my throat was so dry I ended up coughing and then hissing in pain.

"Bradley! Thank god you're finally awake!" She hugged, her eyes brimming with tears. The moment she did, searing pain across my chest and left shoulder erupted. And it was only then I noticed that I had a brace around my neck, a sling on my left arm, and things attached to my right hand.

"I'm not even sorry! You deserve that!" she scowled too, wiping her tears. 

Thank god, my family really loved me. I really appreciated their warm concern and tender love during that time of confusion and pain. Note the sarcasm.

"I love you, too," I said hoarsely.

"Why were you driving when you were drunk? You knew it was my one condition, Bradley, my only condition when you should not drive! Now that you turn thirty, you think you're invincible and driving sober is beneath you?" she cried.

I did not reply. I had no acceptable answer to that because I myself wondered what compelled me to drive drunk. After almost getting into accidents twice because I was smashed, I made it a point to either sober up or grab a taxi.

"Well?" my mother insisted.

"If I could have some water, please," I appealed. 

Sure they gave me water. Drops of room temperature water from frigging cotton balls. It was enough to wet my lips but not my parched throat. What the actual fuck.

I parted my lips again, asking for more.

"Doctor said you can only have a few drops at a time." Harris was clearly enjoying my misery.

"Fuck the doctor. Water!" I croaked.

"Tell Cara that. See if she'll be pleased," he snickered. 

"How's my car?" I frowned.

"How's your car? You're not even going to ask what happened and if you will be able to walk again?"

"Harris!" mother reprimanded him.

"What?" I immediately panicked. I hadn't felt my legs the moment I woke up, and as I stared at them hidden under the blanket, they weren't moving. The monitors were beeping aggressively again as pain erupted in my chest. I forced myself to sit up despite the blinding pain. 

Son of a bitch, I cannot be paralyzed!

"Ace, lay back down!" Cara ordered as she came through the door.

"My legs! What happened?" I quickly pulled the sheet off my legs and saw my upper thighs were badly bruised, my legs were mildly swollen, but they were not deformed. There were a few abrasions and cuts, but nothing critical. "Why can't I feel them or move them?"

"Calm down, Ace!"

"How can I calm down if I can't feel my legs!" I wheezed and hissed. At that point, I wanted to jump out of bed just to see if I had indeed lost my lower limbs.

"Harris, you monster! Look what you have done!" Mother repeatedly hit the back of his head while he shielded her blows. He was laughing, and even though I felt that it might be a joke, not being able to feel my legs was not funny!

"Ace, stop it. Listen! Your legs are fine!" Cara shouted. She gently but firmly pushed me back to the lying position as she glowered at my brother, who was now laughing like a hyena. "Harris, get out, will you?"

My head began to spin and I gripped the sheets beside my legs, knuckles turning white as my breathing became shallow. "Scarlet Claraval, you better start talking."

"Ace, listen to me. Breathe in, and breathe out," she says, doing the breathing exercises with me. "In, and out. In and out."

It did some good as my breathing steadied and the room stopped spinning, but I was still anxious and I needed answers. 

"Cara, what the fuck --"

" Okay, okay. You got into an accident last Sunday, and that Jacob guy from your work brought you in. Since you were found unconscious, we did a lot of diagnostic work-up on you."

"That does not explain why I can't move my legs, doc. You have thirty seconds." I was barely holding my shit together. There were so many questions zooming in my head, but I had to know what happened to my legs first. Then I can ask about the other things after I find out whether my feet are fine.

"Jaxx mentioned you were vomiting and complaining of severe abdominal pain while partying before you disappeared to the men's room, then he didn't see you again. Anyway, we did a scan and found you had acute appendicitis. They took your appendix a few hours ago, and you're still under spinal anesthesia; hence you cannot move or feel your legs."

"You spoke with Jaxx?"

"That's the only thing you gathered from what I said? I thought you wanted to know about your legs, you ass-hat!" she slapped my insensate thigh. "And no, I did not speak with him. Jasmine did. She assisted with your surgery, too. Do you want to know what she said when she saw you naked?"

"She saw me naked? Why was I even naked!"

"Stop being dramatic. It isn't like she hasn't tasted your naked body, dude." She was now laughing. The crazy woman was laughing at me! My God, why do I have friends like the ones I have?

I shut my eyes and ran a hand over my face. I took a few deep breaths to get myself back on track. Un-fucking-believable, these people.

"Shut up, you idiot. Stop this Jasmine and Jaxx bit, and let's go back to the part where I was brought to the hospital by another person whose name starts with the letter 'J.' How many more friends do we have whose names start with that damn letter?"

"I have a junior named Joseph. And our friends, 'Jino,' 'Jal,' 'Jeb'." She just changed the first letters of our friend's nicknames.

"Oh! I think Jeb is quite fitting for Seb because he is a shithead!" she laughed, and I agreed, chuckling a bit. Jebs is Filipino slang for poop.

"Anyway, back to my question. I'm confused. You said 'last Sunday'. That was just last night, right?" I clarified. Looking around, I realized there was no window. It was a tiny room indeed with one side covered with glass – floor-to-ceiling glass doors and walls. The curtains were drawn and across the hallway was another glass wall and door with the curtains closed.

"Uh, no. That was two days ago. It's already Tuesday evening. You've been in the ICU since you just woke up from surgery a few minutes ago." She explained.

"So I was in a coma?" my heart raced even though it dropped together with my blood pressure. I was suddenly feeling cold and clammy.

"No, you were in a vegetative state. Braindead. I'm actually death in disguise," she said emotionlessly before bursting into another fit of laughter when my eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

"Goddammit," I groaned. "Why can't you be serious with me? I was nice when you were a crying mess when you got pregnant! I didn't joke around about you when you almost bled to death! Fucking son of a bitch!" I threw my pillow at the wall in front of me.

How are these people so fucking inconsiderate? How could they think it would be hilarious to joke about what happened? Just because I was generally a nice guy didn't mean they could be mean and idiotic all the time!

She fell silent, and remorse filled her eyes when she looked at me. I may have gone a little too far, but I did not regret it. If it had been a simple accident and I did not know of Beau's plan to kill people, I would not be so high-strung. I probably would have just laughed along after getting mildly pissed.

But this was different. My gut was still working despite the absence of my appendix, and it was telling me that I did not drive drunk intentionally. Plus, why was Jacob there? I was at the bar with Jaxx. He was not around the entire night, and then suddenly he saw my car crash and took me to the hospital? Wasn't that convenient?

"I'm sorry, Ace."

"You should be. You doctors have this macabre and morbid sense of humor. It's absurd how you find the time to laugh at illnesses when you're supposed to treat sick people. You find death and disability funny. You're so detached sometimes you forget that your patients are suffering.

"It's not funny, Cara. Put yourself in my shoes. You wake up with nonfunctional legs and feet, your mother is hysterical that you drove drunk, your brother laughs at the idea that you can't move, and your damn doctor tells you that you were brain dead while laughing. How would you feel? How do you think I feel right now?"

"I-I...I'm sorry. It was tactless and insensitive, I have... I just thought you'd laugh about it, though. I didn't think you'd be so furious. But," she sighed and picked up the pillow, and placed it on the foot of my bed.

"Who's my attending physician? I want to talk to him. Or her."

"I'll get him. I'm really sorry, Ace." She left the room without me looking back at her. Despite my best efforts, I could not reach the damn pillow at the foot of my bed, so I gave up and just lay back down, trying to recall the events of last Saturday.

The good doctor did not arrive until seven the following morning. By that time, my legs were fully functional.

A man, not so tall, with salt and pepper hair, entered my room. He had a pair of glasses with silver rims, and he had small eyes, kind of like Chino's. He wore a chirpy smile that matched his polo's bright, happy color underneath the smart white gown with his name embroidered on it.

Another doctor holding charts entered the room. I assumed he was a resident, and he began to dictate my progress to Dr. Santiago.

"Good morning, Mr. Acebedo. I'm Dr. Santiago, your attending surgeon, though other doctors are seeing you as well for your other injuries. How are you feeling today?"

"Doc, what day is it today?" He was rather surprised by the first thing that came out of my mouth. No greeting, no 'hello.' The resident, Dr. Sean Ramos, stopped talking and looked at me too.

"Today is Wednesday, Bradley." I winced. Only my mother and my dad called me that.

"Please, call me Ace. What exactly happened, doc?" He cocked his head, and his smile was now more confused.

"I was told you woke up last night. You haven't talked to anyone about it yet? Though I would understand that it might be too much to process at the moment."

"Long story short, everyone was busy being assho—excuse me. They were busy being idiots, so I didn't get anything out of them except that I had been operated on, which was why I could not feel my legs."

"Sean, continue your rounds. I'll be at the OR after this," he told the guy who nodded and asked if he needed the chart. Dr. Santiago took it, and Sean left. Once his eyes were back on me, he shifted his weight and sighed, probably thinking of how to divulge my condition tactfully.

"Just tell me, please, with the least medical terms as possible. I need to know what happened."

"From what the ER resident told me, a friend of yours brought you in. He was also hurt but mostly just abrasions – superficial wounds. According to his account, you drove under the influence and crashed into a cement roadblock somewhere in Mandaluyong. You totaled your car. It was on the news. I'm surprised you even survived with moderate injuries."

"Moderate? Doc, I was in a coma. There's nothing moderate about that," I said sarcastically. He chuckled.

"Have you seen your car? You would have thought the driver was dead. You only had a shoulder dislocation, three rib fractures, most likely from the seatbelt, and a brain contusion. Even your spine is good! We were afraid you might have had a fracture or some other dislocation. The bleed in your brain and the swelling were not even severe enough to warrant surgery. Hence we were hopeful you would come out of it soon."

"Can you please let me have water and food now? If the accident didn't kill me, my hunger and thirst will in the ten minutes." My stomach grumbled loudly as if to agree.

"Of course. But let's start with soft diet first. We don't want to shock your system, plus you just had an appendectomy. No soft drinks and coffee for now."

"Tea? Cocoa? Milk?"

"Not for the next three days. Water is best." He continued writing on the chart. 

It took a little while to arrive at a compromise with my activities and diet, but it was manageable. At least I got to talk with someone who took me seriously. We discussed my injuries a little more and what I could and should not do. He said I would be moved to a regular room within the day, but I still would not be discharged.

"You can call your mother or family to be with you here. Just ask the nurses. Or you could just wait for them in your room. I'm expecting you to be there by this afternoon."

"I think I'll just rest a while. Can I bring my phone and laptop here? I need to work."

"You need to rest, Ace. But sure, just ring the nurses so they can tell your family. Which reminds me, there were some things your friend wanted to give you. He left strict instructions with the resident, Dr. Cortes, to give it directly to you once you're awake. They look like personal things from the car. I'll tell Jasmine to give it to you."

A few hours after Dr. Santiago left, I was up in bed with my feet dangling, swinging, and moving them as the doctor instructed. The nurses came together with some orderlies, informing me that I was going to be transferred. As they were getting things ready, Jasmine arrived, panting.

She was still breathtakingly beautiful, and I felt a twinge of pain at recalling how she wasn't ready to commit to me. Her dark brown hair was held in a half ponytail, and her chocolate brown eyes shimmered when she saw me.

"Ace! Thank god you're awake!" she rushed to me, and I shut my eyes in anticipation of the pain. When it didn't come, I opened it to see her curiously staring at me.

"Are you okay?"

"I thought you were going to hug me. I just braced myself for the pain," I chuckled, a little embarrassed.

"Oh, I was just about to, but I thought you didn't want me to. Now that that's clear," she engulfed me in a tight hug that literally took my breath away. God, she still smelled nice. I stifled a cough when she let go because my chest was physically painful.

She studied my face with a tender look and brushed away the hair on my forehead. I have no idea how I look right now other than someone who just survived a car crash. She was startled when our eyes met, and her cheeks turned a rosy shade.

Someone cleared their throat, breaking our moment. I wasn't sure if I was embarrassed that we had a moment or disappointed that being with her wasn't the first thing I thought about when I looked away. It was someone else entirely. And that upset me.

"Doc, we're transferring him to room 724," one of the nurses said with a teasing grin.

"Oh, yeah, sure. By the way, the guy that brought you here said to give this to you. Said it was your stuff from the car, but he wanted me to give it to you directly," she said, handing me a paper bag.

"I'm sorry, I looked at it. I needed to make sure it wasn't a bomb or something illegal that was going to land you or me in jail or something," she looked at me apologetically.

"It's okay. Thanks for the security check. I'm relieved to know it's safe and legal," I chuckled.

"So, what's inside?" I opened the paper bag and dropped the contents on my bed. It was a Ziplock bag of many things: my watch, car key fob, car manual, and things from the glove compartment.

"It's just a ziplock bag of your things, including your smashed phone. He even got you your car's registration. Nice guy," she chuckled. I nodded. I flipped the bag to look for my phone. However, my blood ran cold when I was met with something else entirely:

The queen of spades.

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