And Jake still felt as though he’d just lost the love of his life forever.
She was his soul mate. His other half. Against all odds, they’d found their way to each other.
Then, because he’d been a complete chicken shit and hadn’t had the balls to come clean about her brother sooner, there was a good chance he’d lose her forever.
Jake’s chest suddenly felt tight, like a giant vice had grabbed hold of his heart and was squeezing the life out of him. He rubbed at the skin there, and tried to force air into his lungs, but couldn’t seem to get in more than a tiny breath at a time.
Overwhelming panic was spreading through every cell in his body, and he couldn’t seem to stop it.
“Jake?”
Coop sounded worried, but Jake could barely hear him over the sound of blood surging past his ears. More voices travelled from down the hall.
“Boss, I’m so sorry.” This came from Mac. “What can we do?”
“Hey, boss. How is she?” Derek asked anxiously. “She’s gonna be okay, right?”
The whole team was here, now, practically talking over each other, with the exception of Grant. He remained stoically quiet, his big arms crossed in front of his chest.
Jake couldn’t hear any of them. Jesus, what was happening to him? Was he having a heart attack? Is this what that felt like?
He was losing the last bit of control he had, and needed to move, before he completely lost it in front of his entire team.
“Hey, man. You okay?” Coop asked warily.
“I...” Was that his voice? “I need to...”
Christ, he couldn’t even form a coherent thought. Desperate, he looked around for a place to go. Somewhere to hide because, sure as shit, he couldn’t let them see the breakdown he knew was coming.
There!
At the other end of the hallway were two doors. One with the universal symbol for ‘Men’s Room’ on it.
Jake his rusty throat. “I just need...a minute.”
Ignoring the worried looks of his team, Jake practically ran to the bathroom, thankful no one followed him. He pushed the door open with such force it slammed into the wall behind it.
Jake was heaving into one of the three toilets, before the door had closed completely.
Every lurch of his stomach brought with it a new memory of Olivia. A new fear that he’d be forced to live without her, for real this time.
This went on until well after his stomach was empty. Then, all he managed to accomplish was a series of wretchedly painful dry-heaves.
Several minutes later, the convulsing stopped. Woodenly, Jake reached up, flushed the toilet, and made his way to the sink to wash up.
He washed blood from his hands, which he’d forgotten was even there, and rinsed out his mouth.
As he wiped the water from his face, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His hands were clean, with the exception of some blood still beneath his short fingernails, but his shirt and the top half of his pants were covered in blood. Olivia’s blood.
The sight brought forth all of the emotions he’d been holding back, for Olivia’s sake. Anger toward Cetro and himself.
Guilt over the whole situation with Mike, and for not protecting her like he’d sworn he always would.
Emotions as they slammed into him with a vengeance, and Jake could do nothing to stop them.
His fist shattered the mirror, shards smeared with his own blood clanged down into the porcelain sink below. It wasn’t enough.
Lifting the large, metal trash can with ease and swung it around into the nearest stall, its side caving in as if it were an aluminum soda can. Used paper towels flew out, littering the cold, tiled floor, but it still wasn’t enough.
Making a noise that didn’t even sound human, Jake ripped the plastic paper towel dispenser from the wall and threw it across the small room.
A large patch of drywall tore away from the wall where it had hung. It cracked open as it smashed against the far wall.
Still. Not. Enough.
Jake looked around for something else to destroy. The only things feasible were the two sinks, their backs attached to the wall behind them. They’d have to do.
He grabbed onto the sides of the cold, smooth surface and growled as he pulled with all his might. The sink didn’t budge, which only pissed him off even more. Jake yelled out as he tried again, but his efforts were in vain.
It became a challenge, then. A task he could focus on instead of thinking about the fact that Olivia was in that operating room, this very second, fighting for her life. And mine.
Jake gave another tug. A tiny spark of satisfaction crept in when he noticed the clear calking on the back of the sink begin to crack. Just a few more tries and he knew he could get the fucker loose.
He’d just started pulling again when he heard Hill’s deep voice.
“Is that helping?”
Jake froze but didn’t look up. He just stood there, staring down at the sink, his chest rising and falling with each heaving breath.
“Don’t stop on my account,” Grant added.
Jake swiveled his head around and gave the man a look that said he needed to shut the fuck up, and get the fuck out. Of course, the guy would pick today to become Chatty Cathy.
“What? You want to hit me?” Grant shrugged one shoulder and took a step closer. “Go ahead. Hit me.”
Jake finally found his voice, though he didn’t recognize it. “Get out.”
Instead of leaving, Hill took another step closer. “Or what? You’ll quit taking your frustration out on the bathroom and start fighting something that can hit back?”
Jake let go of the sink and in one long stride was toe-to-toe with his teammate. “Get. The. Fuck. Out.”
“No.”
For just a second, Grant’s eyes flashed with what looked like sympathy or some shit like that. Whatever it was, Jake didn’t need it. He sure as hell didn’t want it.
His fists filled with the front of Grant’s t-shirt. Jake pushed against the
