Nigel's POV:
So the weeks passed in a fashion slower than I would have preferred. Jordan called weekly to give me updates on her undisclosed location and Woody's 'troublesome' brother. Jordan described her absence as a much needed to time to reevaluate her life, her relationships, and whether or not she would come home. I knew what it really meant. It was time for her to decide what the hell to do with Woody.
Jordan said she would be home next Wednesday. She told me that she needed to pack herself and Cal up, and she needed to say good-bye to her boss. Jordan was coming home. Honestly, I hadn't expected her to.
I went to the hospital to tell Woody, but his room was empty. His nurse said that he had been transferred to a spinal cord rehabilitation program. Despite my best judgment, I drove across town to at least warn him that Jordan and Cal would be home in a few days.
He struggled against his wheelchair. He cursed at his legs that moved slowly. I was glad to see that his legs moved at all.
"I don't believe you," Woody said point blank when I told him Jordan was coming home.
"She's coming back on Wednesday. She's bringing your brother with her," I clarified as I followed him to his room. It was sparsely decorated and furnished. It almost reminded me of the army barracks I stayed in as a younger lad.
"I don't want to see either of them," Woody said.
"Fine. Then leave her alone. She deserves to be happy for once in her life," I said. I could feel my temper coming to a head.
"They abandoned me. Can't you see that? I live in a miserable fucking nightmare here," Woody cursed loudly.
"You pushed them away first," I tried to gently remind him.
"I called her one hundred and thirty seven times. She never called me back. Jordan abandoned me," Woody replied as if the number of phone calls really gave me any idea as to the quality of their content.
"You hurt her. Every week, she tells me just how much you hurt her. Jordan Cavanaugh isn't known for putting her heart on the line. When she did, you sent her away. Woodrow, you can't expect her to just run back to her when you call," I said trying to stifle my urge to hit Woody over the head . . . knock some sense back into him.
"I asked her to come home," Woody replied.
"How did you ask her? Did you yell . . . maybe make her feel like shit for leaving?" I asked my voice again becoming raised.
"Get out," Woody yelled. I knew the truth in that moment.
"You've sure gotten good at pushing away that people that care about you," I said as I turned around and walked away.