AN: I ran out of good Helena lyrics so I moved to include the song "I'm Not Okay", another of my favorites, for title chapters! BTW, if you want to listen to their songs, download them, buy their kick-ass CD or go to to listen to some of them. w00t!

16 reviews –is giddy—thank you to Keridwen89 and Orlando-Crazy for commenting on chapter 6! You guys rawk!

Remember When You Broke Your Foot

After two weeks of staying bed ridden, the doctor came into Jordan's room and told her that she was healed enough to start physiotherapy. However, having dealt with her personality for the past fortnight, he made her a deal. If she promised to attend one hour of physiotherapy each day for one week, he would judge her ability and if he thought her to be up to par, he would release her from the hospital.

Jordan hated physiotherapy. She felt strong enough to walk by herself but because of the cast on her left leg and the one on her left arm, she lacked enough mobility to be able to maneuver a wheelchair; therefore, she used crutches, which she learned to hobble upon in order to do meager tasks.

The night before her last physiotherapy session, her father came to visit her. "Hey Jor," he exclaimed happily upon entering the room with two fresh cinnamon buns from a local bakery.

Jordan did not even look in his general direction. Already in a bad mood because of the amount of pain she was suffering, she did not want to speak to him or any of his cohorts because of the secrets he held from her. However, Max, Garret and the others from the morgue came to see her against her will.

"I thought you needed something a little different from the hospital food they serve you here so I went to the bakery down the street and—"

"That's nice," she snipped.

Max's shoulders dropped and he sighed, pulling the chair up beside the bed, "What's wrong Jordan? You've been in a bad mood for a week now. We're sorry, what more do you want?"

If she could have shot lasers from her eyes, she would have. The look she gave him was one of near loathing. She took a deep rattling breath and spat, "You knew. You knew the entire time and you didn't tell me. Woody didn't even tell me, Garret eventually told me. Why didn't you tell me? You knew how I would react!"

Max could almost feel her emotions bouncing off the walls she vibrated intensely as tears formed in her eyes, "Nobody told me."

"Jordan," his accented voice was gentle which, as a child, used to soothe her. After the tenth explanation, however, she turned away from him, trying to hide her tears. "I wanted to tell you."

"Then why didn't you?" She demanded through gritted teeth, a tactic she sometimes used to prevent tears from falling.

"Because, Woody wanted to tell you himself, he was only waiting for the right opportunity. Macy was wrong in what he did—"

"He as wrong in telling me the truth?"

"No, he was wrong in going behind Woody's back and telling you despite him," Max had raised his voice slightly in competition.

Jordan scoffed, "Well it doesn't matter, I know now. I know that Woody was the one who hit my car and I know that he hasn't visited since I found out to apologize for not telling me."

To Max, it seemed like the latter hurt her more than everything else did. He sighed, removing one of the cinnamon buns from the paper bag and handing it to her. She received it with muttered thanks and began savoring the sweet spice.

"Do you want him to come and apologize to you?" Max asked after a long silence.

She sighed and turned toward the dark window. "He can go to hell for all I care."

Max figured that she was letting her resentment speak. It seemed to him she had returned to being a teenager in that hospital bed. She felt as if her friends and the entire world were cohering against her and she did not know what to do except erect defenses around the perimeter of her mind and push everybody out of her life. He was thankful that she still let her father behind the walls of her fortress.

She licked her fingers clean of cinnamon flavoured icing, smiling and thanking Max again for the treat.

"You're welcome." He paused for a long moment, contemplating how to bring up what he had come to say. "Jordan?"

She turned to him looking into his green eyes with boredom. "I knew you didn't come here just to give me a cinnamon bun."

Max was un-amused, "I don't always have an ulterior motive. I just wanted to know what your plans are for after you get out of here."

"Well, considering I can't work with these casts on, I was going to go home, turn on the TV and not move for three weeks until I come back here, and get them taken off. And then, I'm not leaving the house for another couple of months until my hair grows back."

Max sighed empathetically. She had to shave her entire head because the doctors had removed patches of her hair to stitch her scalp. To Max, she looked like she had undergone chemotherapy treatment. "Well, what would you say to moving back in with me for those three weeks, so that I can help you out?"

"Dad, I don't need any help," she said, eliciting a smile. "The physiotherapy is helping me cope." This conversation was going better than Max had planned. He had expected her to explode with frustration at him offering her help. However, he had not predicted that she would understand her need for charity and turn his offer down gently.

He sighed. There was no use in arguing the matter, he did not intend to push her away, "Well, if you need any help, you just call me. I've got nothing else to do with my time."

"What are you talking about? You've got the Pogue!" Jordan exclaimed. It seemed her anger from before had completely dissipated.

He smiled, "I've got a good staff at the Pogue to take care of the place. Speaking of which, I have to get back to The Pogue for now, Friday nights are busy, you know. I'll be sure to tell Woody what you said," he winked, trying to sift another smile out of his daughter.

It didn't work, she merely turned away mumbling a goodbye.