Chapter 19.
Jeff had never been a great one for surprises.
Unfortunately for him, being the father of five boys meant that his life had been full of the damn things. For years his existence had been a blur of birthday parties, Easter egg hunts, trick or treating, and Christmas shenanigans, not to mention the celebrations that came with every loose tooth, good school grade, sporting victory, and tantrum resolution. He loved his boys to death, but there was a reason why he'd started to go grey in his thirties.
The last surprise he'd been involved in had been a doozy. His mother had organised a party to celebrate Scott graduating from high school, but had modified it at the last minute to also celebrate Virgil's hockey team reaching the regional finals. Of course, Scott had refused to share the limelight and had made his displeasure known by instigating a scuffle. Gordon had then made the fatal mistake of getting in-between him and Virgil mid-punch, and had ended up on the receiving end of a right hook that had caused him to swallow the tooth he'd been experimentally prodding with his tongue.
Jeff had left work early that day for the express purpose of surprising his sons, but had instead been greeted with carnage. Scott and Virgil wrestling each other with the kind of violence that only brothers could get away with. John and Alan cowering behind their grandmother as she tried to establish some kind of order amongst Scott's friends. Gordon panicking that the tooth fairy wouldn't find his missing incisor, and Kayo taking advantage of the situation to prematurely steal a piece of birthday cake.
Ah, the joys of parenthood.
Still, it wasn't all bad. As far as kids went, his boys were superstars. Good grades, good behaviour, and good looks to boot. They'd lucked out in the genetic lottery and would no doubt mature into strapping, kind-hearted young men.
As Gordon was already proving.
Jeff shook his head, aware that his focus was drifting. In front of him, Gordon blinked up from the holoprojector, his cheeks flushed with urgency.
"So you see Dad, that's why we have to help," Gordon finished, "Virgil and John said they'd back me up if you weren't sure."
Jeff smiled and adjusted the portable holoprojector on Alfie's console, "That's mighty kind of 'em. What about Scott and Alan?"
"Alan has the attention span of a brussel sprout," Gordon retorted, "And Scott's our secret weapon, but we can only deploy him if you agree to my very reasonable terms."
"I see. And remind me what those are again?" Jeff asked, aware he was toying with his son's patience.
"A fifty-thousand-dollar loan in the form of one month's deferred payment to HOPE to cover Nubby's rehabilitation costs, with the aim of then donating him to the charity as a fully-trained therapy animal."
Jeff nodded thoughtfully, "I see. And what would the legalities of this arrangement be? The contract I signed with HOPE has no clause for deferred payments."
"I'm prepared to put in my winnings," Gordon added, aware that he was slightly out of his depth, "Or take the loan on personally. I'll even pay you interest."
"You're prepared to sign away the prize money you worked your little backside off for?" Jeff probed, his tone a mixture of pride and confusion, "You've barely had it a day and already you want to blitz all of it?"
"Not all of it," Gordon protested, "Maybe sixty or seventy percent. I've already side-lined a chunk for a new jet ski and some retro tech I've been eyeballing."
Jeff chuckled and lowered himself into a chair, "Fair enough. Anyway, back to business. I've no interest in you bankrupting yourself before you're even old enough to vote, and most banks won't touch you until you turn twenty-one, which leaves you at the mercy of your old man here. Do you know what the current rate of interest is?"
Gordon hesitated for a second, but was saved by John shoving two fingers in the air, "Two percent?"
Jeff nodded, "Good. I don't expect you to be an accountant, but a healthy respect for money and a bit of basic knowledge goes a long way. Right, now if I were to loan you this money, how would you intend to pay it back? Regular monthly repayments, or a lump sum like Scott insists on doing with his credit cards?"
"A lump sum with a five-year deadline," Gordon replied, "With any luck, you'll have forgotten about it by then. Or gotten stranded on some distant planetoid."
"Be careful what you wish for," Jeff warned, "I'll half the interest if you promise to pursue that contact in WASP that Sam gave you. Heck, I'll scrap it altogether if you also help your grandmother around the house more. Am I a reasonable dad, or am I a reasonable dad?"
"You're tolerable," Gordon jested, "Shall I draw the contract up on this here tissue I have in my pocket?"
Jeff opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a blast of static. In the background, Lee cursed loudly as Alfie's systems stuttered and went offline, courtesy no doubt of the lunar storm their instruments had been warning them about for the last hour. The holoprojector was no exception, and in the blink of an eye Gordon's image was gone.
Frustration bubbled through Jeff's veins as he silently bemoaned the fragility of Alfie's connection with earth. Mankind had perfected space travel and was currently in the process of drawing up plans to colonise Mars, yet for some reason couldn't wrap their collective brains around the conundrum that was unreliable phone signal. It was the Achilles heel of great minds, both past and present, and had been the biggest pain in his ass since potty training Alan.
Still, at least he'd gotten the important bits out. He'd made it clear that he approved of Gordon's plan, no matter how wonky the math was. His fourth son had the same burning desire to help and to save as the rest of them, and he was more than happy to put his money where his mouth was when it came to nurturing that quality in him. The effectiveness of therapy animals was well documented and a horse could remain in active service for a lot longer than a dog. With a little bit of luck, it would also save Gordon's new friend from some of the turmoil she was experiencing. With her career and health in tatters, the death of her horse would no doubt be the final nail in the coffin.
Metaphorically speaking, at least.
-x-
"You want me to what?"
Ice slithered down Gordon's spine at Scott's tone. It didn't sound particularly cooperative. His brother had a death stare that could wilt a cactus, but no one had more experience dealing with said stare than Gordon himself.
"Call this number and repeat everything I just told you," Gordon implored, "Please. A life depends on it."
Scott looked on the verge of some kind of exhausted meltdown. Gordon had a habit of babbling when he was nervous, and the rate at which words were spilling out of his mouth made it clear that he was trying to communicate the maximum amount of information in the minimum amount of time.
"A horse's life, you mean," Scott corrected, "Human life is our priority, Gordon. We're not an animal charity."
"You know it's not that black and white," Gordon countered, clearly frustrated, "I've told you the reason why we have to at least try and save Nubby. Dad agrees, and John and Virgil are on board as well."
Outside, the first rays of dawn began to peek over the horizon. Scott grunted and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. Having three brothers off on their own in a strange city at night hadn't made falling asleep easy. Virgil and John were also suffering the after-effects of their own all-nighters, but were doing commendable jobs of pretending that they were wide awake.
Gordon on the other hand was positively electric. He was acutely aware of the lack of progress he'd made on Nubby's predicament in the time since he'd spoken to Jess. While he had no way of knowing for sure if the horse was in any kind of immediate trouble, he wasn't prepared to take any risks. Greg's warning about the butcher's block continued to haunt him.
"I wouldn't know this Hernandez guy if I fell over him," Scott argued, "How am I supposed to articulate your offer to him when I don't know the first thing about him?"
"You hardly need to say anything," Gordon reminded, rubbing his fingers together in the money gesture, "Let the dollars do the talking. We're offering him good money for a horse that is essentially a deadweight. If he tries to play the long game, Dad's given you permission to name-drop International Rescue."
In the background, Virgil munched on a banana with obvious lethargy. It had been a long night, but he was proud of the plan Gordon had concocted. Though not one he would have come up with himself, he was pleased to see that Olympic glory hadn't gone to their brother's head. He was still the same loving soul they'd dropped off at the airport a week ago.
One final push from Scott was all that was needed. Gordon had all the bases covered. If Hernandez accepted, he'd be saving Nubby, dozens of future patients at HOPE, and Jess's conscience. If Hernandez refused, he'd use the loan from Jeff to purchase a different therapy horse so that HOPE wouldn't lose out. The same couldn't be said for Jess or Nubby, but he couldn't save everyone. No matter how desperately he wanted to.
"What's the area code?" Scott muttered, digging his phone out of his pocket and stifling a yawn into his fist.
Gordon's expression brightened hopefully, "You'll call him?"
Scott nodded and grabbed a ration bar as a premature reward, "I can see how important this is to you. Plus, Mom loved horses. I think trying to save one is a nice way of honouring her memory. I expect you to cover my chores for the rest of the month, though."
A small lump formed in Gordon's throat at his brother's sentiment.
"Five, nine, one," Scott muttered, squinting as John held out his phone for him to see Hernandez's number, "Eight, four, five, zero. Wish me luck. What's the time in Dallas right now?"
"Half two," John answered.
Scott nodded and sandwiched his phone between his ear and shoulder. Gordon raised a fist to his mouth in nervous anticipation.
"Mr Hernandez? Good afternoon. My name is Scott Tracy, and I'm calling on behalf of International Rescue. I have an offer I'd like to present to you."
-x-
Jess extended her arm in a stretch, wincing with pain when her shoulder clicked.
She'd been out of surgery for several hours, but hadn't slept. The painkillers she was on were fairly potent, but not enough to knock her out. Instead, she'd been left teetering on the brink of consciousness, drowsy enough to forget about her injuries, but alert enough to remember how she'd gotten them.
She still hadn't heard from Greg, which worried her deeply. Though she wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, her instincts warned that he was hiding something. Her teammates had brought her a large bunch of flowers first thing that morning, but had left before she'd been able to question them properly, further compounding her unease.
"You've got a visitor," Lila announced, poking her head around the door, "It's the young man who visited last night."
Jess braced herself against her pillows, "Is he with you?"
"He's changing into scrubs now," Lila replied, "How's the pain?"
"Okay," Jess replied, wincing as she levered herself upright, "But I'm still not hungry."
"That's normal," Lila assured, "Do you think you could manage a glass of milk? You'll need to drink through a straw until your neck brace comes off."
Nervous tension bubbled in Jess's stomach as she strained to listen for the tell-tale squeak of Gordon's boat shoes against the floor, "Not right now, thank you."
Lila nodded and turned to speak to someone, keeping one hand braced on the door as she did so. The second voice was soft and muffled, but unmistakably Gordon's.
"Blood and temperature checks are in twenty minutes," Lila informed, arching her arm so that Gordon could pass underneath, "Providing they're normal and you can hold down liquids, we can look at discharging you. Twenty minutes, Mr Tracy. Capiche?"
The door squeaked as it swung shut, the disturbance causing the curtains to ruffle slightly. Outside, cars and buses honked as the morning rush hour got underway. In the distance, a low rumble signalled the arrival of an aircraft inbound to Jomo Kenyatta.
"Well?" Jess croaked. She'd spent the last few hours exhausting herself going over every possible outcome within the dark confines of her mind. She'd replayed the accident over and over again, calling to mind the few details she could remember between Nubby crashing to the ground and the paramedics moving him so that they could get to her. She couldn't recall seeing any open wounds, but that meant nothing. She'd known many horses who'd died bloodless deaths.
Her biggest fear was a fractured leg. Or pelvis. Or skull. Or all three. While the first two weren't instant death sentences, the time and money required to reset a broken bone was something few owners were prepared to invest, especially given the ease with which a horse could be replaced. Breeding was a lucrative business, and the market was overrun with eligible young equines that could swiftly take the places of their broken predecessors.
Hope was all that Jess had left for Nubby. Hope that was instantly dashed when Gordon slowly shook his head.
"I'm sorry. I was too late."
No other words were needed. Despite his family's efforts, Gordon was determined to shoulder the blame for buckling under the weight of his own promise alone. He knew deep down that nothing was his fault, but that didn't stop red-hot guilt from oozing into the creases of his conscience. Nubby had been euthanised less than an hour after being removed from the ring. By the time Scott and Hernandez had exchanged pleasantries, his body had already been reduced to ashes. In a sick twist of fate, Hernandez had offered to have them boxed up for Jess to keep, but Gordon had told Scott to decline. That particular decision was too personal, and he wasn't prepared to take any more risks.
Watching from behind his mask as tears began to spill soundlessly down Jess's cheeks, he found himself riddled with self-doubt. Had he made the right decision about the ashes? Would the outcome have been any different if he'd gotten in touch with Hernandez before coming to the hospital? Had he overstepped the mark and gotten too involved in something that, ultimately, had nothing to do with him?
The thing was, it did have something to do with him. It had everything to do with him. A shared passion for sport had brought him and Jess into each other's lives and given rise to a friendship that had carried them through one of the most challenging events of their lives. In the space of just a week the girl sitting in front of him had watched him go from a sobbing mess on the phone to his dad, to bagging a gold medal and making Olympic history. She'd seen him at his best and at his worst.
Unsure of what to do, Gordon wrapped his arms around Jess's battered torso and pulled her in for a gentle hug. It wasn't much, but he hoped it would go some way towards showing that, like she'd been there for him, he too was there for her.
"I know it hurts," Gordon whispered, tensing when images of his mother flashed across his mind, "But it does get easier, I promise. You just have to hold on."
"How?" Jess wept, her voice thick with sobs, "I'll never forgive myself for this. I killed him."
"Trust me," Gordon soothed, shifting so that Jess's forehead rested against his own, "It'll get easier with time. Don't lose yourself just because you made a mistake. When my mom died, my brothers promised me that everything would eventually be okay. Let's hold on together, they said. I didn't believe them in the beginning, but they must have been right, because despite everything, I'm still here. And one day, you'll be able to say the same thing."
Jess released the weak grip she had on her composure and dissolved into Gordon's shoulder, giving in unashamedly to her grief.
"That's it, let it out. Come on, all of it. And when you're ready, we'll hold on. Together."
