Broken Record

3

Warning: Contains adult language and sexual content!

-Jorel-

Hey Jorel. It's Ethan. This is going to be the hardest message I ever send but I think we should see other people. I know Dylan is your best friend but it seems like you've been so busy with him that you're never home. I am going to admit my wrong doing now. I have been seeing someone when you weren't here. I fell in love with him. I'm so sorry that you have to find out like this. As always, I wish you nothing but the best, and I know with your beauty and charm, you'll have no problem finding someone who will see your worth.

-This recipient can no longer take calls or messages-

. "Come on, Dyl. Say 'cookie'. Cook-ie." 

Dylan looks at George and opens his mouth. He can get the C sound out but that's about it. It's a constant pattern of the sound and his whimpers of defeat. We know he is trying so hard to say the word out loud but for some reason he can't.

It's been almost two weeks since the crash. He's been improving significantly speaking about physical health but he still has a long way to go with speech. The one syllable words are a no brainer but anything more is tough on the poor guy. Looking at the bright side of things, at least he can somewhat say our names. He calls us: Dan, Jay, Jor, and he can say George almost perfectly. 

George sighs as he thumbs through the flash cards. He finds another one, holding up to him. 

"'Kay. Let's try this one. Say 'balloon'. Ba-loon." 

He gives George a head nod to confirm he understands then he opens his mouth slightly. 

"Ba... Ball... Ba... Bloom..." 

He and George sigh again almost in sync. He watches with tearing eyes when George sets the cards down on the table, shaking his head.

"I give up."

He stands.

"I guess I'll be heading out. I need to get the kids from school soon. Jordie texted me saying that Randi is sick and won't get the kids but his baby mama will be by soon with them. Keep it real, Dyl." 

He gives him a playful nudge as he walks away. I shake my head the moment he left. The look of discouragement says it all for Dyl. He wants to talk in complete sentences but he physically can't. 

I grab the seat beside his bed.

"He gave up too easily. I know you'll get there soon. It'll just take some time. I'm proud of you regardless. At least you can move a little easier. Erin, your therapist, said that you're rocking the physical therapy well. In fact, you're doing so good, you're not a fall risk anymore."

He grins a bit then frowns. He isn't proud of himself. It makes me wonder what he's thinking. He leans over to grab the kennedy cup to the side an weakly sips the water through the straw. He's improved so much in the couple of weeks. Before he wasn't able to grab onto anything.

"Mom! Where's Dad's room?" 

Almost instantly he perks up hearing the child's voice from outside the doorway. It's his daughter, Holiday. Not too long after, I see a cushioned reclining wheelchair enter with Holiday sitting in it, and his baby mama, Anna, pushing it from behind. Looking closer I see that it's decked out in red, white, and green colors complete with lightning bolts and his stage name engraved in rock n roll font plastered on the sides. It's cool as shit.

"There's Dad. Go say hi."

Holiday took no hesitation in climbing out of the chair to run to her Dad's bedside. I happily lift her up so she can sit on his lap. He is smiling from ear to ear.