It was twisted, in ways the hospital staff would never understand. His mother was just sitting there in the corner. Could the doctors even see it? She sat there flipping through a magazine with no apparent interest in what happened. She hadn't even touched him. She wasn't holding his hand. It was like he was something poisonous. She was as far away from him as she could be while still being in the room. Did she think whatever was wrong with him was contagious?

Danny had found him drowning, saved him, gave him CPR, and called an ambulance. Danny was right next to him. Brown eyes full of more emotion than he'd ever seen in any other human being, certainly more than he'd ever seen from his parents.

"Can I get you something?" Danny reached out, but let his hand fall back to the bed without touching him. It was different though than his mother's refusal. It was more like Danny was afraid Jackson was still so fragile that he might break if too much pressure was applied.

"Stay here," his mother said. "I'll get you boys some water." It was the first thing out of her mouth in the two hours they'd been there. Not even ten words. She didn't ask if they wanted anything. She simply told them.

"You don't have to do that, Mrs. Whittemore. You can stay here with Jackson. I'll get it." Danny moved to stand, but Jackson's mom was already opening the door.

"That won't be necessary, Daniel. Stay." Jackson had no idea how she completely missed that no one ever called him Daniel. He'd been friends with Danny for years and no one had ever called him that but her. Somehow when she said 'stay' she made it sound like she was talking to an unruly puppy, something that didn't know what was best for itself.

"That's very kind of you," Danny said. The worst part about Danny's politeness was that it was sincere, like he didn't realize she was talking down to him. He didn't even seem fazed that she was gone and the door was closed between them before he was even finished speaking.

Danny turned to look back at him. He narrowed his eyes, probably thinking about whether he should go straight to the judgmental part of the conversation, or lead with something reassuring.

"Thanks," Jackson said before Danny could start. "Thanks for saving my life." He smiled, put all his charisma behind it. It was like getting dressed at the beginning of the day. Carefully select the emotions you want to display, put those on, and keep everything else hidden. Jackson had learned early in life to always play with your cards held against your chest.

"Technically me giving you CPR was like our first kiss," Danny said, a small smile on his lips. "You tasted like alcohol, and chlorine."

"You got the authentic experience then. Was it everything you'd hoped?" Jackson's fake smile slipped into something real. Danny always seemed to drag genuine emotion out of him. Somehow knew where it was when Jackson couldn't find it in his own soul.

"I dunno," Danny looked over towards the door as if expecting someone to walk in at any moment. "Somehow I thought you'd be livelier than a dead fish."

It was easy like this. Danny could have asked him how he'd ended up in the pool. Could have wanted to know why he was covered in bruises, and piss drunk before noon, but instead he wanted to make jokes.

"You're better than me." Jackson leaned back and closed his eyes, shielded his face with the cast on his wrist. "You're so much better. I've never been any good. Danny, I'm sorry." Just saying the words out loud was like taking a weight off his chest. He needed Danny to hear them, needed him to know.

"What are you talking about, Jackson?" Danny tried to remove the barrier between them, but didn't pull too hard. Jackson let him, but kept his eyes closed. "Why did you do it?"

It had been an accident. He'd never meant to fall into the pool, but he hadn't tried very hard to save himself either. He couldn't say that though, those weren't the right words. Jackson wasn't sure what the right words were, so he just kept quiet.

The chair scraped across the floor as Danny scooted closer to the bed. "Whatever it is, Jackson, whatever's happening to you I can help."

"What are you talking about?" Jackson knew, but he just couldn't bring himself to say the words.

"You're covered in bruises. I know you told me you broke your wrist while drinking at a party. Is that really what's going on?"

"Lydia and I decided to work out some of our differences with a game of naked paintball. She won. You have no idea how good of a shot she is." The joke fell flat and Jackson refused to open his eyes. He didn't want to see Danny's reaction, didn't want to know what the pain of being shut out looked like on him. Jackson had to look at that every day in the mirror.

The door to the room opened before Danny could respond. Jackson opened his eyes to see his father and the doctor entering the room. The chair next to the bed scraped against the floor as Danny moved back and stood up.

"Thanks for all your help," Jackson's father said. He shook hands with the doctor. "When will he be ready to leave?"

"He should be ready; we just hope we won't see him again so soon." The doctor's gaze lingered on Jackson for a few moments before turning back to his father.

"Kids these days, right? I'm going to have to be more careful with the liquor cabinet from now on." Jackson wondered if the doctor could hear the promise behind the words. "Jackson, did your mother tell you where I was this morning while you were drinking by the pool with your friend?"

Jackson shook his head. "No, sir." He didn't have the courage to correct his father.

Danny shuffled away to the side of the room. Mr. Whittemore took Danny's place at the side of the bed, laid one of his hands on the cast over Jackson's wrist. "Your mother and I felt so bad that you wouldn't be able to drive to school, the Porsche being a manual transmission and all, so I decided to go out and pick up an automatic for you. A new truck, probably easier to carry your sports gear in." He fished out a set of keys and dropped them onto the table over Jackson's lap.

"That's very generous of you, sir." Jackson's voice didn't shake. He didn't flinch when the hand came down on his wrist. He knew better than that. His father smiled down at him. It might have been meant to look like pride to the other people in the room. Jackson wondered what gift he'd get the next time his father beat him. That's how it always was. He'd gotten Porsche after being pushed down the stairs and breaking an ankle. "I'll take good care of it, and no more drinking, sir." They both knew that it was a lie, and neither of them cared.

"Well, I think that's it." The doctor made a few notes with his laptop then left. Danny followed him out after making Jackson promise to call him later that night.

Jackson's father sat down in the corner, the same seat that his mother had sat in. He didn't say anything. Jackson didn't say anything. They just watched each other and waited for his mother to return. When she got back the first words out of her mouth were a commentary on how she'd wasted her time fetching water for her alcoholic son, and his gay friend that didn't even bother to stick around long enough to say thank you. Jackson would have laughed at the callousness of it, but all he could think about was that they'd soon be on their way home, and that he'd find out what his father really thought about what happened.