Free Blood in the Past (Blood for Blood Series) by Jordanna East

forehead. Raising his hand took great effort, and it immediately met the soft roughness of gauze bandages.
     
    Jason’s face contorted in confusion. “What happened to me?” he demanded again, his voice frantic as he probed his head for answers. He tried to sit up, but his movements were sluggish and IVs tugged at his arms.
     
    “Calm down, kid. You beat the odds. That’s what happened.” The doctor checked the lines in his arms, making sure they were still securely attached. “But I think I should let your mom explain the rest. Can I get you anything?”
     
    “No, thanks,” Jason answered, anxious to be alone with his mother and find out what had happened to him.
     
    “No, thank you, doctor ,” his mother corrected again, on cue.
     
    “Well, Jason, you’re going to be transferred to our inpatient rehab center soon. If I don’t see you again, have a speedy recovery. And if I do see you again, please call me Lyla.”
     
    The dark-haired doctor left Jason’s hospital room. His mother left her orange chair and perched on the edge of his bed to stroke his brown curls again. He stared at her, wide-eyed and awaiting her explanation, grateful the chirping machines prevented a maddening silence.
     
    “Jason, sweetheart,” she said finally, “you had an accident.”
     
    “I know that, Mom. What kind of accident? Please, you’re scaring me. Was I driving? Where’s Dad?”
     
    His mother swallowed hard, and her eyes blinked back tears. “Your father was killed, remember? Trying to save another detective from his burning home.”
     
    She waited while Jason processed the information for a second time. He vaguely remembered the solemn detectives delivering the news. Perhaps that’s where the image of her, disheveled and crying, had originated. He said nothing but strained to remember more.
     
    “After the funeral, you...” Her voice trailed off. Tears overwhelmed them both.
     
    “What, Mom? Please.” Jason wrestled with the IVs to reach for her hand. He squeezed it, imploring her to continue.
     
    “You were in your father’s office, with his...things...and accidentally shot yourself. The doctors gave a fancier explanation, but basically, the bullet penetrated your skull. Fortunately, it did minimal damage. Thank God for that.” She crossed herself. Jason had only ever seen her do that when speaking of the dead. Then it hit him: he had almost died. But what was I doing in my father’s office? With my father’s gun?
     
    “It was an...accident?” he asked.
     
    “I was sitting downstairs when I heard the gunshot. I ran upstairs, and there you were, blood everywhere. Your father’s revolver was on the floor.” She shielded her eyes from him. “It was an accident, Jason. I found you, and I thought I’d lost you too, but it was just an accident.”
     
    ***
     
    The chairs weren’t orange.
     
    Jason couldn’t believe how something so small, something he felt so sure of, could be so wrong. He stared at the card in front of him. Dots. Lots of colored dots. According to the occupational therapist holding the card, a number was hidden in there somewhere, but he couldn’t see it. Then again, he’d also thought that the visitors’ chairs in his hospital room were orange, not blue. The confusion was a product of the bullet’s path. The doctors said it traveled beneath the bony calvarium, around the circumference of his skull, and nicked his occipital lobe prior to its exit. Luckily, the bullet had avoided all his major blood vessels and only partially affected the portion of the brain responsible for sight and color perception.
     
    “Apparently I’m missing more than just my contacts,” he chuckled.
     
    The therapist didn’t laugh. She just pointed at the card again with earnest.
     
    “I’m sorry, I don’t see anything.”
     
    She grunted and flipped to a different card. More dots. Jason sighed with exasperation and let his eyes wander over her shoulder instead of undertaking the