Chapter 40: Shadows and Silences

AUTHOR "GUYS I WANT TO REMIND YOU READERS OF ONE THING, TORY HERE DOESN'T HATE SAMANTHA THAT MUCH, BECAUSE AS YOU READ IN THE ORIGINAL STORY, TORY ONLY ACTED THAT WAY TOWARDS SAMANTHA FOR SOME SMALL REASONS, BUT THE MAIN ONE WAS THAT SAMANTHA WAS WITH MIGUEL WHILE TORY WAS WITH HIM ~~~~~~

The sun had barely risen above the horizon when the roar of Johnny Lawrence's motorcycle cut through the quiet street in Reseda. Jack was beside him in the old Pontiac Firebird that Johnny had insisted on using to drive him from the hospital to his apartment—"You're not carrying that backpack with one arm," he'd said, his tone leaving no room for argument. Jack's cast rested uncomfortably in his lap, and he stared out the window, his pale face reflecting a sleepless night.

"You didn't have to do that," Jack muttered, breaking the silence as Johnny pulled up in front of the worn-down building. "I can handle myself."

Johnny turned off the engine and turned to him, his expression serious beneath the age-marked wrinkles. "You've got a broken arm, kid. You can't pretend you're okay. You're going to need help."

Jack gave a half smile, more out of politeness than desire. "I know. But a few people have already offered to help me with whatever I need. Tory, Miguel… even Sam." He paused, hesitating before continuing. "I have a way to support myself, you know? I don't need charity."

What he didn't tell anyone—and didn't intend to tell anyone—was that he had more than $300 million saved up, an inheritance from Martha's grandparents. It was a secret he carried around like an invisible weight, something that might solve all his practical problems but didn't touch the wounds that really hurt. He didn't want anyone to know, not while he was still figuring out who he was outside of that money.

Johnny grunted, getting out of the car and grabbing Jack's backpack from the backseat. "Okay, independent boy. But I got you this far. At least let me go up there and make sure you don't pass out on the stairs."

Jack rolled his eyes but didn't protest. They walked up the steps in silence, the sound of Johnny's boots echoing on the cracked concrete. When they reached the apartment, Jack opened the door with his good hand, revealing the bare, empty space he called home—the mattress in the corner, the tiny kitchen, the window that let in cold light.

"That's it," Jack said, plopping down on the mattress as Johnny dropped his backpack on the floor. "Thanks for the ride."

Johnny crossed his arms, looking around with a frown. "Are you going to be okay here alone?"

"I will," Jack replied firmly. "I always have."

Johnny hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, but he just nodded. "If you need anything, call me. I'm not the best dad in the world, but… I'm trying." He turned and left, the door closing with a click that echoed in the silence.

Across the street, Tory Nichols was adjusting her backpack, ready to go to school, when she saw the Pontiac Firebird parked in the parking lot. Her eyes narrowed as she recognized Johnny coming out of the building, followed a few steps behind by Jack, who was getting out of the car to get something. She stopped, her heart racing without understanding why. The memories of the previous morning in the hospital—Jack and Sam's words, Sam's confession, his forgiveness—still swirled through her mind like a whirlwind.

She crossed the street almost without thinking, her sneakers slapping the asphalt with determination. "Hey, Sullivan!" she called, her voice sharp.

Jack turned in surprise as Johnny stood beside the car, watching. "Tory? What are you doing here?"

"I live over there, genius," she replied, gesturing vaguely to the building next door. "I came to see how you were doing. You got out of the hospital, right?"

"Yeah, today," Jack said, adjusting his backpack with his good hand. "Johnny brought me."

Tory shot a quick glance at Johnny, who merely raised an eyebrow before turning back to the car. "Okay," she said, turning back to Jack. "Are you okay? I heard what you said to LaRusso yesterday."

Jack tensed, his green eyes meeting hers warily. "Did you hear?"

"I left my keychain in the room," she admitted, crossing her arms. "I didn't mean to pry, but… I heard everything. You forgiving her, saying it was your fault. What's going on with you, Jack?"

He sighed, running his good hand through his messy hair. "I don't know, Tory. Just… trying to fix things."

She took a step closer, her voice dropping to an accusatory tone. "You weren't like that. When I first met you, you were loyal, you fought for everyone. A guy I looked up to. Now you're different, and I know LaRusso had a hand in it."

Jack frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean she changed you," Tory snapped, anger mixed with something deeper she didn't want to name. "And I don't understand why. You have a broken arm, you lost Moon, and you're still here, blaming yourself for her? I…" She stopped, her chest tight with a feeling that frightened her.

Ever since she'd heard Jack and Sam, something inside her had stirred—a confusion that made her question everything. She was with Miguel, and he was everything she needed: strong, loyal, someone who understood her. But Jack… Jack was different. He'd always been a friend, a partner in battle, but now, those words in the hospital had ignited something she didn't want to feel. Jealousy? Longing? She didn't know. All she knew was that she didn't want to become "LaRusso 2.0," flirting with him while she was dating someone else.

"Tory, I haven't changed," Jack said, his voice steady despite his exhaustion. "I just… messed up. And I'm trying to make it right."

She huffed, turning her face away to hide the turmoil in her eyes. "Okay, Sullivan. Take care of yourself. And don't let her screw you over anymore." Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away, her heart pounding as she tried to ignore what she was feeling.

The next day, West Valley High was abuzz with Jack Sullivan's return. He walked into the halls with his arm in a cast and his backpack slung over one shoulder, drawing stares from all sides. Many still saw him as the kind kid who helped just about everyone—the cafeteria hero who had stood up to Kyler, the guy who carried books for the younger kids. But now the shadows of what had happened at the party and the fight with Robby hung over him. The whispers started quickly, spreading like wildfire: "He cheated on Moon with Sam," "Robby's in jail because of him," "LaRusso is a heartbreaker."

Jack ignored the stares, going straight up to the terrace during recess. The fresh air was a relief, and he sat against the wall, the cup of coffee Tory had insisted on giving him (before he left for class) still warm in his good hand. The terrace was his refuge, a place where rumors couldn't reach him—or so he thought.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he saw a text from Sam: "Where are you?" He hesitated before replying: "Terrace." Minutes later, the door creaked, and there she was, holding a tray with a sandwich and an apple, her face lit by a shy smile.

"I brought food," she said, sitting down next to him. "You can't just eat coffee with that arm."

Jack looked at the tray, one corner of his mouth lifting in a half smile. "You didn't have to."

"I know," she said, setting the tray between them. "But I wanted to. You need help, and I… well, I want to be here." It was an excuse, sure—she could have sent Miguel or Tory to bring food—but the truth was, she wanted to be near him. After their forgiveness at the hospital, something had changed. She needed him, even if it hurt to admit it.

He picked up the sandwich with his good hand, taking a bite before speaking. "The others are talking about me downstairs, right?"

Sam nodded, his eyes dropping to the apple. "Me too. They say I'm the reason for everything. That I destroyed you, Moon, Robby…"

"They weren't so wrong about me," Jack said, his voice low. "I let all this happen."

"No," she snapped, looking at him sternly. "You're not the villain, Jack. I know you. And I'll help you, even if it's just with a stupid sandwich."

He laughed, a soft sound that cut through the tension. For a moment, the rooftop was theirs alone—no noise, no guilt, just two boys trying to find their way. But in the halls below, the whispers continued, and the echo of their choices still rang out, waiting to explode.