Jonathan Brandit sat in his wheelchair, staring out the window of the rehabilitation center. The faint hum of machines and the occasional shuffle of nurses in the hallway were the only sounds that filled the sterile, white-walled room. His fingers gripped the armrests of his chair tightly, knuckles white, his body stiff. One year. One whole year since the accident that turned his world upside down. One year since he lost everything.
He shifted slightly, feeling the familiar weight of his body in the chair, as though he could never fully escape it. The weight of the past year. The weight of his own anger. His gaze turned toward the psychologist, Eric, sitting across from him, a notepad in hand. Eric had been Jonathan's therapist for the past few months, but the sessions never seemed to get anywhere. They had started with small talk, the typical routine of a psychologist and a reluctant patient, but Jonathan was always ready to shut him down before it ever got real.
Eric's voice broke through the silence, gentle and probing, as if trying to ease Jonathan into a conversation that might open something up.
"How's your day?" Eric asked, looking at Jonathan with an expression that tried, and failed, to hide the sympathy he felt.
Jonathan's jaw tightened. His eyes flickered to the ground before snapping back to the psychologist. He exhaled sharply through his nose, frustration rising inside him like a storm.
"I'm fine," Jonathan replied stiffly. "Really. It's been one year since that incident. That fucking incident."
His fist clenched in his lap, the veins in his arm standing out as the anger surged within him. His mind flashed back to the crash, the screeching tires, the impact, the pain, and then... nothing. Only a broken body and a fractured soul left behind.
Eric didn't respond immediately. He just sat there, his pen poised above the notepad, watching Jonathan carefully. He had seen this response before, the anger and the resistance, but it didn't make it any easier to handle. Jonathan wasn't the first patient he had met who struggled with the aftermath of trauma, but it didn't mean it didn't hurt to watch someone like Jonathan, so full of promise, drowning in bitterness and resentment.
"You're still not being honest with me, Jonathan," Eric said softly, his voice calm and steady. "It's been one year since you started coming here. You've come a long way, but you're still holding onto a lot of pain."
Jonathan's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching tighter. He turned his head away, glaring out the window at the distant view of the city. "Fuck that 'holding onto pain' talk," he muttered bitterly. "What am I supposed to do, huh? Just forget it all? Forget I can't walk anymore? Forget I can't do what I love? Forget my life was ruined in an instant?"
The anger in his voice was raw, uncontrolled, and Eric could feel the heat of it. But he didn't flinch. He had been doing this for a long time and had seen this reaction many times before.
Eric leaned forward slightly; his expression unwavering. "You're only 15, Jonathan. You have a lot of life ahead of you. Don't let this one thing define the rest of it. There are still so many things for you to do. You don't have to have it all figured out right now."
Jonathan's eyes snapped back to Eric. He was seething, the words cutting like a knife. "Do in life? Are you really a therapist?" He scoffed. "What the hell do you know? You're just sitting there, telling me things will get better. But it doesn't feel better. It doesn't feel better at all."
There was silence between them for a long moment. Jonathan's chest heaved with every breath, his body tense, and Eric knew the battle inside Jonathan's mind wasn't going to end with simple words.
Eric's voice was quiet but firm. "Jonathan, I'm here to help you. But it's up to you to take the first step. You don't have to carry this weight alone."
Jonathan didn't say anything, his gaze still fixed on the window. His grip on the armrests relaxed slightly, but his expression remained hard.
Eric didn't press him anymore. He could tell that Jonathan had reached his limit...for now. But as a psychologist, Eric knew the journey ahead wouldn't be easy. There would be more moments like this; full of anger, hurt, and frustration. Still, he believed there was hope. There was always hope. As long as Jonathan was willing to keep trying, to keep fighting… Things could get better.
As the session ended, Jonathan wheeled himself slowly out of the room, his mind a storm of thoughts. He didn't want to admit it, but something about Eric's words lingered. Maybe one day, he would start listening. But not today. Not yet.
Not until he could find a way to walk again, even if it was only in his own mind.
For now, he would hold onto the anger.
…..
Jonathan rolled his wheelchair out of the rehab room, the sound of the wheels on the smooth floor echoing in the hallway. His eyes flicked around briefly before landing on his younger brother, Leo Brandit, waiting by the door.
Jonathan sighed, trying to hide the weight of the frustration and envy that had been building inside him all day. His legs were still a reminder of everything he had lost, and his brother—so full of potential—was just a reminder of what he would never be able to do again.
"Leo... where's Mom and Dad?" Jonathan asked, his voice low and tired, though he tried to mask it with a casual tone.
Leo looked up at his brother, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. Despite his 11 years, Leo was mature beyond his age, always aware of the unspoken tension between them. He smiled gently, trying to ease his brother's mood.
"Mom's talking to the doctor. She'll be back in a minute," Leo answered. He hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Dad has an appointment, so he said he'd be back later. He told me to wait for you here."
Jonathan nodded, still staring ahead, though his gaze was unfocused. He didn't want to show it, but he could feel the jealousy creeping into his chest, a sensation that had become all too familiar lately. His eyes unconsciously fell to Leo's legs, watching his brother stand, lean, and move with ease.
("Leo's future… It's so bright. He doesn't know what it's like to have everything ripped away in an instant.")
He quickly looked away, unwilling to show the weakness in front of his younger brother. "What about Dad?"
Leo's smile wavered slightly, but he kept it on for Jonathan's sake. He could tell his brother was struggling with something deeper than he was willing to admit.
"He just has some appointment with a specialist. He told me he'd be back later... after he's done. But don't worry about that." Leo paused, then added, "I'm sure he'll be back soon."
Jonathan just nodded again, trying to keep the emotions inside. Leo was right there—standing tall, full of energy. Leo had everything he had once dreamed of: a future in basketball, no limits. No constraints.
Jonathan couldn't help but feel the jealousy creeping inside. He quickly clenched his fists, fighting to suppress it, but it was hard. Harder than he wanted to admit.
"You're a good player, Leo," Jonathan said, his voice barely a whisper, though the bitterness was still clear. "You're… going to go places. I just wish I could…"
Leo's eyes softened as he looked down at his brother. He had seen the pain in Jonathan's eyes before, and even though he was only 11, he understood more than anyone realized. He could tell Jonathan was still consumed by resentment—not just toward the accident, but toward himself. Leo wanted to say something, to ease that pain. But what could he say?
("I may not know what he's going through... but I just hope he doesn't resent himself for what happened. I don't want him to feel like this forever. I want him to know I look up to him—he's my hero. He always was.")
But all Leo said, his voice soft and filled with the weight of unspoken words, was, "I hope you don't give up, Brother. You're the reason I started playing basketball in the first place. You… you were always the best."
Jonathan blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his younger brother's voice. He could feel the weight of Leo's words, and for a brief moment, he forgot about the jealousy and the bitterness. For just a heartbeat, he felt proud—proud of the brother he had raised, the brother who still looked up to him, even though he had nothing left to give.
Jonathan didn't respond right away, instead lowering his head. The quiet hit him like a wave. His brother, Leo, wanted to be like him. Wanted to be him. The thought made Jonathan's chest ache in ways he hadn't been prepared for.
("I don't deserve his admiration… not like this. But I'll be damned if I don't try to make things right. For him. For me. For us.")
Leo looked up at his brother with a hopeful gaze, wishing he could do more. He wished he could take away all of Jonathan's pain, make it go away like it never existed. But he was just a kid. What could he do?
Jonathan looked at Leo, his voice cracking as he spoke, "I'm sorry I shouted at you back then. I'm sorry I was immature to you, even though you..."
Leo immediately placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, his expression softening as he looked at him. "I understand, Brother… you don't need to say anything."
But Jonathan's emotions were overwhelming. The weight of the guilt and frustration he had been carrying for so long broke through all at once. His tears came without warning, hot and heavy, as he let himself finally feel everything he had been holding back. The tears fell freely, as if the dam had broken, and he couldn't stop it.
Leo, unsure of what to do, just stood there, watching his brother. He wanted to comfort him, but he didn't have the words. He could only offer his presence, letting Jonathan cry without saying anything else.
As Jonathan's sobs filled the air, their mother, who had just finished talking with the doctor, entered the hallway. She saw her son, her once strong, confident boy, breaking down in front of her. She didn't approach them immediately, her own heart aching at the sight. Instead, she stood still, her hands trembling at her sides. Tears welled in her eyes as she watched her sons in this raw, vulnerable moment.
She couldn't hold it in anymore. She, too, began to cry, feeling the weight of everything they had gone through.
Jonathan's breakdown was a release, a cathartic moment for him. And as his mother stood in the hallway, unable to approach yet, she shared in that grief. She understood. And in that moment, the silence between them all was as heavy as the storm that had been raging in Jonathan's heart.
….
Back to the present—
Jonathan Brandit, now Ethan Albarado, stood quietly amidst the explosion of cheers. The gym buzzed with energy, his teammates shouting and laughing, overwhelmed by the victory they had just stolen from the jaws of defeat.
But Ethan wasn't cheering.
He was watching.
Watching them Lucas, Evan, Ryan, Kai, Jeremy, even Coonie—celebrate as one. A team forged in a single day, yet already bound by something deeper than wins and losses.
And in that moment, Ethan felt something shift inside him. He wasn't just an extra anymore. He wasn't just "the boy in the wheelchair." He had rewritten that story.
(Now that I think about it… in my world, when I was still Jonathan… the one who made me read novels was my brother, Leo… If it weren't for him… I wouldn't have known this world. This novel called Turning Point.)
A faint, bittersweet smile tugged at Ethan's lips.
(I used to laugh when Leo shoved another book into my hands, telling me I'd like this one. That I'd "see myself" in it… Maybe he knew. Maybe he always saw something in me I didn't.)
He looked at Lucas his "partner" the supposed protagonist of this world. The one this story was written for.
But here Ethan was.
Living. Changing things.
(I'm not just reading the story anymore… I'm in it. And this time… I'll keep turning the pages until the end. My way.)
Ethan closed his eyes for a moment, silently thanking the brother he may never see again.
And when he opened them, he walked toward his team—toward his story—ready for whatever came next.
To be continue