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The brothers were in the middle of a high-energy performance of "Weak." Jack's powerful voice soared through the venue as he jumped from the stage, his guitar slung low on his hip. The crowd roared, pushing forward, hands outstretched.
In a split second, disaster struck. Jack's foot landed wrong on the edge of the stage. He felt a jolt of pain as his ankle twisted beneath him. He tried to recover, but it was too late. With a sickening sense of weightlessness, Jack felt himself falling.
The world seemed to slow. Adam's voice, usually so in sync with his own, became a distant echo. Jack's vision blurred at the edges, focusing only on the hardwood floor rushing up to meet him.
He landed with a sickening thud, his guitar clattering across the floor. The venue fell silent, the only sound Jack's labored breathing and the pounding of his own heart.
Adam's voice cut through the stunned hush. "Jack!" he screamed, already running towards his brother.
Ryan, ever the professional, leapt into action. "Keep playing!" he yelled at the stunned band, grabbing the mic. "We need to distract the crowd!"
But it was too late. A collective gasp rolled through the audience, followed by panicked murmurs. Jack could see shoes rushing towards him, cell phones held high to capture the horror of the moment.
With a surge of adrenaline, Jack forced himself to sit up. He gritted his teeth against the wave of agony from his ankle. It pulsed with each heartbeat, threatening to pull him under.
Adam dropped to his knees beside him. "Dude, oh my god, are you okay?" he asked, his voice shaking.
Jack managed a tight nod. "I...I think so," he panted, his vision starting to spin.
Ryan was there in an instant, his face ashen. "We need to get you to a hospital, now."
But Jack was already shaking his head, his hand tightening around Adam's arm. "No," he ground out. "I need to finish the show."
Adam and Ryan exchanged worried glances. But they knew Jack too well. Once he set his mind to something, there was no changing it.
With his brothers' support, Jack dragged himself to his feet. The crowd erupted into cheers, but they were tinged with concern. Jack could feel dozens of eyes on him, but he forced himself to ignore it.
He hopped back onto the stage, his broken ankle screaming in protest. Ryan slid the guitar back onto his shoulder, while Adam adjusted the mic stand.
Jack drew a shaky breath, his eyes locking onto Adam's. "Let's do this," he mouthed.
And with that, the show went on. Because for the brothers of AJR, the music always came first. No matter the cost.
The rest of the concert was a blur of pain and adrenaline. Jack gritted his teeth through each song, his ankle throbbing like a heartbeat. He hopped across the stage, using Adam and Ryan as crutches when he needed to move.
The crowd was electric, their energy fueled by the drama of the fall. But Jack could see the worry etched onto the faces of his brothers. Adam's voice was tight with fear, and Ryan's eyes never left Jack's face.
As soon as the final notes of "Overtime" faded away, Jack let out a breath. He'd done it. He'd pushed through the agony and finished the show.
But the relief was short-lived. As soon as he stepped off stage, Jack's leg gave out. He collapsed onto the waiting couch, a pained cry escaping his lips.
Adam and Ryan were beside him in an instant. "Dude, we need to get you to the hospital," Ryan said, his voice firm. This time, Jack didn't argue.
The emergency room was a whirlwind of beeping machines and sterile smells. Jack clenched his jaw as the doctor manipulated his ankle, trying not to cry out.
Finally, the diagnosis came. "You've got a pretty bad sprain," the doctor said, his face sympathetic. "You'll need to keep weight off it for at least a week."
Jack felt like he'd been punched in the gut. A week? But they had shows lined up back to back. The tour couldn't stop just because he'd gotten careless.
He pushed the thoughts aside as he was wheeled out of the hospital. Adam and Ryan flanked him, their faces drawn with worry.
"We'll make it work," Adam said, as if reading his mind. "We'll get you on stage, even if we have to carry you."
And in that moment, Jack knew everything would be okay. Because no matter what, his brothers would always have his back.
The next few days were a blur of ice packs and elevation. Jack's ankle throbbed constantly, a dull ache that he couldn't escape. But the worst part was the helplessness. He was forced to watch from the couch as Adam and Ryan handled everything, from interviews to rehearsals.
But as the first post-injury show approached, Jack's determination hardened. He would not miss another performance. No matter how much it hurt, he would get back on stage.
The solution they came up with was elaborate. A throne, decked out in AJR's signature neon, would be placed center stage. Jack would perform seated, his ankle propped up on a stool.
At first, Jack hated the idea. He was meant to be a dynamic performer, not some invalid king. But Adam and Ryan were insistent. And deep down, Jack knew they were right.
As the lights went up on the first show, Jack's nerves were through the roof. How would the crowd react to the new set up? Would he still be able to connect with them from his seated position?
The answer came as soon as he opened his mouth to sing. The crowd erupted into cheers, their voices drowning out his worry. They chanted his name, holding up signs of support.
As the night went on, Jack forgot all about the throne. The music took over, as it always did. He closed his eyes, letting the lyrics pour out of him, his voice raw and honest.
By the time "Inertia" rolled around, Jack was lost in the performance. He pounded his free foot against the stage, his voice a hoarse scream. The crowd was a sea of jumping bodies, their hands reaching out to him.
As the final notes faded away, Jack let out a breath. He'd done it. The throne hadn't hindered him at all. In fact, it had almost liberated him, forcing him to connect with the crowd on a deeper level.
Backstage, Adam and Ryan were grinning at him. "I told you, you'd kill it," Adam said, clapping him on the back.
Ryan just shook his head. "You're the most stubborn person I know," he said, laughing. "But hey, it works for you."
Jack just smiled, feeling a sense of pride. The injury had been a setback, but it hadn't stopped him. And as he settled onto his couch, ankle throbbing, he knew he could overcome anything, as long as he had his brothers and his music.
The days turned into weeks, each blending into the last in a haze of shows and travel. Jack's ankle was healing slowly, but surely. He was finally able to stand, albeit gingerly, during performances.
But just as one injury was mending, disaster struck again. During a particularly rambunctious show, Jack got knocked in the head by Chris’s flailing drumstick.
At first, he thought nothing of it. But as the night wore on, Jack began to feel...off. The venue seemed to be spinning, and his vision kept blurring at the edges.
By the time they hit the bus, Jack was feeling outright ill. He collapsed onto the couch, his head pounding.
Adam and Ryan exchanged worried glances. "Dude, are you okay?" Adam asked, sitting beside him. "You look really pale."
Jack tried to shake his head, but it made the dizziness worse. "I...I don't know," he admitted, his voice shaky. "I just feel really...weird."
Ryan was on his feet in an instant. "I'm calling the promoter," he said, already dialing. "We need to get him to a hospital now."
This time, Jack didn't argue. He knew something was seriously wrong. The world wouldn't stop spinning, no matter how still he sat.
The diagnosis came quickly. Concussion. The doctor's words echoed in Jack's ears, making his head throb even worse.
This time, there was no arguing with the doctor's orders. Jack needed complete rest, or risk making the injury even worse. Shows would have to be postponed, maybe even canceled.
As he lay in the darkened hotel room, Jack couldn't help but feel a wave of despair. First the ankle, now his head. Was he just cursed?
But as he felt Adam's hand wrap around his, he pushed the thoughts aside. He wasn't alone in this. His brothers would be there, no matter what.
And as the days turned into weeks, Jack began to heal. The dizziness faded, and his head stopped pounding. He was able to sit up, then walk, then finally, return to the stage.
It hadn't been an easy road, but Jack had made it through. And he knew, no matter what injuries came his way, he would always persevere. Because he had his music, and more importantly, his brothers.
As the days passed, Jack tried to push through. He knew the tour couldn't stop just because he was feeling a little...off. So he put on a smile, and pretended like everything was fine.
At first, it was easy. He powered through interviews and rehearsals, his answers a little more vague than usual. But as the symptoms worsened, it got harder and harder to hide it.
The dizziness was constant now, the room spinning if he stood too fast. Nausea rolled through his stomach, making it hard to keep even water down. And the fainting...well, that was the scariest part of all.
But still, Jack said nothing. He was terrified of being sidelined again, of letting his brothers down. So he suffered in silence, his body screaming for rest.
Shows became a blur of clinging to the mic stand, praying he wouldn't collapse on stage. His voice was shaky, his eyes blurring over the crowd. But still, he pushed through, fueled by adrenaline and sheer willpower.
Backstage, Adam and Ryan were getting more and more worried. "Dude, are you okay?" Adam kept asking, his brow furrowed with concern. "You look really sick."
But Jack just shook his head, forcing a smile. "I'm fine," he lied, his voice hoarse. "Just...just really tired."
Ryan exchanged a glance with Adam, but they didn't push it. They knew how stubborn Jack could be. But as Jack stumbled towards the bus, almost falling, they knew something was very wrong.
"Call the promoter," Adam said, his voice firm. "We need to get him to a hospital, now."
This time, Jack was too weak to argue. He let his brothers half carry him off the bus, his head spinning. He knew he'd made a huge mistake, trying to hide his symptoms. But he just hoped it wasn't too late.
The hospital room was a blur of beeping machines and sterile smells. Jack's world was narrowing to a point, his body screaming for rest.
The diagnosis came quickly. Severe post-concussive syndrome. The doctor's words echoed in Jack's ears, making his head throb. He'd made his concussion so much worse by not resting.
This time, there was no arguing. The tour was being postponed, possibly even canceled. Jack needed complete bed rest, or risk permanent brain damage.
As he lay in the darkened room, Jack couldn't help but feel a wave of regret. Why had he tried to push through? Why hadn't he just admitted he wasn't okay?
But as he felt Adam's hand wrap around his, he pushed the thoughts aside. He wasn't alone in this. His brothers would be there, no matter what.
And as the days turned into weeks, Jack began to truly heal. The dizziness faded, and the nausea stopped. He was finally able to sit up, then walk, then finally, return to the stage.
It hadn't been an easy road, but Jack had made it through. And he knew, no matter what injuries came his way, he would always put his health first. Because he had his music, and more importantly, his brothers.