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I tilted my head. “Then why don’t you? You’re meant to sleep when the baby does.” I would never say this to a mother, to whom such a statement was utterly cruel when they had to pump, shower, take care of basic needs when and if their child slept.
His eyes widened. “I don’t sleep because when I close my eyes, I watch a man I owe a fuck of a lot to giving you CPR while your man begged you to fucking live, Calliope.”
My body jolted. No one had given me a complete rundown of what happened, and the single sentence was ugly and painful.
“I’m fine, little brother.” I patted his hand awkwardly.
His eyes shimmered. “Calliope, I watched the man who loves you more than anythingbeg you to livewhile his brother pumped your heart until it resumed beating. I sat there and watched because there was nothing else I could do.”
My chest throbbed, not just from the bruises Beau had given me during his enthusiastic CPR. That man had hands like bear paws.
It surprised me, the amount of visitors I’d had. And I had hated it. A steady parade of people witnessing me in a hospital bed, otherwise known as my worst nightmare. But the people had come because they cared. And it shocked me that I had as many visitors as Elliot had after the fire. The golden boy of the town, and I was sure I was the wicked witch.
But the room smelled like Nora’s baking and various bouquets of flowers, surfaces cluttered with drawings and cardsfrom children with varying degrees of talent with crayon. I treasured each equally.
“I’m fine,” I repeated to Rowan, not sure what else I could say.
“You’re not allowed to do that shit again.” He slammed a fist onto the mattress.
“I’m not allowed to be poisoned and almost drowned by an unhinged twenty-year-old?” I scoffed. “Victim blaming is seriouslyout, little brother.”
He scowled at me. “It’s not your fault, I know that. But you’re done doing reckless, dangerous shit. I’m done having a heart attack when I see Elliot’s name on my phone, knowing he’s not calling to shoot the shit but calling because my sister’s life is in danger.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Again, I did not cause this.” I waved at the bed.
“You didn’t,” he nodded. “But you’ve been operating under the guise that you’re bulletproof and using danger like a drug. You’re done. Too many people care about you.” He looked around the room pointedly, his gaze landing on the bathroom door where Elliot was showering. “You’ll hurt too many people by dying. I know you don’t give a shit about your own pain. I also know you give a fuck of a lot of shit about other people’s. People you love. So do me a fucking favor, and don’t die until you’re wrinkled and one hundred years old.”
Although my brother’s gruff commands were grating and vaguely infuriating, I knew he had his own issues when it came to communicating his feelings—he couldn’t do it without sounding like an insane alpha.
Underneath all the profanity and unrealistic demands, he was telling me he was scared.
And I had been too. Really scared. There had been no peace nor acceptance in those last coherent moments under the waves.I was not ready to die. I thought of all the people in my life, I recognized all the hurt I’d cause by dying. And I knew how much I wanted to live.
“I’m not going to be wrinkled at one hundred years old,” I shot back. “I spend far too much on supplements, skincare and injections for that.” The shower turned off. “But I promise I’ll schedule my death for an appropriate age. I can’t promise I’ll be as boring in bed, though.” I drummed my fingers against my chin. “Unless I die in the midst of being fucked really well?—”
“That’s my cue.” Rowan hit his hands against his knees, standing. I smirked at his discomfort.
“Dinner at our place, once you’re out,” he ordered.
I nodded.
“I love you, little brother,” I whispered.
Rowan jerked in surprise. Then his face softened. “I love you too, Calliope.”
The door to the bathroom opened, then Elliot emerged, hair still dripping onto his clean, white tee. As if he didn’t trust me not to drop dead in the few extra seconds it would take to properly dry.
His shoulders relaxed as he laid eyes on me, as if he had expected me to become unconscious or start bleeding while he was showering.
“I’m going.” Rowan straightened. “Don’t let her bully the doctors into discharging her early.” He pointed at Elliot, who nodded as they did their man back-slap, hybrid hug, goodbye thing.
“Um, hello.” I finger waved. “She can bully whomever she wants.”
Rowan ignored me, walking out the door as a nurse was walking in with a tray of lunch.
“Good afternoon,” she chirped cheerfully, moving the tray over my bed to the table that extended to my lap.
“Lunch. I’m not eating that.” I wrinkled my nose, what was on that tray could only be loosely described as food.