Page 91 of Mr. Brightside

“You got it,” I chime in, cocking one eyebrow in challenge when Julian’s head snaps up.

He can be pissed off all he wants: there’s no way I’m letting Fiona out of my sight until I know she’s okay. Hell, I’d take her to the hospital by myself if I didn’t think it’d complicate things with all the HIPPA laws and insurance crap.

“Why don’t you go potty real quick, okay?” I tell Mimi. I rise to stand, then turn to scoop Fiona up in my arms. Her color looks better now than when I first arrived. But she’s still not herself.

“I’m driving,” Julian declares as he storms out of the room.

Okay then.

“You’re coming with us?” Fiona manages to whisper as she wraps one hand around my neck. I’ve got her cradled in my arms, even though she’d probably be fine to walk. I snatch up the medical supply bag and grab Mimi’s tablet with my free hand.

“Yep,” I confirm, popping thePto lighten the mood. “Looks like we’re having some late-night Uncle Jakey time.”

She giggles, and Mimi comes scurrying back through the kitchen to join us. We head to the garage together where Julian’s already waiting.

Chapter 38

Jake

I’mbonetired,butI don’t dare close my eyes. All I can do is stare at the monitors displaying Fiona’s vitals.

They admitted her when we arrived, just like I knew they would. Now I’m pressed up against my brother on this miniature plastic couch with a sleeping Mimi sprawled between us. He’s let out more sighs than seem reasonable over the last few hours. I’m shocked as shit when he actually opens his mouth and speaks.

“I’m sorry she called you.”

This fucker. I can’t even imagine what would have happened if she hadn’t. I physically shudder at the thought, then smooth back Mimi’s hair mindlessly to ground myself. I can’t lay into him in the middle of his daughter’s hospital room. Doesn’t mean I’ll let him get away with shit.

“I’m not,” I huff.

Julian leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. He turns to me and watches as I stroke Mimi’s hair. “How did you…” he starts, trailing off before he can actually ask a question. “Never mind,” he mutters, tenting his hands and resting his forehead on his fingers.

“How did I what?” I push.

He’s quiet for a moment, but I’m not in a rush. It’s not like we’re going anywhere anytime soon. I can wait him out for hours if that’s what it takes to get him to open up. I learned that trick from Cory.

“How did you know how to do all that?” He glares at me, but I don’t think he’s mad that I intervened and administered Fiona’s inhaler. He’s probably feeling inferior, which I assume is a foreign feeling for the formidable Julian Whitely.

I fight the impulse to rag on him or give him a hard time. Things feel more fragile than hostile between us at the moment, but I’ll be damned if I give him any excuse to keep me away from the girls.

“Ashleigh taught me all about Fiona’s asthma and Amelia’s strawberry allergy before she left me alone with them the first time,” I explain. “She made me get a CPR certification at the Holt State rec center, too.”

He looks at me with a mix of skepticism and wonder, almost like he’s seeing me in a new light. “I had no idea…” he mutters as he trails a hand through his hair.

I’m over his inattentive parent bullshit. If he’s not going to step up and try harder with them, they’re going to need me more than ever.

“There’s something you should know, Julian.”

He sits up straight and shifts back to meet my gaze.

“I love these girls. They’re seriously some of my favorite people in the world. I would do anything, give up anything, sacrifice everything, for their health and happiness. Nothing can keep me out of their lives.” I pause for a breath before throwing down my decree. “Not even you.”

His nostrils flare in challenge, but he doesn’t utter a word. We sit there, glaring at each other for what feels like hours. Finally, he blinks and looks away.

He inhales deeply, then sighs. When he speaks, I’m stunned by the words that come out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry about what happened at the splash pad yesterday.”

My eyes go wide as I wait for him to pull the rug out from under me. But he doesn’t follow up with anything else. Did my brother just—apologize?