Page 29 of Tribute Act

“I’ll walk.”

“You should have taken the wheelchair,” I told him a few minutes later when he stopped in the middle of the corridor, expression drawn, gingerly touching his side. “You’ve been told to take it easy—they’re not giving you that advice for the good of their own health, you know.”

Mack glared at the pale-green vinyl floor, saying nothing.

I sighed. “We’re nearly there. Lean on me for now. I’ll find a wheelchair for the return journey while you and Rosie chat.”

With a grudging look, Mack let me slide my arm round his chest while he propped his over my shoulder. He was slim but solid, a surprisingly heavy weight. I liked the way he leaned on me though, and, when I turned my head, the faint scent of tea tree from his shampoo. He’d been complaining about not being allowed to shower the night before. The nurses must’ve relented this morning.

Right then, an image popped into my mind, of Mack standing naked under a shower spray. My cock began to twitch and fill, which was fucking awkward given that he was pressed up against me.

I suppressed a curse. Jesus, what was wrong with me? Clearly, it had been way too long since I’d had sex. And of course, that thought made me recall exactly when the last time had been: with Mack, at his hotel. The memory didn’t help my erection subside.

Determinedly, I shoved my predicament out of my mind and began slowly walking, supporting Mack as we went.

“Have you seen Rosie since the op?” I asked in a desperate attempt to distract myself.

“Once,” he said. “Well, twice, but the first time she was sleeping. Dad brought me down in a wheelchair.” He paused. “She looked pretty awful both times.”

“Her recovery’s going to take longer than yours,” I pointed out. “She’s been poorly for months now, but the doctors seem pleased with her progress.”

He glanced at me, hopefully. “You think?”

I found I wanted, needed, to reassure him. “She’ll be fine, Mack. You’ve made sure of that.”

He swallowed, hard. “There’s always a chance of rejection though. It’s weird, but I feel . . . It’s like I feel responsible for her getting better, you know? Like, it’s my liver in her, and if it doesn’t make her better, it’s my fault?” We’d reached the door of Rosie’s ward now—she’d been moved out of her single room after the first couple of days. I stopped walking and turned so that I faced Mack while still carefully supporting him with my arm.

“Listen,” I said. “Things weren’t looking too good till you came along. Rosie didn’t have a donor. She was basically waiting for someone to die. Even if this doesn’t work out, you’ve at least given her a fighting chance. None of us were able to do that.”

Mack met my gaze. He didn’t say anything, but his dark eyes were understanding, like he knew how hard that had been for me.

“Okay,” he said at last. “Let’s go and see her.”

Rosie was curled up in the big chair next to her bed playing on her phone when we went inside. Derek was reading the paper. He looked up when we arrived, then hurriedly got to his feet, gesturing at the ridiculously uncomfortable visitor chair he’d been using.

“Dylan, sit down here.”

“I don’t need—”

“Sit,” I said firmly, giving him a little shove.

He scowled at me, but did as I said.

Rosie snorted with amusement. “Nathan’s so like Mum,” she told Mack. “The two of them are unbelievably bossy, aren’t they, Dad?”

Derek smiled weakly at Rosie. “Yeah. For sure.”

His discomfort was palpable, the tension between him and Mack thick enough you could cut it with a knife. From what I’d seen, Mack didn’t seem to know how to treat Derek at all, always stiff and awkward around him. As for Derek, he gave off the vibe that he’d rather be somewhere—anywhere—else. Which probably didn’t help with dispelling Mack’s obvious conviction that Derek didn’t give a shit about him.

Was it possible Mack was right? Did Derek’s behaviour genuinely reflect his feelings? Surely not—whatever his faults, I didn’t believe Derek didn’t care about Mack.

Mack and Rosie were on the same level now, both sitting. Mack asked Rosie what she was doing on her phone and she started showing him, swiping at the screen with her quick fingers. He was good like that, with her. Didn’t talk at her the way adults so often did with kids, asking them question after question like it was an interview, controlling the conversation—like I did, really. He just let her show him her stuff and natter about it, asking the odd question during the lulls.

I had a feeling I was about to lose my favourite-brother spot.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Or how Mack did. He’d surprised me, with how much he seemed to want to get to know Rosie, especially when he didn’t seem to feel that way about the rest of us. I admitted, I wished he wanted to get to know me better. Whilst he’d grown more friendly over the last few days, there was still a distance there, a line he stayed firmly behind.

I watched them, two dark heads bent together over the little screen. Then I turned to Derek.