13. Brayden
brAYDEN
“Are you excited to be home?” I asked as I pushed the door open with my hip, keeping one hand ready to steady her if she swayed.
Myla’s whole body seemed to sigh the second the scent of our house hit her. “Excited is an understatement.” She shuffled in on her crutches, every movement stiff and tentative, like she was afraid her leg might revolt and fall off.
She made it the couple of feet to the loveseat and practically collapsed onto it. “I just need to get used to these damn crutches. I swear, they have a personal vendetta against me.”
“Crutches are assholes,” I agreed. “Scientific fact.”
Her snigger was small, but it was there—and I’d take it.
I brought her hospital bag in and set it at the bottom of the stairs. “Let me do some laundry and bring down your stuff from upstairs. We’ll get you set up.”
The living room had transformed into our makeshift bedroom for the foreseeable future—pillows everywhere, sheets, blankets, extra chargers, her favorite candle, and the remote placed where she could reach it without dislocating anything.
It looked cozy as hell. Chaotic, but cozy.
Until she was cleared to put weight on her leg and climb stairs, this was home base. And honestly? I preferred it this way. Better for me to sleep downstairs next to her than lie awake worrying upstairs.
“You really don’t have to do all this, Bray.” She swept her gaze over the space, taking in the converted couch-bed. “You’ve done enough already.”
“We talked about this.” I crouched in front of her so she had no choice but to look at me. “You’re not doing this alone. Not for one second.”
She blinked fast, her eyes glossing over—not crying, not yet, but close. I stood quickly, giving her the dignity of pretending I didn’t see it.
My phone alarm started going off—loud, obnoxious, and timed perfectly to ruin the moment.
“Shit,” I muttered. “I gotta change and head to practice.”
A flicker of anxiety punched through her expression. She tried to hide it, but I knew her. I’d known her since we were sticky-fingered idiots stealing lollipops from corner stores.
“You sure you’ll be okay while I’m gone?” I asked again, slower this time. I hated even asking it. Hated leaving her.
She gave me the most dramatic eyeroll in human history. “Brayden. If you don’t get your ass out that door in five minutes, I will hop over there and kick it myself. And don’t test me—I’ve got range with these crutches.”
“That a threat?”
“A promise.” Her grin spread wide enough to ease something heavy in my chest.
She pointed a crutch at the TV. “Darren set me up with everything I need. I’m going to binge all the crap I missed on the DVR and then order a pizza the moment you leave. I’ll be fine.”
I pulled a twenty from my wallet and held it out. “At least let me spot your pizza.”
She snatched it from my hand with a glare.
“You can’t blame me for worrying,” I said, forcing myself not to hover.
“I appreciate it,” she scoffed, softer this time, “but we both need you to keep your job. One of us has to pay the damn bills.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. “Touché, sis.” I started toward the stairs, then hesitated and looked back.
She was already adjusting pillows behind her, shifting to get comfortable, grumbling under her breath at the crutches. Normal Myla things. Familiar things. Things I had missed more than air.
“You need anything before I go?” I asked.
“I need you to stop stalling,” she scolded, lifting a brow.
I nodded, exhaling hard. “Okay. Okay, I’m going.”
Up the stairs. Sweats on. Bag grabbed. Shoes tied. All muscle memory.
But when I paused at the top of the stairs and glanced down over the railing, she was looking around our living room—our home—like she was anchoring herself back into the world.
She caught me staring and flipped me off again.
Perfect.
I grinned. “Love you, My.”
“Love you too. Now go!” she hollered, pretending to be primed to haul the remote at my face any second.
This time, I did.
And even though everything in me wanted to stay glued to her side… she was right.
We needed me to keep my job.
But every step out the door felt heavy—like part of me was still back in that living room, watching her breathe, watching her heal, watching her try to be brave.