Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Brodie woke up gazing into gorgeous caramel eyes. “Is this heaven?”
Maeve’s brow arched wryly. “You’d be lucky to make it there.”
His mouth quirked. It hurt his head, he winced. More so when he tried to sit up. Looking around he saw the stark white walls, electric strip lighting and the various machines and charts. Everything ached.
Maeve wore pale blue scrubs and a stethoscope round her neck. “How are you feeling?”
“Dreadful.”
He watched her try not to smile. Then she checked all his vitals and said, “I think you’re going to live.”
It was his turn to laugh. Again, it hurt, burned in his throat. “Is Zoey okay?”
Maeve nodded. “Yes, she’s fine.” Then she swallowed. “Thanks to you.”
Brodie managed a little proud smirk as if it were nothing, but then Maeve added, “Except if you hadn’t decided to leave in the first place.…”
Brodie shook his head, immediately hissing in discomfort, he really had to stop moving. “I think I’d prefer it if you stuck with the ‘she’s fine, thanks to you’ line.”
Maeve looked at him for a second, pierced him with the sudden seriousness of her gaze, and then nodded. “You’re her hero,” she admitted.
Brodie felt a warmth in his chest.
“You’re lucky, Brodie, this could have been much worse.”
“At least I would have died a hero.”
Maeve shook her head. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” he quipped, a bit unnerved, then added, “Would you have been sad?”
She paused and looked at him for a moment, unblinking. Brodie wondered if his pulse reading was going up. Then she shrugged and said nonchalantly, “Devastated.”
He could only laugh. It hurt his lungs.
A male nurse came in to take his blood pressure and moving past Maeve said, “How are you feeling, Mr. Carter?”
“Like a hero,” he said, eyes still on Maeve, who could only roll hers in response—but did he notice a tiny hint of relief under that mask of professionalism?
Brodie fell back to sleep with a smile on his face, thinking of Zoey with her arms wrapped tight around his neck, imagining her being hauled to safety by his brothers.
Then he thought of Maeve, as he was wheeled into hospital, clasping her chest in despair, wringing her hands, weeping at the sight of him fighting for his life. Her hero.
No, he remembered wrongly. Zoey’s hero.
Maeve had only thanked him. It was almost worth it just for that.
He woke up in a different ward. Sunshine streaming in through the window. Logan and Noah there.
Noah folded as best he could into a too-small chair, chin propped in his hand, eyes shut. Logan standing by the window, hands in his pockets looking down at whatever was going on below them. He turned when he heard Brodie move and his tired face cracked a smile.
“Hey.”
Brodie yawned. “Hey.”
Noah’s eyes opened. Without moving, he said, “That was quite some rescue.”
Brodie shuffled himself to sit up in the bed, everything still ached. “I thought you said you could lasso anything.”
Noah laughed, sitting up straight, he shrugged and said, “I’ll admit it wasn’t my best.”
Brodie raised his brows like that was an understatement. “Three tries! It was like you were me.”
Noah sat forward, elbows on his knees. “What can I say, panic set in.”
Brodie feigned being unimpressed for a moment then smiled and said, “Thanks for getting there in the end.”
Noah shook his head, half-smile on his lips, clearly incredulous he was getting chewed out for not being quick enough on the lifesaving. Then he raised his chin toward the open door and said, “So she’s your kid, huh?”
Sucking in a breath, still more terrified by the knowledge than the near-drowning, Brodie nodded. “Yeah.”
Noah nodded back. “Nice.”
Brodie let out a breath. He’d weirdly expected something more, maybe some shock or admonishment. The ease of Noah’s reply made his heart slow to a more manageable rate. He found himself glancing guiltily at Logan, wondering if that was where his reprimand would come from.
But Logan simply came over and, standing by the side of the bed, said, “You’re a lucky guy, she’s a great kid. And Noah’s right, that was an impressive rescue mission, Brodie. I honestly didn’t know you had it in you.”
Brodie glanced down at the bed sheet, this time the pride infusing him felt more boyish, more bashful, even. He looked back up, shrugged a shoulder and said casually, “One day when you’re a father you’ll understand.”
Logan narrowed his eyes, gave a slow shake of his head. “You’re still full of crap.”
“That’s a dollar in the swear jar,” came a small voice.
They all turned to see Zoey standing in the doorway. She was wearing red leggings and the Jackson General Hospital sweater that seemed so favored by her family.
Logan stood up straighter. “Apologies, ma’am.”
“That’s okay,” Zoey said, but looking very seriously at Logan added, “You can give my mom the money. We’re collecting for the new children’s wing.”
Logan nodded. “Will do.”
Noah stood behind him trying to keep a straight face at his brother being kept in check by an eight-year-old. “We’ll leave you to it,” he said.
Brodie nodded, but as Noah walked away, he added, “I am really grateful that you did your lasso practice.”
Noah snorted a surprised laugh. Then he looked his twin in the eye and said, “Me, too.”
The men filed out. Logan still suitably abashed at having been caught cursing.
Zoey stood where she was in the doorway and said, “Is it okay to come in?”
Brodie nodded. “Always.”
She walked across the room and stopped by the bed. Her hair was brushed off her face in a hastily tied ponytail, her eyes were tired and still red-rimmed, there were a few scratches and bruises on her neck.
He didn’t need to glance at the monitor next to his bed to know his pulse was going through the roof.
“Thank you very much for saving me,” she said solemnly, hands clasped in front of her, fingers fidgeting. “It was silly of me to put us in that position. I won’t do it again.”
Brodie resisted a smile. Zoey’s words were straight out of her mom’s mouth.
“If you did, I wouldn’t hesitate to save you again,” he said, with equal solemnity.
She looked at him, her big brown, heartbreaking eyes just like her mom’s.
Brodie sat up a bit more, tried to ignore the pain of the bruises on his chest. “I’m sorry, Zoey.
I’m sorry I didn’t accept your offer to be part of your family.
” He was about to smile, but it was like his features took over and his mouth went very serious and he felt the odd sensation of—was it tears?
!—press against the back of his eyes. “It was by far the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” He breathed in through his nose, tried to clamp down the emotion.
“I’d like to be your dad, Zoey. More than anything.
” He stopped, rephrased. “It would be an honor to be your dad. To see you grow up. To be there for you. To listen. To make you laugh—hopefully. To beat up any boys who dare to try and kiss you.”
Zoey made a face. “Ew.”
“Well, you wait.” Brodie raised a brow, knowingly. “I’ll be there.” He held up his hands in a boxing pose and did a mock-punch. His injured shoulder screeched in his head.
Zoey giggled. Then she went serious. “What about my mom?”
Brodie didn’t really know what she was implying, but he thought it best whatever it was that he circumvent the issue.
“What you have won’t change, Zoey.” He didn’t know how he was going to go about what he was offering, but he knew, as she stood there chewing nervously on her bottom lip, hands twisting, trying to look super grown-up, that he was offering it all the same.
“This is about you and me. This is extra to what you have. And I’m telling you now, that I want to—no—I will be there for you.
” He felt himself get stronger as he said it, felt the unfamiliar tingle of pride—stature—solidify his muscles, tauten his features, make his breath controlled and purposeful.
Like he suddenly knew how Clark Kent felt the first time he became Superman.
Knew suddenly what all those comics were about.
This. Responsibility. Manning up, saving—or, not saving, but putting others first. Selflessness.
It was a new skin and it felt good. Unfamiliar but good. Comfortable, like a great new suit.
“I will be there, Zoey. Whether you decide you want me to be or not. And if you don’t, that’s fine, too—but I’ll always be waiting in the wings, ready for whenever you are.”
Don’t cry, Brodie. Don’t cry. Superman never wept.
Zoey nodded, eyes earnest. “I think I should think about it.”
He nodded back. “You do that. Take your time,” he added, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Zoey turned and walked to the door, where Maeve, who’d been waiting all along he realized, stepped into the frame to greet her. Of course she had been there, Brodie thought—a bit embarrassed now by all his Superman stuff—who let their eight-year-old go visiting in hospitals alone.
Maeve had her arm wrapped around Zoey’s shoulders. She glanced up at Brodie in the room and when he caught her eye he chanced a smile, unexpectedly nervous in its delivery.
Maeve just nodded, exactly like her daughter, giving nothing away.
What had he expected? That she would have melted, doe-eyed at his speech?
Yes, quite frankly. But then again, arm’s length was a good distance.
He wasn’t Superman after all. He was just a fallible, good-time guy who happened to have a kid.
With a very pretty mom.
Without another glance, Maeve put her hand on Zoey’s back and steered her away down the corridor.
Brodie sunk back on the pillows and closed his eyes. “Wow,” he breathed, uncertain quite how he was feeling.
“Tough gig, eh?” Logan swaggered back in the room, hands in his pockets, smirk on his face.
Brodie shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe.” He checked his pulse on the monitor, somehow it was ticking along normally.
Noah came in, too, holding a coffee. He flopped down in the chair, legs apart, elbows on his knees. “If all else fails maybe you could serenade them.”
Brodie raised a brow. “That’s what got me into this mess.”