And I’m okay with that.
Because she’s going to need you. And you’re going to need her. I’ve never seen two people who could be more perfect for each other, so I’m hoping for a little divine intervention. They owe me a favor.
I get to love Emmy Marsters for a little while. All the little moments.
But if I’m right, you’ll get to love her for the rest of your lives, and the thought of that brings me more comfort than I can express in words.
I’ll be seeing you soon, brother. Maybe we’ll talk about it then. Maybe we’ll have time.
And if we don’t, I want you to know that of all the brothers in all the world, I would have always picked you. Every single time.
Take care of our girl.
Benny
PS. If you don’t call your first child Ben, I will haunt you forever.
55
Jared
“Here.”
I blink, and the words on the page waver. “What?”
The nurse I spoke to earlier smiles, gesturing to my face. She holds out the box of tissues. “You’re looking a little damp, hon.”
Clearing my throat, I take a couple. “Thank you.”
“If you want to clean up,” she says gently, “there’s a restroom down the hall.”
Nodding, I fold up the letter and slide it carefully back into my pocket. “Thanks.”
I think I’m ready.
I scrub my hands, slowly washing away the traces of Emmy’s blood before walking back out with my heart in my throat. My legs move faster at the sight of a doctor, crumpled and tired-looking in a crisp white coat. “How is she?”
A genuine smile. “Emilia is doing well. We were concerned about damage to her larynx, possibly her throat area, but nosurgery needed. She’s in a room down the hall, if you’d like to see her.”
My legs stop working. He’s not fast enough to catch me as I land heavily on my ass in the middle of the hospital hallway. “She’s going to be alright?”
Another chance. A chance to put things right.
“She is. She’s a little disoriented, and there are some other potential long-term impacts to consider, but we believe she’s out of any physical danger. Her parents are on their way.”
Her parents?
My head jerks up. “I’d like to see her now.”
The doctor leads me down the hall, tapping on a door and poking his head around. When he turns back to me, his mouth is pulled down. Not quite a frown. But certainly not a smile. “She has some significant facial injuries. Just to prepare you.”
My pulse thuds audibly in my ears as I step through.
“Her next of kin should be here soon. And the police will want to speak with her when she wakes up. I’ll give you some space.”
I barely hear him as I step into the room.
She looks small. Fragile. Broken. Deceptively so.
