Not about Esme. About Spencer.
“Wait—Spencer arranged for a consult with Boston Children’s? What the. . .”
“The doctor is a family friend,” I say.
“And a medivac? To Maplewick?”
“We were losing her, Carter. Time was precious.”
“Do you even have any idea what that would cost?”
I press my fingers into my temples.
“Jesus Christ, Rhea,” he says, voice rising. “Are you seriously telling me you’re sleeping with Spencer Devereaux and this is the first I’m hearing about it?”
“Carter—stop.”
“I thought I picked up on something at the wedding. Rhea, he’s great but . . .”
I don't have the energy for his protective older brother energy right now, even if it's well-intentioned.
“It’s complicated,” I say. “And the reason I called wasn’t to explain my love life. It was to tell you that your niece nearly lost her life last night. We’re at Boston Children’s. Esme’s stable—for now—but it was bad. Really bad.”
There’s a beat of silence on the line.
And then: “I’m sorry, Rhea. What can I do?”
“Try not to be an ass.”
As I hang up, Spencer is approaching, running his hand through his hair. Looking like he’s trying to solve the world’s hardest puzzle.
“Hey,” he says. “How’d that go?”
“Well, it was okay. But I’m afraid I got my brother all lathered up about you and me. I’m sorry, I didn’t even need to say your name. I was dumb. I’m just so…“
“Rhea, stop beating yourself up. You told the truth.”
“Well,” I sigh, “not the whole truth. I don’t think that’s my place.”
Silence again.
Then he puts his arm around my shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like it’s allowed.
“I think we’re both about out of steam,” he says gently. “How about we find the cafeteria and get some breakfast?”
“Ça me va,” I say softly.That sounds good.
Because it does.
Even if everything else is a mess, breakfast means the longest night is over.
FORTY
SPENCER
The next four days blur together like rain on glass.
We take turns at Esme’s bedside—never both of us at once. It’s hospital policy.
