Page 129 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

Nobody argues with that.

“You should call your mum,” Zachary says, breaking the quiet.

My thumbs stop and I sink back into the seat. “I know.”

“Do you really though? Can't you wait?” Marcus asks.

I shake my head. “No. We'd made a pact. When Dad got sick, he hid it. For almost a year. If he'd just told us earlier... maybe... Anyway, Mum, Leon and I made a promise. No hiding things.” I try to shake the guilt. “She deserves to know her son is hurt. And he deserves for his mum to know.”

Marcus reaches for my hand. I let him hold it for exactly as long as it takes me to stand up and dial her number, and then I'm walking alone towards the corridor with the phone already ringing at my ear.

When Leon's a full day out of surgery, Aria finds me on the phone with the home care nurse coordinator. She puts a coffee in my free hand and squeezes my shoulder.

“You look like you haven't slept,” she says when I hang up.

“I've slept. Whole minutes.”

She gives me the gift of a little laugh and then, even better, my space.

Betty turns up twenty minutes later with a paper bag of muffins and eyes uncharacteristically swollen.

“Okay, so, I need your stupid brother to survive this,” she announces, “purely selfishly, because I have not yet told him I have a crush on him and it would be extremely rude of him to die before I get the chance.” She bumps her shoulder into mine, and I actually laugh. Betty and Leon? I'm not sure the world could survive it.

“While the girls are here, we're gonna head back to the house for a quick change of clothes,” Marcus says, crouching in front of my chair. “And we'll grab some things for you.”

“I can go,” Betty offers.

“No, you two stay,” I say, looking at my new friends. “I'd, um, rather you stayed. If you don't mind, please.”

I look down at the ground so I don't have to see them all share a look.

“We'll be an hour, tops,” Marcus says to Aria, almost whispering. “Call if anything changes.”

I nod, even though he's not talking to me, and I mean to say something back, but there isn't anything to say.

So I just wave and then they're gone.

THIRTY-SIX

Zachary

Rhys goes through Alexia's drawers like each item's a priceless antiquity, folding each shirt perfectly, smoothing the collar and sleeves with military precision. Meanwhile, I toss her toothbrush and facewash and a phone charger into the same reusable grocery bag. After a while though, I start to see Rhys might be onto something. I need to focus on something that isn't picturing Leon's bloodied, almost unrecognisable face when they wheeled him past us.

“She's not okay,” I say from the foot of the bed, watching Rhys unfold a pair of her socks and refold them before putting them in the bag.

Rhys doesn't look up. “What makes you say that?”

“The fact that she's obviously not okay!” I pick at a fraying thread on the quilt.

“Can you blame her?”

No. I don't blame her. I just don't know what to do to help her.

“Hey, um. Can I ask you something?” I don't wait for him to reply. He won't. “Has she let you touch her? Since he got out of surgery.”

Rhys doesn't answer. Just keeps folding and refolding the pair of leggings in his hands, smoothing the same crease flat three, four, five times.

I huff. “Come on, man. This isn't the time to pretend we're not all in love with the same woman. I'm worried about her and need your opinion.”