Page 11 of XOXO, Yours

Stupid ridiculously perceptive cowboy.

“I always look like this.”

My voice comes out steadier than I feel, which is its own small victory.

“Terrifying.”

I glance back at him.

Something in my chest loosens half an inch at the word, at the fact that he didn’t say sad or scared or any of the words that would have made this so much harder to survive standing up.

“Exactly.”

His grin returns, slow, and God help me, I smile back.

It’s tiny, barely there, but he catches it.

Of course he does.

He seems to catch everything.

And his expression changes for half a second, something flickering behind his eyes, like I’m giving him something.

Which is ridiculous.

It’s chocolate and a hallway and seven minutes.

“Come on, Dr. Phil.” I jerk my head toward the waiting room, grateful for something to do with my body besides stand here feeling seen. “If you’re Oliver’s brother, I assume you’re here for Cora too.”

“I am.”

He falls into step beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat coming off him, a whole furnace of a person moving at my shoulder.

And somehow that helps.

My pulse slows a fraction with every step, like his presence is setting some kind of pace I didn’t know that I needed.

Payton Blankenship is the baby of the family.

I learn exactly how much of a baby approximately thirty minutes later, after the hospital waiting room has been invaded by enough Blankenships to form their own sovereign nation.

His parents get here first, still dressed up from the party, his mother’s hand never leaving his father’s forearm. His grandparents are right behind them, still in their fiftieth-anniversary best, silver-haired and ramrod straight, like sitting up perfectly well will somehow fix things faster.

Because apparently Blankenships travel in herds, and every single one who walks through those doors asks about Cora.

Not Oliver.

Well, Oliver too, but always Cora first.

How is she? What happened? Has the doctor said anything? Does she need anything? Is there anything we can do?

It’s a lot.

It’s loud and warm and overwhelming in a way that makes my eyes sting more than the quiet ever did. Because this is what it looks like when a family shows up whole: no hesitation, no Is it my place to ask?

I sit there with my knees pulled up and my heel bouncing against the linoleum, trying not to think about how long it took anyone to show up for Hope and Cora and me, back when we were the ones in waiting rooms with nobody’s names on our forms.

Hope sits beside me, pressed against my arm, her knee jittering in time with mine, like we’ve synced up without meaning to.