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“As long as someone can be there.”
“Of course,” I say.
“We’ve got you covered,” Harley tells him.
“I’ll need someone to wake me up periodically through the night,” Brewser explains. “They say I have a pretty good concussion.”
“We can take shifts,” Patty decides.
I start to protest. We don’t need to have a gigantic slumber party at our house. God knows what they will all get into. Would I put slumber party pranks beyond these people, even in their late seventies? Absolutely not. There’s a non-zero chance I’ll end up with something drawn on my face in permanent marker. But Sutton squeezes my hand, and when our eyes meet, we share our own silent communication.
Brewser’s friends need a gigantic slumber party at our house, maybe more than he needs it.
Right.
They want to be sure he’s okay and want to be a part of caring for him.
“I make a really great breakfast casserole,” Sutton whispers.
And I fall in love all over again.
The nurse has been giving Wilson instructions, including a packet of papers.
“Do you have questions for me?” she asks. “These papers outline everything. He just needs to follow up with his regular doctor in a few days.”
“We’ll make sure of it,” Wilson tells her. Harley and Leo both nod.
“We can get him home. You should go deal with Beckett,” Harley tells me.
“Are you sure?”
“We’ve been hauling this guy around for years,” Leo says. “On the very road we’re gonna take from here back to Rebel.”
I look at Brewser. “I’ll be home soon.”
Brewser smiles. “You take care of your girl first. I’m in good hands.”
He is, and I’m very glad he knows that.
I hold out my hand to Sutton. “Let’s go find him.”
“He might’ve already left.”
“He hasn’t,” I tell her.
Because if Lydia and I had just had the conversation they did, I’d be waiting outside for her.
Her girlfriends all hug her and say what I can only guess are reassuring things in her ear before we can finally leave the emergency department.
We step out into the night. The rain has cleared, and it only takes us about ten feet past the front doors to realize I was right.
Beckett is pacing back and forth along the sidewalk underneath one of the streetlights.
I hear Sutton blow out a little breath, and I know she’s relieved.
“You go first,” I tell her, giving her a little nudge. “I have some things I want to say too, but he’s clearly waiting for you.”
She approaches her brother with her arms hugged against her middle. I’m close enough to hear their exchange but far enough back that I hope Beckett understands that I am giving them space and time together.
