Page 72 of Rebound

Fuck, I miss her.

But now, I’m here and she’s there, and I’m doing my best to give her space. As promised. Even though it’s the last thing I want to do.

“Hey, have you spoken with Amber today?” Drake asks quietly as he takes a seat on the sofa beside me.

My head snaps up, and I shove my phone into my pocket, trying my best not to look guilty. “No. Why?”

He glances around the noisy room. “I called to get her bank information for the settlement, and she… Well, she sounded awful. She tried to brush it off. Blamed some reheated takeout she had for dinner last night. But it sounded like she’d been crying. Amelia and I are gonna stop by on our way home and make sure she’s okay.”

Amber never gets sick. The woman has the constitution of an ox, which is a good thing because she has an extreme phobia of vomiting. A remnant from her time at boarding school when one of her classmates almost choked to death in the middle of the night.

She asked for space and I promised to give it, but I can’t leave her alone feeling terrified and vulnerable. “No, I’ll go check on her.” I jump up, scanning the room for the rest of our brothers.

“You’re going to leave in the middle of Mason’s birthday brunch?” The incredulity in Drake’s tone is further evidence that I’ve spent far too long not putting her first.

“Yes. Now.” When I glance over my shoulder at him, his lips are curved in a smile, and he gives me a knowing wink.

I quickly find Mason and tell him I need to leave because something important has come up. Given his difficult history with my wife, I don’t tell him exactly what that important thing is, and once I assure him everything is okay, he doesn’t press me on it.

While he’s disappointed I’m missing his birthday brunch, he understands. Of course he does, because I’m a good fucking brother, and I get to have a life outside of this family. We all do.

It’s that fucking easy… and that fucking hard.

Less than an hour later,I’m standing on Amber’s doorstep, clutching a white paper bag containing a box of electrolyte packets. The woman at the pharmacy assured me they were the best thing for replacing essential fluids after a bout of food poisoning.

I stand, my hand suspended in midair, poised to knock. I promised her that I would honor her request for space, and yet here I am. Invading her life. However, any doubts I have because she might be pissed at me are far outweighed by my concern for her wellbeing.

After I knock, it takes a few moments for the door to be answered, and I spend that time shuffling from one foot to the other and hoping I haven’t woken her. When the door opens a crack, I’m met with only a sliver of her face, but it’s enough for me to clearly see how pale and drawn she is.

“Elijah, what are you doing here?” Her voice is raspy, her tone weary.

“I know I agreed to give you some space, but Drake told me you were sick. And I…” I scrub my free hand through my hair. “I remember how freaked out you used to get about vomiting, and I didn’t want you to be alone.”

The door opens a little more, and tears fill her eyes. Her lower lip wobbles.

Shit!

“But what about Mason’s birthday brunch?”

I take a step closer, my hand resting gently on the door so she doesn’t feel like I’m trying to force my way inside, and I stare into her beautiful eyes. “Baby, nothing is more important to me than you. I know it’s taken me far too long to realize that, but believe me when I tell you that you are my first priority. I’m not here expecting anything from you. I know this changes nothing that we spoke about the other day. And as soon as you want me to go, I’m gone. No questions asked. But whether we’re together or apart, I will be here whenever you need me.”

“Elijah.” My name leaves her mouth on a sob that makes my chest ache. I’m not sure whether she’s going to let me in or tell me to go to hell until she opens the door a little wider, allowing me inside.

I waste no time taking her into my arms, and she sags against my chest. “I feel awful,” she mumbles.

I run my hands over her back, noticing now that she’s wearing my Ramones T-shirt—the one that makes her feel close to me, that makes her feel safe even when I don’t. It fills me with hope that her instinct is still to want to be close to me.

Resting my lips on the top of her head, I ignore the faint smell of vomit. “Was it something you ate?”

“Uh-huh. I reheated my leftovers from the chicken place on the corner,” she says with a loud groan. “I guess I didn’t heat it enough, or—” Her hand flies to her mouth, and she pushes me roughly away before bolting upstairs. A few seconds later, I wince at the sound of her vomiting.

After leaving the paper bag on the table, I follow the sound until I find her and dropping to my knees at her side so I can rub gentle circles on her back. Eventually, she sits back on her haunches and wipes her mouth. I brush away the damp hair sticking to her forehead.

“I must look so attractive right now, huh?” she manages a laugh.

I stare at her. Cheeks pale. Lips dry and cracked. Hair in a disheveled ponytail. “You always look beautiful to me,” I tell her honestly.

Groaning, she closes the lid of the toilet and rests her forehead on the cool porcelain. “Smooth talker.”

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