Page 57 of The Rules We Broke
My first instinct was to pull away, but the warmth was calming. He kept murmuring reassurances, but I had a bad feeling. A heavy one.
Finally, a nurse appeared. “Ms. Eaton?”
I moved toward her. Brady followed.
She led us into a private waiting area.
Not a good sign.
I squeezed Brady’s hand. He let go—only to wrap his arm around my shoulders and pull me close.
I gazed up at him. His eyes held the same concern I felt.
I started to shake.
I wasn’t ready to lose her. Not her. She was all I had.
Inside the room, the nurse wasted no time. “Ms. Eaton, there was a problem with the second artery when we began to inflate it. We had to rush your aunt into emergency bypass surgery.”
My voice cracked. “Is she okay?”
She didn’t really answer. “The bypass surgery will take a few hours. Someone will come notify you once she’s in recovery.”
She turned to leave. Then paused in the doorway. “Feel free to take as much time in here as needed.”
The door closed behind her. And the tears came.
Brady pulled me in, wrapped his arms around me tight.
I didn’t fight it. Instead, I held on like my life depended on it.
“Brady, I can’t lose her,” I sobbed. “She’s all I have.”
He tipped my chin gently. “Ellie, don’t think like that. She’ll come through fighting.”
Then softer—softer than anything—“And Ellie . . . you’re not alone.”
I didn’t argue. I rested my head against his now tear-streaked shirt and tie.
Brady’s hand moved in slow, soothing circles over my neck and back. I knew it wasn’t the time to think about it—not with Aunt Lu on the operating table. But being here, wrapped in him . . . It felt like home.
Like I’d finally stepped into the place I belonged.
I cried harder—because every part of me knew that was true. I held on longer than I should have. But I needed him. Worse, Iwantedhim.
When I finally let go, he held on even longer. And I let him.
When he did pull back, I stepped away. He reached up and brushed my tears away. The look in his eyes—familiar, gutting—was almost my undoing.
I forced myself to glance down, searching for something to hold on to, and found it: a pale smear of makeup on his crisp white shirt.
Before I could say anything about the stain, Brady gently grabbed my hand and lifted it to his face. “I don’t care about the shirt,” he murmured. “I’ve missed your makeup stains on them.”
He kissed my palm, and I nearly melted into the tile.
“I think maybe we should head back to the waiting room.”
“Okay.” But he didn’t let go of my hand.
