Page 62 of The Rules We Broke
I tiptoed into her room, greeted by a symphony of monitors and machines. She looked so small—so fragile. I hated seeing her like that.
In my mind, she was always young and vibrant, just like in my books. Always ready to take on the world or spark some wild adventure.
I knew the day would come when I’d have to face that she wasn’t so young anymore. But I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to let go of the version of her who was unshakable, unbreakable—mine.
She was my mother in every way that mattered. Once, I asked her if I should call her Momma, and she said,“No, sugar. Aunts are much more fun than mommas.”
But I never doubted she loved me with a momma’s heart.
I settled into the chair beside her and gently held her hand. Minutes passed in silence before she stirred, slowly trying to open her eyes.
“Keep your eyes closed and rest,” I whispered.
Her voice came back to me, raspy but unmistakably her. “I’ll rest when I’m dead, Ella Lu.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. She was going to be okay. And just like that, the tears came—quiet and uncontrollable.
“Tears, Ella Lu?”
“I’m just sad I have to put that yacht on hold now that you’ve survived.”
“Are you sassing me, young lady?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I had never once wanted a yacht.
“You know how I feel about you calling me ma’am.”
I stood and kissed her forehead. “I know. I love you. How do you feel?”
She blinked slowly, still trying to focus. “I feel like someone cut my chest open.”
“Well, good. That means the surgeon did his job.”
She groaned. “As soon as I can open my eyes, you’re getting the evil one.”
I laughed. “I’m looking forward to it.”
She managed to open them—maybe just for dramatic effect—and gave me a soft evil eye. I was happy just to see those deep brown eyes again.
Her gaze sharpened. Her eyes narrowed. “You look different.”
I ran my fingers through my hair. “Well, I’ve been in a hospital waiting room all day.”
She gave me a tired look. “You look beautiful, as always. But there’s something different about you.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t think of anything.”
“Did something happen today?”
“Yes,” I replied. “You were rushed into emergency surgery.”
“Besidesthat, child.” Her tone turned sharp—irritated.
I racked my brain. “No. I just spent the day talking to Brady Jackson in the waiting room.”
Her eyes opened a little wider. “That Jackson boy was here?”
“Ishere,” I corrected.
