Page 82 of Broken Roads
He looks up. "It's atrial fibrillation. Basically, his heart is beating irregularly, which caused the collapse. It's serious, but manageable with medication and lifestyle changes."
"So he's going to be okay?"
"He's going to need to take it easier," Sebastian cautions. "Reduce stress. Maybe step back from some of the more physical aspects of running the ranch." A small smile touches his lips. "But yes, with proper care, he should have many good years ahead of him."
Relief crashes through me so powerfully that I have to grip the railing to stay upright. Dad's going to be okay. The knowledge unlocks something in my chest, some tight, twisted thing that's been choking me for two days.
"Thank you," I manage, the words inadequate but all I have. "For bringing him here. For making sure he got the best care."
Sebastian nods, accepting my gratitude with unexpected grace. "He's my father too."
Four words. So obvious they shouldn't mean anything. And yet they bridge something between us—an acknowledgment that despite everything, we still share this bond, this love for the stubborn old man lying in a hospital bed eight floors below.
"Come on let’s get back inside," Sebastian suggests, tucking the folder under his arm. "We can tell him together when he’s awake."
I nod, pushing away from the railing. As we move toward the door, I walk beside my brother rather than behind him. It's a small change, but it feels like the first step on a very long road back to something we both lost twenty years ago.
Chapter 33
Hailey
Inavigate the sterile hospital corridors with two cups of mediocre tea, avoiding eye contact with the harried nurses and shell-shocked family members. The weight of the past forty-eight hours sits heavy on my shoulders, but not as heavy as the worry that's been etched into Bradley's face since his father collapsed. I've been bracing myself for World War III every time Bradley and Sebastian occupy the same space, so when I round the corner to the waiting room and spot them standing together without visible bloodshed, I nearly drop both cups in shock.
They're by the window, faces serious but not hostile. No crossed arms. No clenched jaws. Just two men who look exhausted but somehow... lighter. The sight is so unexpected that I pause, giving myself a moment to absorb this miracle before I interrupt it.
Bradley speaks, his voice too low for me to hear the words, but Sebastian nods in response. There's a fragile truce in their body language, the kind that could shatter with one wrong move, butit's there. My shoulders relax slightly and tension, I didn't realize I was carrying, melts away.
Then Bradley looks up and spots me hovering in the doorway. His entire demeanor transforms—shoulders straightening, eyes brightening, mouth curving into that half-smile that never fails to make my heart skip. He beckons me over with a small tilt of his head, and I feel a flutter of warmth at the eagerness in his expression.
As I approach, he steps toward me, closing the distance in two long strides. His arm slides around my waist, drawing me against his side with a casual possessiveness that sends a shiver through me. Even after everything we've shared this public claiming still feels new and so very thrilling.
"I'd like you to officially meet my brother," Bradley says, his voice carrying a note of pride that catches me off guard. "Sebastian, this is Hailey Monroe."
Sebastian extends his hand. His smile is polite but genuine. Up close, the resemblance between the brothers is even more striking—same dark eyes, same strong jawline, though Sebastian's is clean-shaven where Bradley's sports several days of stubble.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you properly," Sebastian says, his grip firm as we shake hands. "Sorry for stealing him away earlier."
"No apology necessary," I reply, balancing the tea cups awkwardly. "Family comes first."
Sebastian's eyebrow lifts slightly as his gaze flickers between Bradley and me with renewed interest. "So I'm learning," he says with a small smile. "Again."
Bradley's fingers tighten at my waist, but when I glance up at him, his expression remains neutral. Whatever happened during their private conversation has shifted something fundamental between them.
"How's your father doing?" I ask, offering one of the tea cups to Bradley, who accepts it with a grateful nod.
"The news is good," Sebastian answers. "Atrial fibrillation. Serious but manageable with medication and lifestyle changes."
"He's going to be okay," Bradley adds, and the relief in his voice makes my chest ache. "He'll need to take it easier, but he's going to be okay."
"That's wonderful." The words feel inadequate against the magnitude of what this means for the Walker family.
Sebastian glances at his watch—a sleek, expensive-looking thing that probably costs more than a month of my salary. "He's still resting but should be awake soon."
Bradley nods, taking a sip of the tea I brought him. His nose wrinkles slightly at the taste, but he drinks it anyway.
"In the meantime," Sebastian continues, sliding his hands into the pockets of his white coat, "I was wondering if you two would be free for dinner later? Once Dad's settled for the night." His eyes meet Bradley's. "We have a lot of catching up to do, and I imagine you could both use a decent meal after hospital cafeteria food for two days."
The invitation hangs between them—not just an offer of food, but an olive branch, a tentative step toward rebuilding what was broken. Bradley hesitates, uncertainty flickering across his face. I give his waist an encouraging squeeze in what I hope is a small gesture of encouragement.
