Page 80 of Broken Roads
That simple question hits me square in the chest. Where else would she be? As if there's no question that her place is at my side during the worst moments of my life.
Lifting our joined hands, I press a kiss to her knuckles. "Thank you. For being here. For not running when things got hard."
She leans into me, finding that perfect spot on my shoulder. "No place I'd rather be, cowboy."
For a moment, we sit in comfortable silence. The TV drones on about a cooking show. Someone's phone chirps from across the room. A nurse pushes a cart past the waiting area, wheels squeaking against the too-clean floor. Hailey's warmth against me is the only thing that feels real, the only anchor in this sterile, clinical nightmare.
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering against the soft skin of her cheek. She turns her face into my touch, eyes closing briefly. In this moment, I can almost forget where we are, why we're here. Almost.
"Bradley."
Sebastian's voice shatters the moment. I look up to find my brother standing in the doorway, looking every inch the respected doctor in his white coat and neatly pressed shirt. His face betrays nothing—no fatigue, no worry, just professional detachment.
"We need to talk," he says, hands sliding into the pockets of his coat.
My jaw tightens automatically. Two days of passing each other in hallways, of terse updates delivered in medical jargon, of carefully maintaining distance while orbiting the same crisis. Now he wants to talk?
"About Dad?" I ask, already straightening in my seat, alarm prickling along my spine.
"Yes," Sebastian answers, then glances at Hailey. "Privately, if possible."
The implication that she's not family, not entitled to information about Dad, makes something hot and angry flare in my chest. I open my mouth to tell him exactly where he can shove his privacy, but Hailey squeezes my hand in warning.
"I could use some coffee anyway," she says, already standing. "The cafeteria's on the ground floor, right?"
Sebastian nods. "The coffee's terrible, but the tea is decent."
"Good to know." She smiles, that easy, genuine smile that somehow works on everyone, even my brother, whose mouth twitches in response.
She turns to me, bending to press a quick kiss to my forehead. "Play nice," she whispers, too low for Sebastian to hear.
I watch her walk away, her confidence evident in every step despite the exhaustion I know she feels. Only when she disappears around the corner do I turn back to face my brother. Standing, I roll my shoulders that are stiff from too many hours in uncomfortable chairs, and cross my arms over my chest.
"You wanted to talk," I grit out. "So talk."
Sebastian shakes his head, glancing around the waiting room. "Not here." Then without waiting for my response, he turns and walks away, clearly expecting me to follow. Twenty years later, and he still assumes I'll fall in line behind him. The worst part is I do, trailing after him like we're kids again, him leadingsome adventure I'm too stubborn to back out of. He navigates the hospital corridors with the ease of someone who belongs here, nodding to staff who greet him. Meanwhile, I feel like an imposter in my dusty jeans and boots.
We ride the elevator in silence, the tension between us thick enough to choke on. When the doors slide open on the top floor, Sebastian leads me down another hallway, then pushes through a heavy door markedAuthorized Personnel Only.
"Pretty sure I'm not authorized," I mutter.
"You're with me."
The door opens to a small balcony overlooking the city. Up here, the constant antiseptic smell of the hospital gives way to fresh air and the faint scent of exhaust from the streets below.
Sebastian moves to the railing, resting his forearms on the metal as he stares out at the view.
Reluctantly, I join him at the railing, maintaining enough distance that our shadows don't touch on the concrete beneath us.
"I come here to think," he says finally, breaking the silence. "When I lose a patient. Or save one." He glances at me. "It's my version of your bench in the woods."
The reference to my thinking spot catches me off guard. "How do you know about that?"
"Dad mentioned it. In one of his calls."
I didn't know they were in contact. The realization that Dad had a private connection with Sebastian all these years sits like a stone in my gut.
"So," I say, crossing my arms. "You dragged me up here to talk. Start talking."
