Maggie releases a drawn-out sigh and sits back. “She’s doing the laundry.”
I’m slow to comprehend. “She’s . . . what?”
Maggie purses her lips. “I insisted she rest, but she wanted to keep caught up on her chores.”
I’m out of my seat and halfway down the hall before she’s done speaking. I hustle down the steps to the basement. I know I’ve crossed a line, and I’ll have to apologize to Maggie about it later, but, admittedly, I’m furious. Evie doesn’t know when to slow down, and it’s hurting her.
My vision tunnels as I close in on the laundry room at the end of the hall. Throwing the door open, I brace myself for a fight because Evie is as stubborn as an old mule—but stop short at what I find on the other side. Evie, crumpled on the floor, her head cradled between her knees. Her back heaving.
My blood runs cold.
She hasn’t heard me over the whirring of the washing machine. I approach her slowly, touch her shoulder gently. She startles and winces, her eyes widening when she discovers me looming over her. I expect her to withdraw from me, to tell me to get lost and demand I leave her alone once and for all.
But she reaches for me.
“Brandon,” she breathes, lifting shaking arms. “Thank God you’re here. I’m in so much pain. Please. Help.”
Like Maggie, Evie isn’t one to ask for help.
My heart breaks at the pleading look on her face. Sinking to my knees, I take her outstretched hands in mine. “Why do you do this to yourself?” I ask. She looks down, shaking her head. Taking her chin in my hand, I force her to meet my gaze. “When will you learn to take better care of yourself?”
She tugs her face free, looking irritated now. “Just get me back upstairs, Brandon.Please.”
Sighing, I carefully lift her into my arms. She’s much lighter than I expected her to be. She winces and moans. “I’m sorry,” I murmur against her cheek, cradling her closer. “I’ve got you. Hang on.”
She rests her head against my shoulder, and my heart melts within me. “Thank you.” There are no tears running down her cheeks, but her voice is thick like she’s been crying.
Come to think of it, I have never seen Evie shed a tear.
But I’ve seen her fake a smile. Laugh off a broken heart.
Maggie meets us at the top of the stairs. “Evie,” she gasps. “Honey, are you alright?”
Evie cringes. “Mostly.”
“No, she’s not alright.” Maggie gapes guiltily, clutching her face like that Scream painting as she shakes her head. “So, I’m pulling the doctor card, Maggie.” Evie wiggles in my arms like a contained puppy as I carry her down the hall. “She is on strict bed rest for at least a week. No work. No chores. No getting out of bed except to use the restroom or take a bath.”
Evie’s fingernails dig into my shirt collar as I carry her into her bedroom. “You can’t do that. You can’tjust—”
I level her with a simple look, and she pipes down. “Okay,” she says as I lower her onto the bed. “I need to call work, then. I’m supposed to meet a client in an hour.”
“You were going to go to work today?” I say, dumbstruck. This infuriating, irresistible woman. I look around her room. “Where is your phone?”
My breath catches when I see the framed photograph of us on her bedside table, right where it’s been since the day she had it printed and framed. It’s a picture of me, her, Jamie, and Teddy on the day Teddy was born. Evie is holding Teddy, and my arm is wrapped around her shoulder as Jamie gives the camera a thumbs up, his arm wrapped around us, a wide, goofy smile plastered on his face.
Seeing that photo front and center on her nightstand—where she would see it every morning before getting up and every night before falling asleep—gives me hope.
She doesn’t hate me after all.
“It’s there,” she says, pointing at her dresser.
I retrieve the phone and hand it to her. “Call work. Now.”
She grimaces at my tone and shoots Maggie an imploring look. “Grandma?”
Maggie crosses her arms. “Oh, no. I’m on Brandon’s side for this one.”
She huffs. “You realize this means I’m gonna need to hire some help, right?” She lifts a brow. “You’re not going up and down those stairs.”
