I haven’t asked about her job situation because I don’t want to pressure her, butfuck,I want to be there for her. At the very least, I don’t know, wish hergood luck.
Not that Eliza needs luck.
“What’d you tell them?” I ask.
“The truth. That she’s fucking excellent. So much that I want her to continue working for me.”
I look away from Anson’s evaluative gaze. White tiles, metal carts, lifeless cream walls. Why does everything in a hospital have to be so damn depressing?
“What are you going to do if she leaves?” he asks.
I drag my gaze back to his. “Date her. If she wants that.”
“How’s that going to work?”
“I’ll make it work.”
“She’s worth it?” He isn’t mocking me, like I’d expect.
No, Anson’s curious. He’s truly wondering how, after last year’s mess, Eliza got me to fall down the rabbit hole again.
Well,hesees it as a rabbit hole. A fruitless endeavor. A waste of time and energy that I could easily and logicallykeep myself out of. But with the right woman, it’snoneof those things.
God, I can’t fucking wait for someone to blast into his life, surprise him with that revelation, and toss his neatly organized world upside-down.
Grinning at that thought, I answer, “Yes.”
He nods to himself, considering this. Probably thinking I’m a fool, too. Then he slaps me with more bad news. “The doctor said Dawson should be discharged in three days. He also said he’s asked to prohibit visitors.”
I’d thought Anson was waiting outside the room because he wanted to face Dawson together, use me as some kind of buffer—not because we’d been banned. “Since when do you let someone tell you what you can and cannot do?”
His flat expression fissures, and his chest heaves a breath. “I don’t know what the fuck happened to our brother, butthat—” he jerks his chin toward Dawson’s door— “I don’t know what to do with that.”
A muscle thrums in his jaw, a telltale sign that he’s pissed. But that’s not all. Because his voice sounds alarmingly thin—fragile, from someone who’s as unbreakable as stone—as he grits out, “If I go in there, I’m just going to make things worse. I don’t even have to open my fucking mouth.”
His pain piles on my own.
Anson’s a jackhammer, and Dawson’s a strip of concrete that’s currently crumbling to pieces. But Anson’s not deliberately being an asshole. He’s just beingAnson,handling Dawson the only way he knows how, when our little brother needs kid gloves. Space.
Or maybe hedoesneed tough love, for Anson to break him down until he gets his ass into gear. Fuck, how am I supposed to know?
“Are you going home?” I ask quietly.
Anson shakes his head. “I’ll leave when he’s discharged. I don’t want to be hours away if his condition nosedives. There’s a family room on the first floor I’ll work out of.”
I rest my hand on his shoulder. “I’m going in. I’ll say bye for the night, then meet you in the car.” I’m not letting some doctor tell me to stay away from my brother, and regardless of what Dawson said, we’ve always gotten along.
It’s worth a shot.
Anson nods his agreement, and I head in, steeling myself to be a punching bag. Dawson looks up when I enter. He still looks like shit, dark circles bright against his unusually pale skin, sandy hair disheveled across his forehead. Not a good look for a star athlete.
“Told the doc I don’t want visitors,” he says.
“I’m not a visitor. I’m your brother.”
His green eyes track me as I approach the bed. “You’re literally wearing a visitor’s badge.”
“Well, yeah. It’s part of my cover. If they knew I was Dawson Gold’s brother, the tabloids would be after me.”
