Page 323 of Fall Back Into Love


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I always feel like Julie watches my parenting like a microbiologist studying cells under a microscope. Like she’s always looking for me to do something wrong.

She’s not. Not really.

Once upon a time, my therapist helped me work out that it’s guilt. I always assume Jules finds fault with me, that she sees the worst in me, because of things I’ve said and done.

Labeling my feelings of guilt, of inadequacy as Ryle’s dad, hasn’t helped me overcome them.

I look up when the automatic doors open. Four people have come in since I called Jules, so I don’t hold my breath expecting this one to be her. It’s not, but the woman who rushes inside is a familiar face. Mabry Aliston searches the room. The worry in her face eases just a touch when she sees my brother.

Twain stands to hug her when she hurries to him. Mabry and Twain have been seeing each other for a few months now, but to see them together, you might think they’ve been married for years. They fit together perfectly.

I’m happy for Twain. I like Mabry. She’s fun; she’s good for my brother.

But seeing Twain eat up the comfort of a loving woman makes me feel green. I had that once. And I was stupid enough to let it go.

“Any word?” Mabry asks as she pulls back from Twain. She glances at me and then Dad.

“Um. She’s got some broken ribs. Broken leg.” Twain shrugs, but he’s quiet. You can read the tension in his face, around his eyes. Harper is the oldest of us; she’s bossy and sometimes snippy, but she’s also generous and compassionate, and even though she’s technically out of danger, Twain and I are still rattled over the reminder that our sister is mortal. We could have lost her.

“What happened?” Mabry leans over to hug my dad.

If Twain and I are rattled, Dad is shell-shocked. Harper’s always been Daddy’s girl. Dad hugs Mabry back from his spot in the chair.

“Do you want me to take Ryle?” Mabry turns to me. “I can take him home with me.”

“Thanks.” I shake my head. “Jules is on her way.”

“Okay.” Mabry nods and looks around like she’s taking stock. “Do you guys need anything?”

“Some kid was texting and driving. She t-boned her,” Twain says out of nowhere.

Mabry flinches. “Anthony. Are you hungry? Do you want coffee?”

“I’m fine, Mabry,” Dad mumbles. “Thanks.”

Women are the caretakers. Even Harper. She’s hard-as-nails, independent, and holds her own in a board room, but if she were out here and one of us were in the exam room with fractures and cuts and bruises, she would be asking if we need something. Offering to take the kids somewhere. Watching the nurse’s desk and the ER doors, waiting for news, for updates.

“Thank God the kids weren’t with her.” Twain sucks in a big harsh breath and drops back to his seat. Mabry looks at the empty chair beside him and then glances at the woman in the chair next to it. That woman looks like death—pale and sweating like a fever just broke. Mabry perches carefully on the edge of the empty chair and turns toward us.

“Where are they?” Mabry asks Twain.

“Keith’s with Harper,” I tell her. “Keith’s mom has the kids.”

“Okay.” She nods.

“If she didn’t have the broken leg, she’d have been out of her car and ripping that kid to shreds for texting and driving.”

I’m exhausted, and I’m hot. Ryle is sticking to me. His hair is sweaty, and his breath is sour. But the constant rise and fall of his chest against mine is the most precious thing in the room. In my life.

Harper has some injuries, and she’s going to be inconvenienced with a cast and crutches, but she’s going to be okay.

The low laugh that rumbles up from my gut and spills out surprises all of us, most of all me.

“Yeah, she would’ve,” I agree with Twain. “I can see her grabbing the kid by the ear and draggin’ her butt outta the car to give her a piece of her mind.”

“That’s Harper.” Twain nods.

The automatic doors open again. Jules rushes in and comes straight toward me, like she spotted me through the glass as she crossed the parking lot. Her dark hair is pinned up in the messy twist that used to drive me wild. I loved pulling her barrette or hair tie through her soft curls and watching them fall over her shoulders when we were younger.

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