Page 36 of Don’t Fall for your Best Friend's Brother

13

Finn

I had been working in Dad’s study when a really loud growl from my stomach let me know it was time to eat. Wandering into the kitchen and pondering what I was in the mood for, my eyes were drawn to what was happening in the garden. At first, I was completely confused by the scene. Emma was standing on the top of the stepladder, swiping at something frantically like a crazy person.

A second later, my heart stopped in my chest. I saw the stepladder topple, and then, almost as though it were happening in slow motion, I watched her go with it. There was not a chance I could have made it outside in time to save her. Instead, I had to watch her dreadful fall as I sprinted out the back door, knowing I was helpless to stop it. While she hadn’t wanted to make a fuss, she was clearly in a lot of pain. Neither the ice nor the Advil seemed to be making any difference, and as far as I was concerned, she needed medical attention.

There was just one problem—for her, at any rate. She didn’t have medical insurance. I’ll be honest; I don’t even think about that stuff. It’s just a way of life here, like paying your taxes or buying a coffee. For Emma, it was a big deal. I was determined to get her to the hospital, though, and so I fed her some lies about knowing a way around it. Admittedly, I used her ignorance against her, but it got her out the door. I also had no intention of taking her to any ordinary hospital when I pay a premium rate for private healthcare. It wasn’t just that; I also really like Dr. Jacobs as a person.

* * *

When it is all over, and Dr. Jacobs has dressed her wrist, I take the highly drugged Emma back to the reception area. I know my insurance isn’t going to cover her, but even before we left the house, I had every intention of paying for her treatment.

“How is she?” Claire asked from behind the reception desk.

I look down at Emma, who is leaning heavily against me and struggling to keep her eyes open.

“I think she’ll be fine.”

Claire hands me the form to sign, and then I swipe my credit card through the machine.

“Well, you certainly have your hands full,” Claire says, with her usual warm smile. She is gazing up at me with those wide eyes. I’m not blind; I know she has the hots for me. But she’s about five years too young and not really my type. I smile and bid her farewell.

Once I get Emma back into the truck, I start in the direction of home. Emma slips in and out of consciousness throughout the journey. I’m trying to keep an eye on the road while intermittently glancing at her to check she’s all right. The traffic stops up ahead, and I slow down to a stop, waiting for the light to change. I look over at her for a long moment, and as I get that extra time to gaze at her, the words she said to me in the hospital come back to my mind.

She had me laughing at her when she imitated using a chisel, and the noises she was making only amused me more. The drugs were making her act crazy, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at her antics. But then her eyes softened, and she gazed at me with such intensity that my heart nearly stopped. And she said, “You’re so beautiful.”

I know she was drugged out of her eyeballs when she said it, but somewhere deep inside me, I also know that she meant it. Wandering around in my brain, I try to recall that saying about the truth always coming out when you’re intoxicated. I think this is the same thing. The truth is, I think she’s beautiful, too. In fact, I think she’s amazing, wonderful, funny, and charming. But with what is going on in my life right now, I’m just too wary of telling her.

The traffic starts moving again, and I move with it. My thoughts don’t shift, though. I can’t help but consider what my life might be like with Emma Bolton in it. We’ve connected over these few weeks, and if there’s one thing I know, it’s that she’s not after me for my money. The reason I know that is that she has no idea who I am. Sylvie won’t have told her. My sister wants me to stay as far away from Emma as possible, so she certainly wouldn’t share anything that might make me appear more appealing. It’s strange and yet utterly refreshing to have someone like you for you, not for what they can get out of you.

I’d texted ahead and let Mom know what had happened, so when we finally arrive home, everyone makes a great fuss over Emma. Not that she really notices. She’s still pretty out of it.

“Oh, good Lord,” Mom cries as I help Emma through the front door. I’ve tossed her arm over my shoulder, and I’m holding her by the waist. She’s struggling to put one foot in front of the other, so in truth, I’m practically carrying her.

“What happened?” Mom says.

“Is she all right?” Sylvie cries, jumping up and down, trying to see over Mom’s shoulder.

Dad is standing a little further back, his brow furrowed with concern, though he knows there’s little he can do.

“Best as I can tell,” I say. Then I look around myself. “Where should I put her?”

Mom gestures to the Den and hurries in front of me to open the door. “Put her in here for now. Sylvie,” Mom calls over her shoulder. “Go and grab some blankets.”

I don’t see Sylvie disappearing, but I hear her footfalls as she runs up the stairs. Mom lifts the throw pillows off the sofa and then steps out of my way. Gently, I start to lower Emma. While I take her head, Mom grabs her feet, and we lie her down. Mom hands me a pillow, and I tuck it under Emma’s head. A minute later, Sylvie arrives with an armful of blankets.

When Mom finishes fixing them, she takes a long look at Emma. “The poor child.” She then looks at me. “So, what happened?”

“I came downstairs to find her falling off the stepladder. She was out there doing something in the garden—”

“She was cutting overhanging branches from the trees,” Dad says from the doorway. “I came home to find the toppled stepladder and my handsaw on the ground.”

“Well, she lost her balance and landed on her wrist,” I continue. “Nothing I tried helped, so I took her to the hospital. Dr. Jacobs gave her some pain relief. Some strong pain relief.” I grin, thinking back to her antics in the hospital. “Then he bandaged her up. Her wrist isn’t broken, just badly sprained.”

“Dr. Jacobs, huh?” Sylvie says, looking up at me knowingly.

“Yes, Sylvie. Dr. Jacobs,” I say. “I wasn’t going to have her wait for hours to be seen. She was in agony.”

---