Page 29 of The Rookie's Sister

EMMA

The buzz of my phone against the nightstand jars me from sleep. I crack one eye open, blinking against the pale pre-dawn light filtering through the blinds.

5:00 AM.

A heartbeat later, the reality of why I set an alarm punches me in the gut. Dad’s surgery. Today at 9:00 sharp.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my breathing to steady. You’ve got this, Thompson. One step at a time.

The warm weight of Xavier’s arm drapes over my waist, his steadying exhales grazing the back of my neck. Last night comes rushing back in a kaleidoscope of sense memories - the brush of his fingers over my spine, the heat of his mouth caressing my skin, his body moving with mine. A secret stolen from time, binding us in this little sanctuary of rumpled sheets.

With care, I ease out from under his arm. Xavier mumbles something unintelligible, but remains deep in slumber. A pang strikes my chest as I take in the sight of him - hair mussed, face smoothed of its usual intensity. Unguarded. More boyish somehow, stripped of the larger-than-life persona he wears like well-fitted armor. An armor I’ve seen beneath now.

I dress quickly in last night’s discarded clothes, movements muted. The gleaming Rolex on Xavier’s wrist catches my eye as I stand - 5:02 AM. Plenty of time to slip out unnoticed before facing the harsh light of day.

After a last glance at Xavier’s sleeping form, I creep from the bedroom on silent feet. My heels dangle from one hand, shoes seeming trivial in the hush of early dawn.

In the sparkling high-gloss kitchen, I scrawl a brief note on a stray Post-It.

Xavier,

Didn’t want to wake you. Dad’s surgery is this morning. Thank you for last night - I needed the escape more than you know. Let’s talk soon.

Emma

I leave it on the counter beside the sleek coffeemaker. Then I slip out the front door into the breaking dawn, the click of the lock punctuating my exit.

The morning air kisses my bare legs and exposed shoulders, leaching away the last wisps of sleep. I quicken my pace, heels clicking against the pavement. Can’t afford to linger here in this luminous bubble suspended out of time. Reality awaits.

Once home, I gulp down a scalding shower and change into jeans and a simple blouse. The familiar purified scent of soap dispels the last traces of Xavier’s cologne from my skin. I twist my unruly hair into a braid, slicking on a touch of mascara and lip balm. A light application of armor for whatever comes next.

The rich aroma of fresh coffee draws me to the kitchen. Jeff sits at the counter blowing absently on a steaming mug. He’s dressed in a button-down and khakis, hair combed neatly back. An unusual display of punctuality for my little brother.

“Hey.” I pour myself a to-go cup, the normalcy of the action steadying my nerves. “Early for once.”

“Yeah, couldn’t really sleep.” Jeff takes a cautious sip, eyes flicking to meet mine. “How about you? You look kinda...”

“Ragged? Disheveled?” I supply wryly. “Why thank you, dear brother.”

Jeff holds up his free hand. “I was going to say tired.”

I sigh, leaning against the counter beside him. The ceramic mug warms my palms.

“I didn’t get much sleep either. Too nervous, I guess.”

Jeff nods, a crease deepening between his brows. We sip our coffees in easy silence, a familiar rhythm after countless shared mornings just like this. But an undercurrent of gravity simmers beneath the surface this time. No lighthearted debate about which donut place has the best glazed crullers. No banter about my disastrous cooking skills after an ill-fated attempt at breakfast.

Just the weight of uncertainty pressing down, and the comfort of having each other to shoulder it. For now, at least, until the doors swing wide and we’re back in the fray.

I drain the last bitter dregs and rinse out my mug. “You ready for this?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Jeff straightens, squaring his shoulders. The set of his jaw echoes our dad’s - stubborn to the core. “Let’s do it.”

We head out together into the glaring July sunlight. Even this early, the air is thick and muggy, weighted with impending rain. Fitting weather for the day ahead. I slide behind the wheel of the sedan while Jeff folds himself carefully into the passenger seat, long legs scrunched uncomfortably.

“Remind me again why I let you drive?”

I back smoothly out of the driveway. “Because you inherited Dad’s lead foot, and speed limits exist for a reason?”

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