Page 59 of The Rookie's Sister

“Good evening esteemed guests, hospital colleagues, and friends,” Dr. Alden begins, his voice resonating with gratitude. “Thank you for being here tonight to support Chicago Memorial Hospital and its intensive care unit, which has saved countless lives over its long history...”

As he speaks about the ICU’s impact, my thoughts drift to Dad’s time there, unconscious and relying on machines to keep his fragile heart beating. I remember pacing the cold floors, obsessively checking monitors and charts through bleary eyes, terrified each shift change would bring bad news.

But now my father is recovering, the dangerous arrhythmia finally under control thanks to Xavier’s sheer force of will. He’s moved mountains to get Dr. Alden to make room on his schedule for my father, refusing to take no for an answer.

Dr. Alden’s words pull me back to the present. “Thanks to your generosity this evening, we will be able to upgrade dated cardiac monitoring systems and make much-needed renovations. This will allow Chicago Memorial to provide even better care for Chicago’s families when it matters most.”

Enthusiastic applause follows this announcement. Clearly, this is a crowd ready to give, knowing it will make a tangible difference. The energy in the room is palpably expectant as a server wheels out the first auction item—an impressive Manet lithograph.

“Let’s start the bidding at $5,000,” the auctioneer calls. Paddles immediately shoot up around the room. Within minutes, the bids exceed $30,000, the auctioneer’s voice rising in excitement. The item sells for $47,500 and is whisked away, replaced by an opulent spa getaway that fetches an impressive $41,000.

Each item is received eagerly, the bids mounting with astonishing speed. Rare antiques, luxury vacations, even a vintage pink Cadillac. The audience’s wallets are wide open tonight.

I’m not the only one finding it surreal. “Can you believe this?” Holly murmurs next to me as a dazzling 10-day safari sells for over six figures. “I picked the wrong career. I should’ve been a philanthropist.”

I laugh under my breath. My fashionable friend looks stunning, as always, in a sleek black dress that compliments her warm umber skin.

“The next item may particularly interest the sports fans among us tonight,” the auctioneer announces. I notice Xavier straighten slightly, his eyes narrowing. “We have a unique opportunity for a private date with Chicago’s most eligible footballer, Xavier Johnson!”

A surprised laugh ripples through the guests. Xavier rubs the back of his neck, cocking his head self-consciously even as his mouth curves into a smile. Trust him to not only organize this entire charity event, but to put himself on the auction block, too. Though knowing Xavier, part of him also enjoys the attention.

“Let’s start the bidding at $5000 for this handsome athlete and philanthropist,” the auctioneer continues. “A perfect chance for that special someone to score big!”

This elicits an excited buzz from the female guests. The bidding erupts instantly, shouts of “$6000!”, “$8000!” ringing out from every corner of the room. Xavier’s smile looks decidedly more nervous now, though I can’t tell if it’s the bidding or if he’s worried that I’m going to be annoyed. He doesn’t need to worry. I watch in amusement as the price rapidly soars into the thousands.

“$50,000!” trills a socialite in satin opera gloves, batting her lashes at Xavier.

I just roll my eyes, confident in the way he feels about me. If nothing else, the whisker burn on the insides of my thighs from when he went down on me in a bathroom only thirty minutes ago is proof I don’t need to be jealous.

“$60,000!” yells a glamorously dressed woman at the table beside me, who looks vaguely familiar. Probably the wife of some real estate tycoon.

The numbers keep climbing as more ladies thrust their paddles in the air, incentivized by the blend of charity and handsome athlete. Xavier’s eyes are round, his competitive spirit somewhat mollified by the crazy bids. I catch his glance and have to press my lips together to keep from laughing out loud.

Finally, at “$95,000!” the socialite lets out a jubilant laugh and blows Xavier a kiss. He looks both relieved and slightly terrified. But the thunderous applause and whistles show the guests’ appreciation for his willingness to take part.

As chairs scrape back for a short intermission, I stand chatting idly with Holly about something one of the offensive players did earlier this week when Dr. Alden suddenly approaches me, smiling warmly.

“Emma, I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you and Xavier for putting this together,” he says. “Seeing our community come together like this to support the hospital is incredibly heartening.”

I shake my head. “Please, the thanks truly go to Xavier. He handled everything. I’m just happy to take part any way I can.”

Dr. Alden nods thoughtfully. “Well, I always knew he was a special young man. We’re very lucky to have his dedication. And your family’s too.” He gives my shoulder an affectionate pat before disappearing into the bustling crowd.

I blink back the lump forming in my throat, once again amazed at all Xavier has set in motion. When Holly squeezes my hand, I realize I completely forgot she’s right next to me.

“You really landed a good one, you know that?” she says, jerking her chin toward Xavier. He is speaking with a donor, his height and charisma commanding the attention of those around him.

“Yeah,” I breathe, my heart swelling as I watch him work the room with ease despite the earlier embarrassment. “I really did.”

A sudden amplified voice hushes the guests, directing us back to our seats.

“If I could have your attention, please! Thank you all for your incredible generosity this evening,” the auctioneer announces. “I’m pleased to share that so far, we have raised a staggering five million dollars for Chicago Memorial Hospital!”

The room erupts into spontaneous cheers and applause. Across the sea of thrilled faces, I spot Xavier already watching me, his eyes crinkling the way they do when he’s truly happy. I know exactly what he’s thinking. We’ve done it.

Scanning the room, I find my father seated near the stage, chatting amiably with Dr. Alden. He looks happier and healthier than I’ve seen him in ages, the pallor and fatigue that had plagued him greatly diminished. When he notices me watching, he gives me a little wink.

Before I can react, Xavier materializes beside me. “Hey you,” he murmurs, slipping an arm around my waist. His woodsy cologne wraps comfortingly around me.

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