Page 5 of Crossing the Brooklyn Briggs
“I’m fine,” I say at the same time Jordan says, “She might have a concussion.”
I look up with wide eyes. Is he serious? But Jordan is focused on the phone, as if Houston can see him from here even though he’s all the way over in Oklahoma for the Series.
“Details,” Houston growls.
“I was cleaning out the window well,” Jordan says, his eyebrows pulling together. “I didn’t realize she wasn’t at work, and I scared the crap out of her.” He glances at me, his lips twitching. “Not literally.”
I consider smacking him, but since I’m a grown adult, that feels like an overreactive response. “I told you, I’m fine,” I say right before my stomach twists and nearly makes me throw up. That feels a little concussiony. It feels different from my usual migraine nausea.
Jordan puts a hand on my shoulder to steady me. “I’ll take her to urgent care,” he says.
“No!” I say at the same time Houston grumbles, “Good luck with that.”
Jordan glances between me and the phone.
“I can’t afford emergency care,” I mutter.
“I’ll pay for it,” Houston replies, though he knows as well as I do that my excuse isn’t the real reason.
“I’m fine,” I say again.
“Not if you have a concussion.”
“Don’t you have a game to play?”
“Jordan, will you stay with her over the weekend?”
Jordan and I both choke, me dropping the phone and him shooting up to his feet.
“That’s definitely not happening, Hou,” I snap.
“I have work to do,” Jordan mumbles.
“It’s that or I’m calling an ambulance to your place right now and you can deal with the paramedics,” Houston says calmly.
He’ll follow through with that threat too. My twin has always been overprotective, and it’s gotten worse since he was drafted by the Sun City Red-tails and spends so much time traveling. It’s like he forgets that I’m technically older than him—six whole minutes—and have been taking care of myself for most of my life. I love him, but he’s a pain in my neck sometimes.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I say and hop up to my feet as if to prove it. Unfortunately, the dull ache I’ve been ignoring in my ankle since waking up is no longer dull or an ache at all, and my foot gives out beneath me, sending me toppling into Jordan’s arm with a cry.
Holy cannoli, he’s strong. I guess a landscaper would be, but Jordan literally lifts most of my weight with one arm as he attempts to help me avoid standing on my apparently injured ankle.
“Brook? Are you okay?” Houston sounds a little desperate.
“Fine,” I gasp, though tears are sprouting in my eyes from the pain.
“You don’t sound fine. Jordan?”
“She must have sprained her ankle when she fell.”
My brother groans, the sound filling the room. “Blondie, just go to the hospital.”
This isn’t helping the tear situation. Nor is the realization that one of my hands is pressed up against Jordan’s stomach and he’s got muscles for days. And my head is still pounding, but the thought of being anywhere near a hospital has me borderline hyperventilating.
Groaning again, Houston starts muttering something, and I can imagine him pacing wherever he is. “I really have to go, so if you’re not going to go to a doctor, Brook, then Jordan is going to stay with you until Monday. This isn’t a request.”
Jordan tightens his hold on my waist, though he’s too focused on the phone to notice the way my breath catches from his touch. “You know I’ve got jobs this weekend, Briggs.”
“I also know you have a team who can handle it. I’ll pull funding if you don’t stay with her.”
