Page 72 of Hired By My Rich Baby Daddy

“Is there… is there anything y’all can do?” PB asked.

The doctor shook his head slowly. “No…I’m so sorry. There’s no chance of recovery.”

PB dropped his head, and I stared at the doctor like maybe if I kept looking at him, he would take the words back.

“You’re both welcome to go in and spend some time with her,” the doctor continued softly. “You can sit with her and talk to her. When you’re ready, someone from the care team will speak with you about the next steps.”

He reached out and patted PB on the shoulder.

“You can come this way.”

We walked down that hallway, and it felt like it went on forever. When we got to the room, I couldn’t hold myself together no more.

I fell into the chair by her bed and grabbed her hand. I broke all the way down.

“I’m so sorry, Reesie,” I said, my voice not even sounding like mine no more. “This my fault. I should’ve never gave you that money. I should’ve… helped more. I should’ve done more.”

I kept saying it over and over, holding her hand to my face, crying into it like if I said sorry enough times, it would change something.

Shit was taking me back to how I felt when Mom and Pops passed.

This was too much.

My fucking sister?

Dead?

PB went around to the other side of the bed. He didn’t say much of nothing, just took her other hand in his and stood there, crying quietly.

Wasn’t nothing left to say between us.

Just the two of us holding onto our sister while the machines kept doing their job a little while longer.

Five and a half weeks later…

It was my sissy’s birthday, and she looked like an actual doll. Too fucking cute.

Nourah had on this pink dress that fit just right—and hell, it better have, considering how much time she spent making it and how much she paid for the material.

It had the prettiest rhinestones all over it, tied around her neck with the whole back out, and a cute little train. She had a birthday sash draped across her chest that saidBIRTHDAY QUEENin cursive, and honestly, I was just happy she was having a great night. She invited a few friends, and I invited Veronica.

Veronica ended up being way cooler than I expected. She turned out to be good people. She had us laughing all night, ordering shots she didn’t even bother asking if we wanted, and by the time the waiter brought out the cake with the sparklers, she was already out her seat singing “Happy Birthday” louder than everybody else.

Nourah blew out her candles with her eyes closed, made her wish, and everybody clapped and hollered.

I was clapping right along with them, but my stomach did something funny.

I ain’t think much of it at first. I figured it was the drinks or all the fried food we’d been eating. But then it hit again, harder, and I knew I needed to get up.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, already sliding out the booth.

I made it to the bathroom just in time. I hadn’t even got my hair up good before I was hunched over the toilet, throwing up everything I’d eaten.

When it finally let up, I stood there for a second just breathing, confused as hell because I hadn’t drank nowhere near enough to be feeling like this. I went over to the sink, planting both hands on the counter, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

The door swung open, and Nourah came in hype, singing whatever song they were playing, but I couldn’t even focus. She stopped mid-song as soon as she looked at me.

“Wait… what’s wrong with you?” she asked, her whole face changing.