Page 151 of Pull Me Under

‘Jude?’ Kit’s voice fills the car, tight with worry. ‘What’s happening? Is he⁠—’

‘I don’t know. They airlifted him to Treliske. I’m driving there now.’

‘Christ.’ A pause. I can hear him breathing, can picture him running his hand through his hair the way he does when he’s stressed. ‘Right. Okay. I’m booking flights.’

‘Kit, you don’t have to⁠—’

‘I’m coming home, Jude.’ No room for argument. ‘First flight I can get. Maisie too – she’d never forgive me if I left her behind.’

Maisie. My niece, who has her father’s stubborn streak and her mother’s fierce heart. Who sends me videos of herself attempting to surf and calls me ‘the fun uncle’ even though I’m her only uncle.

‘What about Isla?’

‘She can’t leave the show.’ Kit’s voice is heavy with it. ‘You don’t just walk out of a Broadway run – understudies need notice, contracts, the whole thing. She wants to come, but…’

‘I understand.’

‘She’s gutted. She’ll call you later, she said. But Jude—’ He pauses. ‘We’ll be there. Tomorrow night, probably. Maybe sooner if I can swing standby.’

I relax. Just a fraction. An inch. Probably not even an inch.

I’ve spent so long trying to prove I can handle things on my own. Trying to be enough, even when Dad made it clear I wasn’t. But right now, with the road blurring ahead and my father somewhere in the hospital⁠—

I need my brother.

‘Yeah,’ I manage. ‘Okay. Good.’

‘Keep me updated. Every hour, even if there’s nothing new.’

‘I will.’

‘And Jude?’ A beat. ‘Whatever you were going to tell me earlier. About being in love. We’ll talk about that too, yeah? When I get there.’

I glance at Brynn. She’s looking out the window, giving me privacy I don’t need. Not from her.

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘When you get there.’

The line goes dead.

Brynn’s hand finds mine again.

We drive the rest of the way in silence.

By the time we reach Treliske, they’ve already taken him through. A nurse with tired eyes directs us to a waiting room – plastic chairs, a vending machine with a flicker in its display, a TV mounted in the corner playing news no one’s watching.

I sit. Stand. Sit again.

Brynn gets coffee from the machine. I wrap my hands around the cup but don’t drink it. The heat seeps into my palms, grounding me.

‘He looked wrong this morning,’ I say. ‘Grey. His hands were shaking on the rope. I asked if he was all right and he told me to mind my own business.’

Brynn’s quiet beside me.

‘That’s just how he is, though. Always so bloody scared to show any weakness. His way or the highway. God forbid he ever admit he needs help, or that he might actually—’ I break off, swallow hard. ‘I walked away. He was clearly not right, and I just walked away.’

‘You couldn’t have known.’

‘I knew something was off. I saw it.’ The coffee is burning my hands now. I don’t put it down. ‘But I was so sick of him shutting me out that I let him. Gave him exactly what he wanted.’