Braxton (Station 47)

Chapter 8

EIGHT

HANNAH

When I walk into my house, my entire body sags against the front door after I close it and I squeeze my eyes shut. Today was one of those days that both makes me question why medicine was my career of choice and validates the same question. Being able to help people is something I’ve wanted to do my entire life. A calling that became more like a need after the fire that took my uncle’s life when I was a junior in college.

The sound of my daughter’s laughing in the living room is the only thing I think could make me smile tonight. It’s fleeting though, because thinking about my children inevitably makes me think about Braxton and the little boy who might be his.

He and Kaydence were gone when I left the hospital, and while I wanted to call her on my way home to check on him, I figured it was probably best to give them both some time to process everything. If she needs me, Kay will definitely either call or show up on my doorstep.

As much as I want to go check and see what the girls are up to, I force myself to head for the kitchen instead. I’m sure they’re both hungry, especially since I didn’t get to leave as soon as my shift should’ve ended thanks to everything going on.

I’ve just noticed the pizza boxes on the counter when Mallory comes skidding into the kitchen in her socked feet, doing a very Risky Business -esque slide through. All she’s missing in the dress shirt and sunglasses.

“Mom! You’re home!” She shrieks at an eardrum bursting volume, slamming into my side and wrapping her arms around my waist. “Did you see? Dad bought us pizza earlier.” Her guilty eyes slide to the side of the room that backs onto the living room where her sister remains. “Mad told him when he called earlier that you were going to be late and we were starving, so he ordered some to be delivered.”

Knowing I don’t have to now cook dinner is a relief, so I can’t even be angry that they called my ex-husband. Besides, Bret isn’t a bad guy, he just ended up not being the guy for me… and I definitely wasn’t the person he needed.

“That was awful nice of him. I hope you both called and thanked him after the pizza came.”

One look at Mallory and I know neither of them did when she gives me a sheepish grin. “I was just about to do that, actually.”

“Uh-huh, sure you were.”

Madison walks into the kitchen, holding her phone up in front of her face while the ring comes through the speakerphone. She just makes it to her sister when I hear her father’s voice.

“Hello?”

“Hey Daddy,” Mallory says loudly, leaning in beside her sister so she can see him on the screen before Madison gets the chance to say it first. “Thanks for the pizza! It was sooo good.”

He chuckles. “So it did get delivered, huh? I was starting to wonder since I hadn’t heard anything from you or your sister.”

Madison’s quick to jump in and tell him, “Yeah, it’s here. Mom just got home too if you wanna say hi.”

The last thing I want to do tonight is talk to Bret, but I don’t have much of a chance when Madison turns the phone so I’m able to see his entirely too handsome face.

He studies me for a second, his eyes traveling from the top of my head to as far down the screen he can see, brows crinkling in concern before he asks, “Rough day?”

“You don’t know the half of it. I half can’t believe it myself.”

Bret looks like he’s going to ask for details, so I shake my head just enough to stop him, but fully expecting a text asking for said details once the girls are both in bed.

“Thanks for dinner by the way. I sure wasn’t looking forward to making anything when I walked in the door.”

One side of his lips tips up in a grin that used to make me swoon… before. “Least I could do. Plus, the girls were starving .”

Now I’m the one smiling. “Aren’t they always. I’ll let you talk to them while I warm up some dinner. Have a good night, Bret.”

“You too, Hanny.”

The nickname causes an automatic flinch, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by him, but thankfully, he doesn’t apologize for using it. I hit the limit for Bret’s apologies a long time ago.

Madison turns the phone back to face her and Mallory, and I listen as they walk back into the living room chatting nonstop while I shove a paper towel with two slices into the microwave and turn it on. Normally, I’d put them in the toaster oven instead because they taste way better that way, but I’m too tired and distracted to watch and make sure they don’t burn.

Once the girls are in bed, I grab a shower, put on my comfiest pajama pants and a tank top, before snuggling down into the couch with my Kindle. The best part of my evenings is when I get to escape into a reality much nicer than my own and essentially dissociate for an hour or two before I go to sleep myself.

Right about the time I get to a good part in the book, where the smart as hell homicide captain in a futuristic time is about to get it on with her hot Irish husband, there’s a knock on my door that almost has me dropping said Kindle.

Instead, I carry the device to the door, holding it like a bat, as if it’s going to keep me from being murdered like one of the side characters in my book.

The figure standing on the other side of the frosted glass — and whose bright idea was it anyway to put frosted glass in front doors? — is tall and even through the wavy glass, very built. That gives me a small idea who it could be, though I don’t know why Braxton would show up at my house after ten at night on a weeknight.

Sure enough, when I open the door, he’s the one standing on the other side. His arms are stretched above his head, holding onto the door frame as he leans forward.

“Hey, Han.” Now that he’s changed into normal clothes, wearing a pair of faded jeans that fit his trim hips way too well, and a t-shirt that stretches across his broad chest, biceps straining the short sleeves, he looks so much older than his twenty-six years.

When I don’t immediately respond, he says, “Can I come in? Or are you going to make me stand on your front steps all night?” There’s a thread of humor in his voice, like he’s caught me staring at him and finds it amusing that I can’t think.

“Uh, sure?” Still in a bit of a daze, I step aside, giving him just enough room to walk past me.

What the hell am I doing? I’m blaming the thoughts in my head on the fact that today was super stressful, it’s late, and I’m beyond exhausted. I just haven’t been able to turn my brain off so I can sleep yet. Hence the book on the device in my hand.

Braxton walks into the house like he’s been here a hundred times before, but I don’t think he’s actually been here more than a handful of times. I’m not sure it would even take both hands to count. The only time I can really think of is when he and some of his fire buddies helped move the girls and I into the place after Bret and I ended for good. Not something I like to think much about.

He makes his way into the living room and drops down onto the sofa, right beside where I was sitting before he knocked. After doing the man-spread thing where he lets his legs open wide and both arms across the back of the couch, making himself comfortable.

Since he’s taking up basically the whole couch, I take a seat across from him in one of the uber-comfy chairs the girls picked out. It’s as soft as a cloud and your body just sinks into the cushion.

“So…” I start when he doesn’t say anything. His eyes haven’t left my face and it’s a little unnerving that he’s just sitting in this room staring. “Why are you here?”

Braxton drops his head back, thankfully now staring up at the ceiling instead of at me, before he speaks. “Can you tell me anything about Tina? I’m not family, and I damn sure wasn’t invited upstairs to hear any updates on her condition. It’s driving me crazy and I know I won’t be able to sleep without knowing something .”

Oh God . No one told him anything? How awful it has to be to be completely in the dark about something like this, something that will eventually affect his life in every way possible.

Pulling up my legs, I curl my toes around the edge of the chair and wrap my arms around my shins, resting my chin on my knees. I wait until he lifts his head, wanting to be able to see his face when I tell him the small amount I can. Again, I know I probably shouldn’t be telling him anything and I’m likely breaking every oath I’ve taken, not to mention HIPAA and about a hundred other rules.

“She’s stable, for now. They’re keeping her at least overnight to make sure she stays that way and give the strong antibiotics time to get into her system and start to do what they need to. Luckily, we caught the sepsis early, so it hadn’t had a chance to spread very far.”

Braxton’s eyes slide shut and his face goes slack with relief. “Thank God,” he mutters in a low, rough voice.

“Don’t thank him just yet,” I caution. “She’s nowhere near out of the woods yet. Between the cancer and the chemo they use to treat the cancer, her immune system is practically nonexistent. Christina’s body is going to struggle to fight off any infection, and you know sepsis is not easy when you’re otherwise healthy.”

He nods, but I can see the hope on his face in the way his brows have smoothed out and his eyes don’t look quite so tense. I can’t bring myself to kill that hope for him, even though I know, based on the medical records her doctor sent over, that hope is only going to cause him pain in the end. Christina isn’t going to get better. She might go home from the hospital tomorrow, but even if she does, she won’t be there for long.

There’s time for conversations like that later though. Letting him have one win tonight isn’t going to hurt much in the long run, right?

We sit in silence, both lost in our thoughts while the only sound in the room is the low music playing on the app on my TV. Eventually, light snores come from his side of the room and I realize he’s fallen asleep.

I stand, going over to stand in front of him, and reach forward, shaking his shoulder in an attempt to wake him up, but it doesn’t work. He’s been so stressed out today that the second he managed to relax, it was all over.

It takes a few minutes, but I’m finally able to maneuver his heavy body down, his head resting on one of the oversized pillows that match the throw blanket I toss over his torso once the top half of his body is almost sideways on the couch. It’s not the most comfortable of positions, but it’s better than the crick he’d have in his neck the other way.

After even more time spent maneuvering his legs into a more comfortable position, I’m sweating and ready to go crash myself. I guess at least I can thank him for wearing me out unintentionally.

The thought makes me snicker a little as I turn off the lamp on the side table closest to his head and make my way up to my own bed. We can talk more in the morning after the girls go to school. I can explain then and try to dampen some of that hope he’s now carrying around.