27

I'll be there for you - Brent Morgan

" U h, what... what are you doing here? Where's my mum?" Amelia asks weakly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I ran into her at the supermarket. She told me she was coming by to bring you soup, so… I offered to bring it for her instead. You know, since it's on the way home and all," I explain.

"Oh. That's… that was nice of you. Thanks, Brad," she says, her cheeks flushing as she tries to hide her face. She wraps the blanket around herself tighter, and it's only then that I notice her appearance. Normally, I'd find this amusing, but right now, I'm more concerned. She looks really sick. She's in her pyjamas, her skin so pale. I've never seen her like this before. She's always so vibrant and full of life. Seeing her like this, so vulnerable, it tugs at something inside me.

"Are you gonna let me in, or are you planning on standing there all day?" I repeat my question, trying to lighten the mood. She gives me a weak smile and steps aside, allowing me to enter.

As I step inside, I can't help but notice the slight mess in her apartment. Amelia quickly starts apologising, her words tumbling out in a rush.

"I'm so sorry about the mess. I haven't had the energy to clean, and everything's just—"

I manage a small smirk, cutting her off. "Amelia, don't apologise. Please. It's fine." I glance around, taking in the surroundings. "Have you seen Liv's room when she's in a state of panic? Absolute brothel. This," I say, fanning my hand out, "this is nothing."

Amelia's features soften for a moment. "Okay."

Is there ever a moment where the mention of my sister is not brought up? As much as I love my sister, the thought of her lingering in my mind, whilst being around Amelia, isn't exactly what I want to be picturing or thinking about right now. I clear my throat, moving to place the plastic bags on her small kitchen counter.

"Your mum insisted I bring her famous chicken soup ," I say, smiling as Amelia laughs softly. "And I grabbed a few things from the shops. She mentioned something about food poisoning."

I start pulling out the items and placing them on the counter: a tissue box, Panadol, GastroStop, and some Hydralyte ice blocks. As I set down the last item, I turn to see Amelia standing there, a look of surprise on her face.

"What?" I ask.

She looks so innocent, with those doll eyes of hers piercing into mine. Damn, she has the prettiest eyes. Girls always used to fawn over mine, Xavier included, yet there's a sense of warm comfort emanating from her brown eyes. I've said it before, but every single time, it hits me anew .

It's strange. When we're together, it feels like there's a deep connection, one that has always been there. But when we're apart, it's as if we're strangers.

"Thank you," she says, her eyes glinting in the light. Is she... crying?

"Are you crying? What's wrong?" I ask, moving to her in two strides, my eyes searching hers for any sign of distress.

"Nothing! Don't get too close. I might infect you!" she says, stepping back, and it makes me uneasy for some reason.

"Amelia, I couldn't give two fucks if you have a cold or food poisoning. Why are you upset?"

She shakes her head before laughing softly. "I don't… know. That was... that was so nice of you. To bring all these things."

I furrow my brow, caught off guard. "Well, I—" Shit, I don't even know what to say. It was just instinct to bring them; I wasn't thinking much when I did it.

"Thank you, Brad."

Fuck, I could kiss her right now. I like it when she calls me just Brad .

It's different when she calls me Brad. The only other person who does is my brother, and it doesn't evoke the same feeling. Amelia looks up at me, her eyes still shimmering.

"Would you like to stay for dinner? There's more than enough soup to share."

I hesitate for a moment, not because she's sick, but because... should I ?

Take a chance. Be selfish. Do something for yourself.

"Sure," I say, finally deciding.

We just finished eating our soup, which was fucking phenomenal, if I say so myself. I'm not much of a cook, besides knowing the basics and how to throw a mean grill, but that was delicious. And I hate soup. Always have, since I was a kid. But sharing it with Amelia was nice.

We're nestled on her small two-seater couch. I've discarded my boots, which sit beside the couch, and we're both under the blanket—more so for her than me. It's not freezing outside, so that means she's probably fighting a temperature. I made sure she took a GastroStop, just in case. She hasn't chucked up since I came, which is a good thing, I guess.

Friends is playing on the TV, and Amelia's soft laugh fills the room occasionally. It's like music to my ears. This is nice. Comfortable.

Again with that word.

But it really is when I'm around her. I didn't have the best day at work today, yet instantly, the sight of Amelia has lifted my mood, even if it's just temporarily. My mind drifts back to work.

And what a fuck-around that was.

Dealing with a bunch of young men, armed, and with drugs in their possession. We had a local anonymous tip-off about where this group had been hanging around, so Daniels, Reynolds, and I were sent off to handle it.

We cornered them in an alley, and things went south fast. One of the blokes pulled a gun, and suddenly, we were in a standoff. Daniels tried to talk them down, but it was like talking to a brick wall. Tensions escalated, and before we knew it, backup arrived just in time to defuse the situation. But not before a scuffle broke out. I copped a hit to the ribs—nothing serious, but enough to put me in a foul mood.

Daniels kept cracking jokes about it afterward, trying to lighten the mood, but I wasn't in the mood for laughing. All I could think about was how close we came to something worse. The memory of the barrel pointed at us, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife; it all plays over and over in my mind. It's not just the physical hit that stings; it's the reality check that hits harder. Every time we have a close call, it wears on you. Makes you question why you're doing this, why you put yourself in these situations.

I frown at the thought. It's not just fear; it's the constant grind of knowing that one misstep, one wrong move, could change everything. It's the weight of responsibility, the knowledge that every decision you make could have life-or-death consequences. And sometimes, that weight feels unbearable. Daniels' jokes are his way of coping, but they fall flat with me. I can't shake the feeling of how fragile it all is, how quickly things can spiral out of control. It's a reminder that no matter how much we train, or how prepared we think we are, there's always an element of unpredictability that can turn everything on its head.

"What's wrong?" Her voice breaks me out of my thoughts.

"Huh?" I ask, confused.

"You're frowning," she says, concern in her eyes.

"It's nothing," I say, downplaying my rampant thoughts.

"Don't lie to me. What's bothering you?"

"Just had a rough day at work."

She watches me intently, not satisfied with my vague answer. "Could you elaborate, or is it confidential?"

I take a deep breath and inform her of the incident in the alley, detailing everything. She listens, her eyes wide, hand covering her mouth. Talking to her about it makes me feel something different. Safe, maybe. Cared for in a way I can't quite explain. Her presence is grounding, pulling me out of the dark places in my head.

After I finish, I sigh, running a hand down the back of my head. "It's just crazy, you know, if things had gone just a bit differently, one of us might not have walked away."

Amelia's eyes widen in concern. "Brad, that sounds terrifying. Are you okay?"

I smile at her. "Yeah, I'm all good."

"You seem tense, though. Want me to massage your shoulders?" I look at her, trying my best not to scoff in disbelief. She's literally fighting a bad case of food poisoning, has a temperature, and yet she's more concerned about me and wanting to give me a massage.

She's too selfless, too caring .

"I'm good. I promise." I give her a small, grateful smile, shaking my head. "Thank you, though."

Her words hang in the air, and I feel a warmth spread through me. The way she looks at me, with genuine concern and belief, it does something to me. Her hand finds mine, squeezing gently. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Yeah, me, too," I murmur, feeling the tension ease slightly. Talking to her makes it all seem less daunting. It's a strange feeling, one I'm not used to, but one I think I could get used to. She shifts a little, and I look over at her. Her cheeks are flushed.

"You good?" I ask softly.

She nods, giving me a small smile. "Just feeling a bit tired. But this... this is nice."

"Yeah, it is," I agree, my voice barely above a whisper.

And it really is.