27. Rosie

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Rosie

One week later

There was a knock on my door, and I eyed it skeptically. People didn't usually just stop by my house. In fact, the list of anyone who might, was short. My dad, my brother, Wyatt, or maybe one of my close friends.

"I know you're in there, Rosie." My dad's voice was muted through the door.

I finished rinsing a plate in the sink before I tucked it in the dishwasher and snagged a towel as I walked over to the door.

I was still drying my hands when I opened it. "Hey, Dad."

"Hey." He stood there and swayed a little on his feet.

And, dammit, I knew he was okay for the most part, but his unsteadiness on his feet made my chest ache. I wanted to be mad at him. My heart was still a little broken over how everybody knew the whole truth but me.

Without thinking, I reached for his other hand and guided him inside. "Dad, you could've texted me. I would've walked over there. I don't like you walking on the path over here. It's not level," I scolded him.

He glanced up at me once I had him seated in the kitchen. "It's good for me to move around. The worst thing that can happen is I fall," he pointed out, his smile wry and a little mischievous.

I glared at him. "I don't want you to fall! What if you break something?"

He rolled his eyes. "I walked real slow, and I got my cane." He tapped it on the floor before propping it against the wall where the edge of the counter met it. "Enough about that. How are you doing?"

I crossed over to the coffee pot. "Fine. Would you like some coffee?"

"Already had some this morning. Why don't you give your husband a call? I'm sure he might like some."

It felt as if he'd just dragged a knife over the surface of my heart. It was sore and throbbing. It was the kind of pain that made you wince if you thought about it. I needed to button myself back up, and guard myself against being stupid again.

"Dad, I'll talk to Wyatt when I'm ready."

"Have you talked to your brother?"

As if my father had conjured my little brother, there was another sharp knock on my door, and Brent's voice immediately followed. "I know you're in there with Dad, Rosie. Can I come in?"

I gave my dad a sideways glare as I called out, "Come on in!"

Brent walked in, his eyes bouncing from our father to me and back again. "What's going on? Are we having coffee, and I didn't get an invite?"

I gestured to the empty stool at the counter. Brent walked over with his long, rangy stride. He'd always been such a skinny kid, and he still was. Maybe someday he'd fill out a little, but I wasn't too sure about that.

"Have you talked to Wyatt?" Brent asked.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I see we're wasting no time with polite conversation. You could start with the weather," I pointed out, unable to keep the sharpness and hurt out of my tone.

Brent didn't even address that comment. "Wyatt wanted to tell you right off, but I asked him to give me a chance to tell you first." My brother rested his elbows on the counter, dropping his head down as he ran both hands through his hair before straightening and flattening his palms on the table. "Rosie, you are one of the most important people in my life. I know you're not my mother, but you kind of are to me." He glanced quickly at our father. "I know you did your best to make sure it didn't feel like that, but she's eight years older than me. Mom died the day after I was born. I think sometimes life is messy. You didn't ask her to be like a mom to me, but it was just a situation."

It was all I could do not to burst into tears. "Brent, you don't have to explain. You didn't even have to tell me you went to rehab."

"But I want to explain. I want to tell you. College was a shit show for me. My grades weren't good, and it was just hard for me. I got in with the wrong crowd. I was having a little too much fun, and that was plain stupid. I got hooked on painkillers. Those things are like freaking candy on college campuses." He paused, closing his eyes as he let out a weary sigh.

"I know they are," I said softly. "They're wildly addictive. Those pharmaceutical companies should burn in hell for lying and insisting they weren't addictive before it was too late. They're everywhere now. Trust me, I work at the hospital. I know how bad it is." My cheeks puffed out with a deep sigh. "Brent…" I began.

My brother looked up, holding my gaze. I realized I'd almost launched into telling him how much I worried about him and all of those things. Yet he had gone to rehab. He had done the hard part, and he was still doing it. "I'm sorry I made it hard to tell me," I finally said.

"You didn't. I just didn't want to worry you. I didn't want to disappoint you. I wasn't worried that you would judge me. Never."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. If you're worried about Dad keeping the secret from you, I only told him last week too. After I ran into Wyatt coming out of the NA meeting, I figured I needed to be open with everyone."

My eyes stung, but I managed not to cry. My chest felt so tight, and I was constantly worried, worried, worried.

My dad leaned over, curling his arm around my shoulders. "Rosie girl, I know you worry a lot. Your brother's got this. He has to do this himself."

"I know," I whispered.

My brother rounded the counter to pull me into a big hug. He was a good hugger. A funny moment flashed through my mind. When he was a toddler, he used to run straight for me and fling his arms around my legs. He was now a good foot taller than me and holding me strong and sure.

When he stepped back, I could see the tears glistening in his eyes. "I love you, sis."

"I love you too." I took a slow breath. "You're gonna make me cry."

"It's okay to cry."

A few tears rolled down my cheeks. I blew my nose with a napkin. I leaned back before I took a gulp of my coffee.

"About Wyatt," my brother began.

"I'll talk to him. I will," I insisted.

"When I asked him to give me time to tell you, the look on his face was one of actual pain," Brent said. "I swear."

I swallowed. "I'm sure it was."

"That man loves you. I can tell," Brent said.

"It's plain as day," my dad said bluntly. "And I speak from experience." My dad's eyes slid to my brother. "Not that I'm doubting you, but you're only?—"

"Twenty-two," my brother offered. "I might be young, but I've been through some shit. I know love when I see it."

We laughed together, but my heart twisted a little. Anxiety tightened around my chest. My brother had been through some shit.

As if he could read my mind, his gaze sobered before he added, "I know that because you are a nurse and deal with addicts rolling through the ER, you're going to worry. Just so you know, it was short-lived for me. My doctor tells me I'm lucky. I'm young, and I'm resilient. I realized I was in trouble pretty quickly and went to get help. I lucked out and got a really good counselor at the college campus, and he immediately referred me to rehab." My brother shook his head a little. "I'm good. I'm working my ass off. I'm gonna be okay. I let Dad know when I told him last week that I do want to take over the hardware store, but not until I'm a little further into my recovery. That's a lot of responsibility, so I don't want to do it until I'm ready."

I was surprised the inside of my cheeks didn't bleed from holding back. I wanted to offer all kinds of suggestions, but I had to let this one go. I had to let my brother figure it out. I took a deep breath, letting it out in a gust. "You'll figure it out when you're ready. And only if that's what you want to do, right?" I glanced at my dad.

He nodded firmly. "Absolutely. We'll do it when you're ready, no sooner. If you change your mind, that's fine."

Brent looked between us. "Thank you both for being here for me."

"Always," I replied.

My father's sharp gaze arced to me. "So when do you plan to talk to Wyatt?"