I have nothing to say.
Shit, I never have anything to say.
Words are a waste of time when I'd rather act than ask questions. It allows distractions and miscommunication, two topics that I don't deal well with.
I obviously didn't do a fantastic job with keeping in touch either, to which there isn't an excuse. We're all grown, and there are these little things called cell phones that we could get better at using.
I've spoken to my brother and sister briefly through text messages, but seeing them, as adults with lives of their own, is a harsh reality check of how much time has actually gone by.
Scarlett moves forward, but it's not to clear the way for me to go inside the room but to abruptly wrap her arms around my waist.
She squeezes, digging her fingers into my back, and—fuck, she's a strong little thing. Her face buries into my chest as I feel her frame begin to tremble while mine begins to tense.
I am the worst person to comfort someone.
I don't handle emotions—another remarkable trait of mine. They're worthless to ponder on, so I obliterate and ignore them, shove them away in a dark pit that never sees the light of day.
It's why I'm deemed the biggest asshole on B723, just short of being called a cuddly teddy bear except—call it a sibling bond—I don't stay tense for long, and I don't feel the violent urge to shove Scarlett away from me.
"You're here." She mutters the words, almost too inaudible and softly to hear with her face smashed into my chest.
"Yeah." I slowly enveloping my arms around her and tighten my hold because I don't know what else to do. "How is he doing?"
She shakes her head but says nothing more. I'm betting that she hasn't left this hospital or eaten since everything happened yesterday.
"Did you eat?" She shakes her head again. "I'm assuming Hardy hasn't either."
"No…he won't leave the room." I nod, even though she can't see it. His daughter has to be about five or six now. I send her birthday gifts every year and throw money into a bank account that I have set up for her. Hardy sends me pictures now and again but never presses the issue for me to come and meet her. We're all still teeter-tottering on this awkward line where they don't know where they fit in my life and vice versa.
It needs to change.
I want it to.
"How bad?"
Prying her face from me, Scarlett's eyes are glossed over in unshed tears. She doesn't remove herself from my grasp, probably content with someone giving her a hug while she's had to be strong for our brother.
"Some brain swelling, they're afraid it may have caused some damage to her spine. Every time someone comes into the room, he wants answers. He's…looking for someone to tell him it's okay. She's comfortable. They have her on pain meds for her broken arm and some bruising too."
The back of her hand comes up to her eyes as she wipes at the wetness forming there.
"How about you go outside and get some air," I convey. "I'll get numbskull to chill."
Scarlett gives me a weak grin. She's beautiful, which brings out the older brother tendencies of her dating life and if someone has broken her heart yet. That I have been MI-fucking-A from most of her entire existence.
The parts where shit gets harder. Where life is a cunt and throws curve balls. When maybe she would’ve needed me at some point.
"Good luck," she replies, then takes a deep inhale. "I'll be back in five."
I force a weak tug of my lips. It automatically feels foreign. "Sounds good."
My baby sister breaks away and slowly strides down the hall. A few nurses stop her with sympathetic looks, but she quickly dismisses them with a few quick words before disappearing around the corner.
Which leaves me alone with this.
Gripping the metal handle, I ease open the door to be greeted by the standard and unnerving sounds of hospitals in general. A bathroom sits to my right as I continue to ease in, my body stiffening again and on edge.
A niece that I've never met before. A brother who I barely know or how he operates with such intense things awaits me a few more steps in as the heavy guilt I've been holding begins to consume me alive.
Maybe I could've prevented this from happening somehow. Maybe with me, they'd be safer. Yet, maybe with me, they'd be so much worse.
Inside the room, a lean body hunches over a chair, elbow resting on his knees as he bounces the balls of his shoes.
Hardy.
And in front of him lies a sweet little girl with curly brown hair and pudgy cheeks. Small tubes run up her tiny nostrils along with an IV in her arm and wires hooked up every-fucking-where.
Her head is wrapped in white gauze, alluding to the head injury that the nurse earlier spoke up about and the hot pink cast to her right arm.
My chest tightens as I ball my hands into fists to keep my composure. It's been a long time, but the role of being the eldest is still embedded in my brain. I can take care of them—emotionally and physically—but do they want me to?
"She's beautiful," I utter out loud through my thoughts and to the room. Hardy's neck jerks upward, snapping to me as quickly as he rises.
The chair knocks into the wall while his eyes lock on me, brows furrowed and instantly pissed, before they soften in recognition.
And—shit, it's like looking in a mirror.
Only an inch or two shorter, smaller in stature but the same vibrant blue eyes, less facial hair, and I think a matching smile if I did that much, my brother is my twin with a four-year age gap.
Hardy doesn't hesitate closing the distance between us like our sister did to embrace me in a hug with his good arm. The other
