Page 250 of Wait for Him

I squeeze my eyes shut and hold him tighter.

“I know.”

“I really fucking wish they were here.”

There isn’t anything I can say that makes that less true, and Michael doesn’t need me manufacturing comfort for him. He knows I want them here too. I was sitting on Jackson’s lap crying about the exact same thing five minutes ago.

So, I just hold my little brother while he cries for our parents on the happiest night of his life.

After a while, I pull back and wipe both hands over his wet cheeks.

“They should be here,” I tell him. “I wish they were. More than anything. But I’m here.”

He nods.

“And you’re here. Blaire’s here. All these people we somehow collected are here.” I gesture toward the waiting room, where almost everyone is openly watching us now and several aren't even bothering to hide their own tears. Nosy, emotional fuckers. “And now you have this tiny little girl who has absolutely no idea what kind of family she just got born into.”

Michael laughs, loud and slightly manic.

“She’s so fucked.”

“Completely. I’m her aunt. I’m going to be so obnoxiously involved in her life that you’re eventually going to regret giving me access to her.”

“I already regret it.”

“You should. I’m going to spoil the shit out of her.”

“Blaire already said you’re not allowed to buy her a pony.”

My mouth falls open. “She’s been alive for five fucking minutes, and you people are already restricting my relationship with her?”

That finally gets a real laugh out of him, and I wipe another tear off his cheek.

“Come on. Come meet her.” He tips his head toward the hallway, then looks past me. “Jackson.”

Michael raises a hand and motions him over.

When I turn around, Jackson is already on his feet.

I don't know how long he's been standing there or how much of the conversation he heard, but one look at his face tells me enough. His eyes are red, and he doesn't even bother pretending otherwise as he walks over.

Michael pulls him into a hug the second he’s close enough, and it isn’t one of their usual quick, masculine hugs either. Michael holds on. Jackson holds on right back, one hand gripping the back of his neck while the other clamps around his shoulder. Neither of them says much. Michael starts crying again, Jackson mutters something into his shoulder that I can’t hear, and by the time they separate, both of them are wiping at their faces.

So we’re all just crying tonight. Personal growth everywhere.

Michael leads us through the doors and down the hallway, talking as we walk, telling us everything went well and Blaire is exhausted but doing great. I hear him, but my stomach is fluttering so badly that half of what he says is probably bouncing right back out of my brain.

I’m about to meet my niece.

My niece.

Michael stops outside a room and pushes the door open.

Blaire is sitting up in bed when we walk in, and somehow, impossibly, she looks beautiful. Her cheeks are flushed like she just took a short sprint, but otherwise she looks almost exactly like she did when we left the pizza place.

Her hair isn’t even fucked up.

I stare at her.