Chapter 3 - The Price of a Brother
By nightfall, a heavy thunderstorm rolled over the pines, slamming rain against the windowpanes. The mansion creaked like an old wooden ship.
I sat in my armchair beneath the reading lamp, updating Liam’s chart. The fever was finally breaking; his skin was losing its grey, sickly tint, returning to a healthy bronze. The infection in his abdomen was under control, thanks to three days of aggressive wound debridement and targeted antibiotics.
“Why do you need ten thousand dollars a week?”
The question cut through the sound of the rain. I looked up from my clipboard. Liam was sitting propped up against his pillows, watching me through the dim light.
“That’s private,” I replied.
“Nothing in this house is private,” he said smoothly. “You carry no phone, but you checked your wrist watch seven times today at precisely four o'clock. That’s shift-change at Chicago General Hospital.”
I froze, my pen hovering over the paper.
“You have a family member in critical care,” Liam continued, his voice terrifyingly perceptive. “Someone young, given the way you looked at the pediatric charity flyer in the lobby before Leo brought you up.”
I closed my clipboard with a soft snap. “His name is Tommy. He’s eleven. He has acute lymphoblastic leukemia.”
Liam didn't offer fake sympathy. He didn't blink. He just listened.
“The trial in Boston costs eighty thousand dollars,” I said, my voice tight. “My insurance dropped him last month on a technicality. I have three weeks before they give his spot in the program to someone else.”
“So I am your brother’s lifeline,” Liam said.
“No,” I corrected, looking him straight in the eyes. “Your recovery is his lifeline. You pay me, I save him. It’s a transaction, Mr. Mercer. Nothing more.”
Liam leaned his head back against the leather headboard, contemplating my words. “A transaction. Clean. Honest.” He reached for his water glass, but his hand shook—a sudden, involuntary tremor caused by nerve damage from the leg fixator.
The glass slipped.
I moved before it could hit the floor, catching it mid-air and setting it safely on the nightstand. My shoulder brushed against his chest; my face was inches from his.
I felt the sudden, rapid spike in his pulse beneath his skin. He smelled of rain, cedar, and something intensely masculine that made my own breath hitch in my throat.
May you like
His hand came up, taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger. His touch was warm, precise, and entirely unexpected.
“If you save my life, Clara,” he whispered, his blue eyes holding mine captive, “eighty thousand dollars will be the least of what I owe you.”
