Letting My Brother's Best Friend Take My V-Card (Jessie and Luke) novel Chapter 357

NERVES 

JOSH – PRESENT 

I left practice feeling on edge, my nerves stretched thin. I’d been trying to focus all day–running plays, hitting drills, anything to keep my mind occupied–but it wasn’t enough. The urge to check in on Asha had been clawing at me from the moment I left her at daycare that morning. 

Jess had told me I needed to trust people more. That I couldn’t hover over Asha forever, but that advice was easier said than done. She wasn’t the one who had to wake up in the middle of the night to a quiet house that used to be full of life. 

Still, I forced myself to let go, just a little. I didn’t text the nanny. I didn’t call the daycare. But Miss Worth–well, she seemed to know the nerves of a new parent when she saw one. She’d sent me updates every couple of hours without me asking, a 

surprising kindness I hadn’t expected. 

At first, when I saw the notifications pop up, I thought they might’ve been from a reporter or some random stranger trying to get a reaction. But when I opened them, they were just short updates, simple and reassuring. 

“Asha had her snack and loved the banana slices!” 

“She’s been playing with the blocks her favorite color seems to be blue!” 

And finally, a picture. 

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I’d stopped dead in my tracks in the locker room when I saw it. Asha was sitting on a play mat, her little hands gripping a stuffed bear as she smiled up at the camera. Her cheeks were round and pink, her curls wild and unruly, and her eyes… God, she looked so much like Laura. 

The knot in my throat returned, tight and suffocating. I swallowed it down and forced myself to focus. 

My phone buzzed again—an email this time. Dr. Harrington’s name popped up in the subject line. 

I didn’t open it. 

Without hesitation, I swiped it into the archive folder, the same way I had with the last few monthly updates. They’d call if it was serious. I’d made that clear to them. The emails were always the same anyway: no significant changes, a reminder to stay hopeful, and a final line about how miracles happen. 

But they don’t. 

Not for us. 

I shoved my phone into my pocket, slung my gym bag over my shoulder, and headed out to my truck. 

The school parking lot was mostly empty by the time I pulled up, the sun dipping low in the sky. I was paying extra for Asha to stay a little later, giving me time to get through practice. 

When I walked into Miss Worth’s classroom, the soft hum of’her voice caught me off guard. 

She was sitting cross–legged on the floor, Asha cradled in her 

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NERVES 

lap, her eyes fluttering closed as Miss Worth sang quietly. The room was calm, the walls painted in soft blues and whites, with the rainbow mural casting a gentle glow in the dim light. 

I hesitated at the door, not wanting to interrupt. 

Then I knocked softly. 

Her singing stopped mid–line, and she looked up, startled. “Oh gosh, Mr. Saunders. I didn’t see you there.” 

Her voice was warm, her tone apologetic, but her smile never wavered. She looked back down at Asha, brushing a hand lightly over her curls. “She just passed out a few minutes ago. Should make for a peaceful ride home.” 

I stepped farther into the room, my boots heavy against the soft carpet. 

Miss Worth carefully shifted Asha, standing up and holding her as if she weighed nothing. “Here you go,” she said, offering her 

over to me. 

I took Asha into my arms, her tiny body warm and relaxed against my chest. She stirred slightly, letting out a soft sigh before settling again. 

“Thank you,” I said, my voice low. I adjusted Asha, cradling her against me as I looked down at the woman in front of me. 

She tucked a stray curl behind her ear, her glasses sliding down her nose again. “Of course,” she said, her gaze shifting back to Asha. “She’s a joy to have here. Really. You don’t need to worry about her.”