ÍSA, UNAWARE OF HIS SILENT fury on behalf of the girl she’d once been, was still speaking. “Catie had everything down pat—you should’ve seen her go on those prosthetics.”

“Let me guess,” Sailor said, thinking about why an athletic girl comfortable with prosthetics would suddenly fall hard enough to end up in the hospital, “growth spurt?”

“Yep. I swear, she’s taller every time I turn around!” Ísa threw up her hands. “But the constant changes are messing with her head. Each time Catie gets used to a prosthetic, it has to be adapted or changed out.”

“It’s tough for an athlete when their body doesn’t cooperate.” Sailor had grown up in a family of athletes, seen that frustration firsthand.

---

“EXACTLY.” ÍSA FELT A TENSION she hadn’t realized she was feeling, just fall away. Often, well-meaning people downplayed Catie’s dreams of being a champion runner, telling her it’d be better if she focused on creating an independent life for herself by studying for a position “she could handle.”

Quite aside from the fact that Catie was talented enough to create an independent life for herself with her running, the idea of anyone trying to limit her sister infuriated Ísa. As if, unlike the rest of the world, Catie didn’t get to have big dreams to strive toward.

“It’s like containing the wind. You should see her in motion, Sailor.”

“Did she fall today because of an unfamiliar set of prosthetics, or did she just fall?”

Ísa was startled by his perception until she realized this was a man whose brother was one of the top sportsmen in the country—he understood that, sometimes, performance didn’t have anything to do with the body. “I think she probably wasn’t paying attention because she was worrying about her father.”

She took a moment to think about it. “I’m going to have to strangle Clive. That’s all there is to it.”

“Is that why she’s not living with you? Because she worries about her father?”

“That, and she loves the moron.” Ísa shoved a hand through her hair. “When I made noises about moving down to Hamilton, maybe getting a job in one of the local schools, Catie said a flat-out no. She thinks if I’m there, she’ll rely on me too much—and that I’d be too overprotective.”

An amused glance from Sailor. “You think?”

“Oh, shut up.” She pushed lightly at his arm, oddly comfortable with this man she’d only known for a short time—and far calmer than she’d been at the start of this drive. “She’s only thirteen, but she’s got this fierce need for independence.”

“Your sister sounds like a tough little cookie.” Sailor’s deep voice wrapping around her. “A chip off the old block.” His tone made it clear he wasn’t talking about Jacqueline.

The words felt like a hug.

---

SAILOR HAD PLANNED TO STAY outside the hospital room while Ísa went in to see her sister, but the auburn-haired teenager in the bed within was having none of it.

“Ísa,” she said, arching her neck to see more of Sailor, “who is that? Hey, mister!”

Unable to stop his smile, Sailor walked in. “Hey, yourself.”

“This is Sailor.” The tips of Ísa’s ears turned pink. “My… friend.”

“It’s good to meet you, Catie.” Sailor positioned himself beside Ísa’s curvy form. “I didn’t think your sister should be driving down here alone—she was pretty worried about you.”

Catie rolled her eyes. “Martha told you that you didn’t have to come.” Even as she spoke, her hand remained tightly curled around Ísa’s. “It was just a stupid fall. I was walking up and down the drive to stretch my muscles and looking at my phone instead of my feet, and well… splat.” She made a face, her poor nose all scratched up and her upper lip busted. “Docs don’t think I did any real damage. Just some bruising that means I’ll have to go easy during my next training session.”

“You make sure you do that.” Ísa pressed a kiss to Catie’s forehead on those firm words. “As for me coming down here—that was nonnegotiable. I’m always going to worry about you, Catiebug.”

Catie leaned so quickly into her sister’s body, into her touch, that Sailor realized just how desperately the teenager had needed Ísa to be here tonight, holding her. Jacqueline might’ve birthed Catie, and Clive might call himself her father, but Ísa was her rock. Sailor’s redhead knew how to love her people.

Sailor’s heart clenched, a raw craving in his gut.

Turning her dark brown eyes toward Sailor without pulling away from Ísa, Catie said, “So, you two are friends?” A waggle of her eyebrows, dimples peeking out in both cheeks. “What kind of friends?”

“Catie.”

Sailor grinned and folded his arms. “The kind of friends who can road-trip together without fighting over the music, Brown Eyes,” he said to a delighted smile from Catie. “So, any idea when we can we spring you from this joint?”

A plump older woman bustled in from the corridor right then. Her hair was dark and her features a mix of what Sailor would bet was Chinese and Samoan. She reminded him of one of his younger cousins on his dad’s side, his middle aunt having married an engineer from Shanghai after meeting him during a language-exchange program.

“Oh, Ísa, you’re here,” she said, her face breaking out into a smile. “I just went to grab a muffin for our girl. The café was closed, so I drove over to the nearest convenience store.”

“Thanks so much for looking after her, Martha,” Ísa said, enfolding the older woman in a tight hug. “And for calling me. Do you know if the doctors are ready for her to go home?”

“Oh yes.” Martha handed Catie a brown paper bag. “Another half hour’s observation and they’ll sign off on her release.”

“That’s fantastic.” Ísa stroked back her sister’s unbound hair.

Catie tucked herself up against Ísa again while stuffing her face with what appeared to be an enormous orange chocolate chip muffin. Seeing Sailor’s interested glance, she held out the bag. “Want some?”

Sailor shrugged and tore off a piece. “Thanks.” No sane member of the Bishop-Esera clan ever brought only one muffin—the ensuing riot would end in bloodshed.

When Catie smiled at him this time, it was a little devious. “Are you going to stay the night?” she asked with utmost innocence. “It’s just that we only have one spare bedroom.”

“I expect you have a sofa,” Sailor responded with deadpan solemnity.

Catie pulled away her muffin with a scowl so reminiscent of Ísa that Sailor knew he’d have to be very careful not to be charmed. “This is not like how it goes in the romance movies.”

“Eat your muffin, Catiebug.” Ísa tapped her sister on the nose in what seemed to be an affectionate holdover from Catie’s childhood. “We’ll go get your discharge papers sorted.”

Sailor stayed with Catie while Ísa and Martha stepped out. The kid decided to share more of her cake-sized muffin with him while bombarding him with questions. During the interrogation, she managed to figure out that he was working for Fast Organic and that Ísa was technically his boss.

“No way.” A long whistle. “How does that work? I mean, having your girlfriend be your boss?”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Sailor found he didn’t enjoy speaking that sentence. “Though if she was, I’m man enough to handle it. Only wimps fear strong women.”

Catie held up a hand for a high five. After he’d returned it, she said, “Thanks for driving my sister. She worries a lot about me.”

“And that’s not good?”

A shrug that was very teenage in nature. “I mean, it’s not her job, is it? I feel like I’m always calling her when it’s my dad I should be calling.” Her lips turned down at the corners. “Martha couldn’t even get hold of him after my fall.”

Not so much as a mention of Jacqueline.

And while dear dad didn’t appear much better than Catie’s absentee mother, the man was Catie’s father. Some things were set in stone, and trying to change one of those immutable facts was a sure way to get a cracked skull and a bleeding soul.

Sailor knew that all too well himself.

“Your sister told me you’re an athlete,” he said, shifting the topic before he said something he probably shouldn’t. “I’ve got a few in my family.”

For the first time, Catie’s response was a touch wary. “Yeah?”

“Rugby.”

Her eyes narrowed… then widened. “Holy freaking crapazoids! No wonder you look familiar!” A poke to his abdomen. “Your brother’s the Bishop. Admit it.”

Sailor grinned. “Yep. Fan?”

“Are you kidding me? He’s the best! Did you see how he took down that opposition player last week? Just mowed him down. Boom, Bishop slam!”

Always ready to talk rugby, Sailor discussed the game with Catie before nodding at the prosthetics he could see sitting against a chair on the other side of the bed. “Those your walking legs?” The metal parts were sleekly robotic with no flesh-colored exterior.

“Yeah. I had really awesome skins on my last ones—dragons and stuff blowing up, but then I grew again. No point making these look amazing when I’m still growing. Argh!” She fell back dramatically against her pillow. “It’s such a major pain to get new prosthetics fitted. It takes forever to get everything just right.”

Even though she was lying down, Sailor could tell that Catie was already over Ísa’s height, would probably nudge five eight or nine on her prosthetics. He chuckled. “My youngest brother has the opposite problem. He’s fourteen and still waiting for his growth spurt.” Catie would tower over Danny.

“Ouch.” Catie winced. “That must be sucky.”

“Danny’s pretty chill about it.” He took another look at the prosthetics, which appeared articulated for fluid movement. “When you run, do you use blades? I’ve always wanted to see what they look like in real life.”

Catie’s face lit up. “I have running legs, but no blades yet. My mother said she’ll pay for them as soon as I’ve stopped growing. They’re insanely expensive.” Bouncing in her hospital bed, Catie added, “I’m going crazy waiting for them, but she’s right—it’d be dumb to waste the money when I’m beanpoling. And I’d be sooooo mad if I got some fitted just right, only to have to switch.”

The two of them were talking the specifics of running blades when Ísa and Martha walked back into the room. Sailor, still sore about having been forced to deny that Ísa was his girlfriend, reached over to tweak a lock of her hair. As Catie giggled, Ísa stood on tiptoe and brushed her mouth softly over his.

His gut clenched, his heart melting right into her hands.

---

THEY REACHED HOME AFTER ONE that morning. Martha’s phone beeped with an incoming message just as they were about to walk into the house Catie shared with her father and the caregiver.

“It’s my daughter wanting to talk,” Martha said. “I texted her to say I was up.”

“Tina’s got a new baby who keeps her up,” Catie volunteered. “But Martha only babysits sometimes because she thinks Tina should take responsibility for her own baby—Martha’s not a nanny, and she raised her daughter on her own, didn’t she?” The last words were spoken in a near-perfect mimicry of Martha’s voice.

Martha pressed a noisy kiss on Catie’s cheek. “Cheeky girl.”

“Lies. Look at me—I’m shining my halo.”

Grinning at the obvious affection between the two, Sailor left Martha to her call—the other woman decided to stay outside in the balmy summer night while the rest of them went in.

Catie’s home had plenty of open space and lots of glass to let in light, but—as Catie had pointed out so helpfully back at the hospital—it had only a single spare bedroom. And the couch looked to be some sort of medieval torture device.

“Oh dear,” Ísa said, looking at it, then looking at Sailor. “I’ll take the couch.”

Sailor, his hands on his hips, just shook his head. “No way, spitfire. Even you wouldn’t fit on that.”

They both looked at the torturously architectural thing with curved wooden arms; not only did it look hellaciously uncomfortable, it was barely wide enough to accommodate two seated adults. Forget about even a small person who wanted to stretch out.

“Catie!” Ísa called out. “What’s with the couch?”

Catie, whom Ísa had already ensconced in her bedroom, tucking her in with kisses and hugs, called back, “Dad sold it! He said it wasn’t up to his standards of style!”

Folding her arms, Ísa tapped her foot on the carpet. “I bought that couch,” she muttered. “In fact, I furnished most of this house. I couldn’t trust Clive with the money. Speaking of which, where the hell did he get the money for this thing? Anything this uncomfortable must’ve been expensive.”

Another glance at Catie’s bedroom, Ísa’s volume soft when she said, “It was probably gambling winnings. Every so often, Clive hits it big, and that gives him just enough encouragement to keep going.”

Sailor ran his hand down her back. The idea of leaving his child and going off to gamble was alien to him—he never even left his kid brothers alone when he was in charge of them—but he knew there were men like that. He and Gabe had spent their whole lives fighting to prove themselves a different breed, more akin to the man who’d raised them than the man who’d sired them.

While Gabe had long ago conquered his demons, Sailor’s still howled.

“Come on,” he said, “let’s go check out the spare bedroom.”

Ísa knew which room was Martha’s, so they skipped that. Next to it was Clive’s, the door open.

Ísa took one look inside and backed off with her hands raised in front of her. “I’d feel weird sleeping in there. He is technically my stepfather. Ex-stepfather.”

“That would be weird,” Sailor agreed. “And I don’t feel right sleeping in the bed of some random dude. Especially one who puts black satin sheets on his bed.” He scratched his jaw. “I bet they’re slippery.”

“I don’t want to think about it.”

Together, they opened the door of the third and final bedroom. It proved to be neat and tidy, with what looked like a king-sized bed made up with white cotton sheets. “It’s big enough to share,” Sailor said.

Ísa looked up at him through her lashes. The tips of her ears began to go pink.

His entire body humming in reaction, Sailor leaned down to whisper against one adorable ear. “We can carry on from our session in the water.” He ran his hand down the lush curve of her rear. “To jog your memory, it involves a deliciously nude redhead in my arms.”