“On three?” he asked, and she sighed before nodding. “Okay, one, two—fuck!”
He attempted to lever himself up on three, but because Lia had been expecting him to do so after three, she offered no resistance and tumbled gracelessly into his lap. She heard the agonized breath from his chest as she hit his injured arm on her way down and cringed at the unintentional pain she’d inflicted on him.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” His eyes shone with unshed tears of pain, and she felt close to crying herself at the sight of them. She patted ineffectually at his shoulders and face, her butt right in his crotch. He impatiently shoved her flapping hands away.
“Stop that!” he commanded curtly when she couldn’t seem to control her stupidly waving hands. He corralled her wrists, grabbing both in his good hand and holding them in a tight grip. “Jesus, you’re a fucking disaster zone.”
Hurt by that unfair statement, Lia retreated into silence.
“Get off me, will you?” he muttered, and she tried to tug her hands free. He tightened his grip, probably just to show her how much control he had over the situation, before releasing her abruptly. She clumsily hauled herself out of his lap, unintentionally pushing at his hurt arm again, and he swore viciously at the contact.
“I’m sorry,” she offered in a small voice once she was standing in front of him again. Her dignity in absolute shreds.
“Forget about it,” he dismissed, despite the fact that he was trembling and beyond pale. He used his good hand on the arm of the chair and levered himself up with difficulty. She hovered, her hands instinctively coming out to steady him, but he shot her a warning glare. It took a great deal of effort, but he eventually stood hunched over in front of her.
“You can leave now,” he said, his voice sounding shockingly weak. While she was tempted to flee and never return, Lia stood her ground.
“I’ll wait until you’re settled in bed.”
“Looking to join me, are you?”
“Mr.—uh—Sam.” She grimaced—that sounded too personal. “I prefer Brand.” The words emerged from beneath her breath, and he bared his teeth in what she supposed could be taken as a smile.
“Go for it, as long as you drop the ridiculous mister.”
“Anyway, Brand, we agreed in November that what was between us was just S-E-X.” She spelled the word out self-consciously, feeling herself flushing as she did so. His gaze was riveted on her face, and it made her feel like a bug under a microscope. “And it was supposed to be just that one time—well, two times—and that was it. I never expected to see you again. Especially not so soon. I mean, I imagined you’d show up at Mason and Daisy’s baby’s christening. It’s likely you’d be a godfather, but probably only to their second child, little Dianella. I think it’s fair to assume Spencer would be godfather to their oldest, Delphinium. Godmother would be a toss-up between Daff and me. But because Daff is the oldest sister and she and Spencer are together, it would likely be the two of them. You and I would probably share guardianship of—” She stopped when his mouth dropped open and realized that she had gone off on a bizarre tangent. “What I meant to say was that I didn’t expect to see you again. Not so soon. I thought by the time we met again, I’d be married with children of my own.”
“Uh.” The grunt emerged after a few moments when he seemed to realize that she was done speaking and some kind of response was required from him. “Daisy’s pregnant?”
“Uhm. No.” She flushed, embarrassed when he tilted his head and stared at her like she was a bizarre new species of insect. He shook his head incredulously before clearing his throat.
“You’re engaged?” he asked, thankfully letting her weird little fiction about Daisy and Mason’s possible future children slide.
“Well, not yet. But soon.”
“Yeah?” His face was like granite and revealed not a single emotion. Not even pain. That was some feat, considering how protectively he was hunched over his arm. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
“I haven’t really met him yet,” she said, feeling increasingly self-conscious. “At least I don’t think so. I’ve been on a few dates with someone. And recently it got more serious.” She bit back the surge of nausea at the thought of Gregory’s cold, clammy hand on her nipple. Had that really happened just a few hours ago? It felt like years had passed since then. “The point is, I’m looking for someone serious. Someone to marry. I don’t want you to think that we’ll be picking up where we left off or anything. I mean, you probably wouldn’t want to anyway, you’ve been dating Laura Prentiss, but just in case.”
“Got it. You’re husband hunting,” he said matter-of-factly, still not revealing a single emotion. And did he have to use that term? Her father had as well. And it sounded incredibly predatory. “Look, princess, I’m knackered. Fascinating as this all is, I really can’t deal with it right now. I need to get to bed, take some painkillers, and sleep for approximately fifty-seven hours.”
“Oh. Of course! I’m so sorry. I’ll leave very soon—I just want to be sure you manage the stairs okay. They’re pretty steep.”
He huffed impatiently and shrugged before limping his way to the staircase. She followed close behind, watching him anxiously. The limp reminded her of his extensive injuries. It went beyond the obvious cast on his arm. He’d been stabbed in several places. Gosh, the thought was sickening. He paused at the foot of the stairs and bent his head for a long moment before exhaling and taking the first step.
It took everything in Lia not to step forward to place a supportive arm around his waist. For one thing, she was pretty sure the gesture would not be appreciated, and for another, touching him didn’t seem like a very wise course of action.
She waited for him to slowly progress up the first four stairs before setting foot on the first step.
“Don’t fucking hover,” he growled over his shoulder, more aware of her movements than she’d expected him to be.
“I’m not hovering,” she protested. “Look, I’m way down here.”
“What are you going to do? Catch me if I fall?” he asked, and she thought she could hear a touch of something close to amusement in his curt voice.
“I don’t know. Something.” He shook his head and refocused his energy and attention on getting upstairs. For every four stairs he took, she advanced another step. It was sixteen steps to the top, and she heaved a relieved breath when he finally reached the landing. She hastened to follow him, and when she got up to the loft, he was slipping the sling over his head. He tossed it—clear frustration in the gesture—on the bed and gingerly lowered his arm. It was encased in white plaster from his hand to just above his elbow. There were signatures scrawled all over the cast, and she found herself staring at those. Somehow she hadn’t expected Brand to be the type of man to have his friends sign his cast.
She felt his eyes on her and reluctantly lifted her gaze to meet his. He looked exhausted and more than a little grim.
“They did these while I was out cold,” he explained unexpectedly, lifting his arm with an almost embarrassed shrug.
“Who?”
“My colleagues, friends, and Lally.” He cleared his throat self-consciously and shrugged again when he saw her confusion. “Laura Prentiss.”
He had a pet name for her? And it was a lot more personal than just princess. She didn’t have any right to feel envious about that. But now Lia couldn’t help wondering if he actually remembered her name. Since he hadn’t used it once since seeing her.
“I see,” she said softly. Her eyes fell to the suitcases again. “Who brought these up here?”
“Driving service chauffeur,” he explained. He cleared his throat again and awkwardly tugged at his T-shirt with his unencumbered hand.
“Let me help,” she offered impulsively, and he hesitated for just a moment before dropping his arms and lifting his jaw. He looked stubborn and proud, and she knew how much it cost him to let her help.
She licked her lips nervously, ignoring the familiar flare of interest in his eyes at the gesture, and tugged at the hem of his shirt, holding her breath as she lifted the fabric over his sculpted torso. He was definitely much thinner than she remembered, but the muscle definition was still there. Once the pallor from his enforced confinement faded and he started eating properly again, he’d have no trouble getting back that lethal, lean, well-honed grace of before. Still, every fading bruise and bandage she revealed saddened her a little bit. He looked like he’d been through the wringer, and—if the involuntary deep, groaning sigh that emerged when she gently lifted his injured arm was any indication—he felt like it, too.
She was making her own involuntary sounds, soft, crooning, apologetic little noises as she eased the shirt over his cast. The sleeve had been removed, but despite the larger hole it was still a mission to get it off without jarring his arm. She released her breath gustily when she finally got it all the way off, but the next breath snagged in her throat as she took in the full impact of the damage on his chest, torso, and back.
Not all the knife wounds were still bandaged; the shallower gashes—on his left pec, just above his belly button, and over his left clavicle—had been stitched up and left to heal. The stitches had been removed already, but the scars still had the angry, swollen appearance of fresh wounds. Lia moaned and gently traced the tip of her index finger over the long, jagged cut on his pec, and his muscle jumped beneath her tentative touch.
“Don’t.” His gravelly voice breathed directly into her ear and startled her into jumping back.
“I’m sorry.” That was way out of line. She didn’t know what she was thinking. “I should go.”
“Not going to help me with my jeans?” he asked, his face completely serious. “The buttons are tricky.”
She hesitated, and her eyes involuntarily dropped to the fly of his jeans. To her horror, the generous bulge shifted beneath her gaze, quickly taking impressive shape down the length of his left thigh. She gulped and her eyes leapt back to his. Despite his obvious exhaustion, he was grinning broadly, a lascivious twinkle in his eyes.
“They’ll be even harder to undo now,” he said, his grin starting to look decidedly wicked.
“I’m sure you can manage,” she squeaked before turning tail and getting out of there. His knowing chuckle followed her down the stairs and all the way out the front door, and even when she was in her car and halfway home, she could still hear it echoing around in her head.
Sam continued to laugh as he watched Dahlia McGregor’s swift retreat. She was a weird little thing. He hadn’t considered the fact that she would be around when he’d made the impulsive decision to come to Riversend. Truthfully, he hadn’t given her much thought at all since their torrid encounter at Daisy and Mason’s wedding. It would definitely be fair to say he’d almost forgotten about her entirely. But seeing her again tonight had reminded him how bizarrely hot he found that whole button-down librarian thing she had going on. This forced convalescence might not be as boring as he’d feared it would be.
He was going to be here for at least three months, and he had to pass the time somehow. Might as well pass it with the primly hot little Dahlia McGregor.
Lia was rattled. Her hands shook so badly she could barely get her key in the door. Thankfully the house was dark, which told her that her parents were both asleep. She definitely wasn’t feeling up to speaking with either of them after the evening she’d just had.
First gropey Gregory and his peripatetic fingers, and then Brand’s surprise reappearance back into her life. All in all, it was an evening she’d sooner forget. And yet—after she was settled in bed—she found herself constantly thinking of Sam Brand. Wondering how he was managing. He seemed to be in a lot of discomfort; would he be able to get any sleep? How would he cope in the morning? He would have difficulty dressing. She wondered if he was going to hire a nurse. Someone to help him out around the cabin until he was steadier on his feet.
She shook herself. It wasn’t any of her business. She was sure Brand had it all figured out. Her phone buzzed, and she lifted it from the nightstand. It was from Daff.
Thanks for taking the groceries to the cabin.
No probs. Brand is there already.
No shit? Crap, I didn’t make up the bed or anything. I took care of it.
Cool! Thanks, man. You’re awesome.
How was the PTA thing?
Ugh!!!!! Charlie’s math teacher is an asshole. Spencer nearly hit the guy. Lunch at MJ’s tomorrow? I’ll tell you about it then.
It was unusual for them to meet on a Tuesday, but Lia didn’t really have anything else happening after her usual errands in the morning.
Sounds good. See you then. Night.
Daff replied with a little snoozing emoticon, and Lia put her phone aside and lay on her back staring into the dark. She sighed heavily when her thoughts strayed to Gregory. She immediately shuddered and tried to push him back out of her mind. She had hoped that—despite the lack of chemistry between them—they could build a relationship, but after his earlier obnoxiousness, that likelihood was highly doubtful.
Her search for the right man would have to continue, and she might as well stop thinking about Brand and how attractive she still found him, despite his involvement with a gorgeous pop superstar. Because he was the polar opposite of the right man. He wasn’t even in the same galaxy as the right man.
She just wished she could put him out of her mind as easily as she had Gregory. Thankfully, she wouldn’t have to see either man again.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuuck!” Sam glared at his reflection in the steamy bathroom mirror and threw his razor across the room. Shaving was clearly not an option. He had sliced his face to ribbons, and he still had patches of dark stubble all over his jaw and cheeks. This was his first attempt at shaving himself since the attack—the nurses had taken care of it during his lengthy stay in the hospital. And then he’d spent five days after being discharged at home in his flat with a private nurse, reluctant to leave the country until he was sure Colby had a handle on everything.
He hadn’t realized how wholly incapable he was of completing even the simplest of tasks until now. And it pissed him off. Luckily he should be rid of the fucking cast in another week or so, which was why he hadn’t seen the need to hire a caregiver here. He hadn’t anticipated how exhausting the journey would be, though. And he was knackered and completely out of sorts.
Even showering had been a bit of a disaster, since he hadn’t remembered to cover his cast and had gotten it wet before comprehending he should probably wrap it in plastic.
He shook his head and stomped back into the bedroom, where he attempted to dress himself. He managed to struggle into underwear, socks, track pants, and a loose tank top and trainers, even though the effort left him panting and his bad arm aching.
He felt better after a decent night’s sleep, and tackling the stairs today didn’t feel like too much of a chore. The wound in his thigh pulled uncomfortably with each step, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t manage. He wandered to the fridge, and a quick glance at the contents told him that everything would require cooking. He grimaced. Even with two functioning arms, he wasn’t the greatest of cooks. Attempting a proper breakfast in his current state would only end in disaster.
On to plan B, then. Cornflakes. He hated cornflakes, it was a kid’s meal, but it was that or toast, and he didn’t fancy attempting to butter toast with his left hand. He grabbed a carton of milk and turned to put it on the island behind him and then reached for the orange juice. He somehow miscalculated the grab and fumbled. The carton went tumbling to the floor and exploded on impact.
“Fucking cock-sucking motherfucking son of a donkey’s ball sac!” he yelled as he jumped out of the way. He got splashed anyway. Jesus!
“Uh. Knock, knock?” He swore again, the unfamiliar voice taking him by complete surprise. He didn’t like being sneaked up on. In fact, he fucking hated it. Before the stabbing incident in London, nobody had gotten the jump on him. Ever.
He glared at the woman standing at the back door. She looked familiar. His confusion cleared when he recognized Daisy’s oldest sister, Daphne. No, that was wrong. Daffodil. Stupid name.
She bore a striking similarity to Dahlia with her glossy, dark-brown hair, slender body, and pretty gray eyes, but she lacked her sister’s appealing softness. This one had a cynical mouth and just somehow seemed more . . . angular. He couldn’t figure out what it was. She looked sharp, while Dahlia looked round and cuddly. He reckoned cuddling Daffodil McGregor would be like trying to get cozy with a scorpion. She was well put together and dressed attractively—it was a look that usually appealed to him, sophisticated and sleek. But in comparison to Dahlia’s fussy dress sense, it just left him cold.
Bizarre.
“Hey,” he greeted with a nod, trying for insouciance, despite the bright-orange liquid pooling at his feet. “Daff, right?”
“Yes.” Her voice wasn’t particularly friendly, and he recalled that he hadn’t exactly hit it off with her the first time around. She’d warned him to stay away from Dahlia. He didn’t respond well to people who tried to tell him what to do. Her eyes dropped to his feet, and she sighed. “Having a shitty morning, I take it?”
He shrugged, as there was really no point in answering.
She turned away and stepped into the broom closet next to the guest bathroom before exiting seconds later with a mop and bucket.
“You don’t have to—”
“If I don’t, it won’t get done.” Her voice was curt, and he winced. There was no point in arguing—he couldn’t clean it up himself. Not yet. Feeling like a helpless child, he stepped aside reluctantly and let her mop the floor.
“Get changed while I sort this out,” she commanded him, her tone of voice grating as fuck. “I’ll fix you some breakfast.”
“Thanks,” he muttered sullenly before kicking off his sodden trainers and padding out of the room and upstairs in his socks. He sank down onto the edge of the unmade bed and allowed his shoulders and head to slump for a few moments of self-pity before he shook himself and got up to hunt through his suitcase for a fresh pair of track pants.
It took him forever to get the wet pair off and the new pair on, and in that time he could smell fresh coffee on the brew. He sat for a moment and did his usual morning range of motion exercises for his broken arm. Wrist and shoulder rotations, fist flexing, and a host of other soft-core exercises designed to strengthen his arm.
“How do you like your eggs?” Daff’s voice floated up from the kitchen, and he paced to the loft railing, still flexing his fist while rotating his wrist, to see what she was doing. The floor was clean and she was getting ingredients out of the fridge. God, was that bacon? He didn’t care if her attitude stank, if she gave him bacon he’d probably drop to one knee and propose. He hadn’t had a proper meal since yesterday’s preflight breakfast in London. He was starving.
“Sunny side up,” he called down, and she nodded without looking up. He took a few paces back and sat back down on the bed and lifted one foot to his knee to tug off a sock and then did the same with the other. He contemplated his bare feet for a few morose moments, curling his toes against the hardwood floor. He sat deep in thought for a while until the delicious aroma of frying bacon wafted up to his nose. He limped back downstairs—seriously, these stairs sucked balls—and noticed that her phone screen was lit up on the kitchen island. He sneaked a peek and saw Dahlia’s name above a message—Still on for lunch?—and glanced at Daff, who had her back to him. He quickly tapped Dahlia’s name—or Lia, as it said on the screen—and made a mental note of the number before making his way to the kitchen table and sinking heavily into a chair.
He watched Daff work. She wasn’t exactly a domestic goddess, creating more dishes than he thought was entirely necessary for a simple breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast.
“Thanks for doing this,” he said. He hated feeling beholden to anybody.
“I promised Daisy I’d help out, but I’m not great at this, you’d be better off with—”
She stopped speaking so suddenly there was no doubt in his mind that she was referring to Dahlia.
“With?” he prompted.
“A nurse or something.” He knew that wasn’t what she’d been about to say, but he let it slide.
“I don’t like having strangers hovering around me.”
“I’m a stranger,” she reminded.
“We’re practically related,” he exaggerated. “I don’t mind having family around.” She made a rude sound at the back of her throat, and he hid a grin when she unceremoniously thrust a plate and a mug of delicious-smelling coffee on the table in front of him. He groaned appreciatively and thanked her sincerely when she returned seconds later with cutlery and his toast.
Eating with his left hand was a messy affair, but he was getting used to it, and he was so hungry he didn’t even care that she was there to witness his disgusting table manners. She had retreated to the other side of the kitchen, which wasn’t very far, considering that this wasn’t a huge cabin. She was propped against the kitchen sink, sipping coffee and watching him over the rim of her mug. Every time he looked up from his feast, it was to meet her narrowed gaze.
“What?” he finally snapped, his mouth full of toast and runny egg yolk.
“Just wondering why you came here, that’s all,” she said with a one-sided shrug. He gave his plastered arm a speaking look and chose not to respond to her comment. “It’s just that you can go anywhere in the world to recuperate. Why Riversend?”
“Precisely.” He nodded, sending her a condescending thumbs-up before mopping up more of the delicious yolk with his toast. When she turned her nose up like someone who’d just caught a whiff of something putrid, he grinned. “I could go anywhere, so this little bum-fuck town in the middle of nowhere is exactly the last place in the world anybody would look for me.”
That offended her. Good. Served her right for digging around in something that was none of her business.
“I can’t come here every day,” she said coldly, draining her mug and slamming it down on the sink. “So you’ll have to sort something else out.”
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head over it. I’ll be fine,” he said cheerfully, knowing exactly how much his patronizing words and voice would aggravate her. She pursed her lips and turned to rinse her mug beneath the faucet.
“Having a near-death experience hasn’t exactly improved your personality.”
“Nothing wrong with my personality to begin with,” he dismissed. “And it was hardly a near-death experience. Just a bit of blood and drama. I had it all under control.”
“I saw the footage; everybody is carrying on about what a hero you are. When, in fact, that guy had no business getting within a meter of Laura Prentiss, did he? You fucked up, didn’t you?”
Sam’s jaw clenched, and he glared at the woman staring at him with her challenging, defiant gaze. Of course she would see what very few others had seen. Sam and his team had fucked up, and it had nearly cost Sam and—worse—Lally their lives.
He shouldn’t have been in the field at all. He had lost his edge, and these days he found managing the business a lot more rewarding than the mind-numbing boredom of trailing after some asshole playboy or ditzy pop star. Before they had gone their separate ways, Sam had dealt with the clients, the contracts, and management, while Mason had preferred handling the training program.
The arrangement had suited both men. After Mason had sold his half of the business, Sam had taken on his partner’s workload until he could find someone to replace him. But he had been eager to relinquish the recruitment and training responsibilities once he had hired a suitable replacement for Mason. Sam didn’t know why he had acquiesced to Lally’s request, maybe because it had seemed like a cakewalk. Maybe a small part of him had been bored or restless. He wasn’t entirely sure.
All he knew was that he hadn’t assessed the threat properly, hadn’t anticipated such extreme escalation from the letters to actual physical danger. It had been fucking inexcusable and a clear sign that Sam should probably stick to management. Still, having Daffodil McGregor point out his flaws was grating.
“Don’t bother with the dishes,” he said, hearing the ice in his voice. “I’m sure I’ll manage to load the dishwasher. Thanks for breakfast.” Daff’s eyes flickered and the challenge faded, to be replaced by something resembling regret.
“Our numbers are on the fridge if you should need anything.”
“I won’t.”
“Brand, look, I’m—”
“Thank you.” His voice brooked no argument and she nodded before retreating through the back door.
Sam glared at the plate of half-eaten eggs and bacon in front of him, his appetite completely gone. The woman was a total viper. He didn’t understand how she could be related to Daisy and Dahlia.
“Promise me you’ll think about it,” Aisha urged, and Lia stared at the woman, still a little stunned by the offer that she’d been presented with.
“Oh, I’ll do more than think about it,” Lia said with an incredulous shake of her head. “Aisha, this is . . . I can’t tell you . . .” Abruptly overcome with emotion, Lia dropped her head into her hands and drew in a shuddering breath. She felt the other woman’s arm circle her hunched shoulders and squeeze.
“Don’t be silly, Lia, you have to know how much we—I—value you. And with you aiming to gain your BEd, it makes sense all round,” she said, but her brusque voice had a telltale wobble in it. Aisha knew, better than Lia’s own family, how lost she had felt since her engagement had ended. Lia had once, in a fit of depression and hopelessness, confided her feelings of inadequacy to Aisha. Soon after that, Aisha had started asking Lia to unofficially substitute for a couple of hours here and there. Getting a second chance at a career was priceless and gave her even greater incentive to complete her degree.
“Thank you,” Lia whispered fiercely and wrapped her friend’s pregnant bulk into a tight hug. The baby kicked in protest, and both women laughed. Lia stepped back and wiped her face self-consciously.
“I think you’re late for your lunch,” Aisha gently reminded her, and Lia nodded before reaching over to hug her again, this time a little gentler.
“I’ll call you later,” Lia said. Lia couldn’t wait to tell Daff her news. She couldn’t remember being more excited.
Her sister was waiting for her already, and because of her excitement, Lia didn’t initially notice her sister’s dark mood.
“Oh my gosh! Guess what, Daff!” she said as she sat down across from her sister.
“They finally cured assholitis?”
“No!” Lia squealed, before registering her words. “What?”
“Nothing, sorry. Forget about it. What has you so excited?”
“Aisha wants me to start working at the preschool again. After the vacation.” Most of the schools had closed for a short first quarter break just that day, the preschool included. “Just half a day, twice a week for now, but it pays a small salary, and she eventually wants to offer me a full-time job as a caregiver, but of course she can’t do that until I have a BEd.”
“You already knew that,” Daff pointed out, confused.
“Yes, but I always thought I’d have to leave Riversend to find work, but Aisha wants to spend less hours at work after the baby’s born and Tumi is leaving at the end of the year, so there’ll be a position for me.”
“Yeah, but you can’t really fill Tumi or Aisha’s positions until you graduate.”
“I know that, but they won’t replace Tumi, so the other ladies and I will pick up the slack.”
“It’ll take at least four years,” Daff reminded, clearly playing the devil’s advocate.
“Actually,” Lia said with a shy smile, “it’ll only take about three. I’ve been doing an online degree.”
Daff looked at her for a beat and then squealed. “Oh my God, you’re such a secretive little cow! Why didn’t you tell anyone? How long have you been doing this?”
“I’ve just started my second year,” she admitted, and her smile widened when Daff squealed again. “I should have done this years ago, Daff. It’s a calling. I just kept putting it off and expecting other things to fulfill and enrich my life. I should never have done that. I study at night and on weekends. I have money saved, Grammy and Grampa’s trust, and with the extra I’ll now be earning with this job, I can actually afford to rent Daisy’s house . . . after you move out, of course. Or maybe we can be roomies.”
Daff jumped up and rounded the table to give her a hug. Then she summoned Suzy over.
“We’re celebrating, Suzy! Some bubbly, if you please. And not the cheap stuff, either! We’re going to do this in style.” Lia laughed at her sister’s infectious happiness and felt silly for not telling Daff about the degree sooner.
“You should have told us—why didn’t you?” her sister asked after sitting back down, and Lia shrugged uncomfortably.
“I don’t know. After things ended with Clayton, I wanted to do something just for me. And I suppose I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. Know what I mean? I didn’t want to share it with anyone. Not yet.”
“Silly. We would have been nothing but happy for you.”
“I know. I’ll tell Mom and Daddy soon, too.”
“Well, my news seems like a damp squib compared to yours now,” Daff complained good-naturedly. “But Spence has finally acknowledged that it would be best all round if I moved in with him and Charlie. So you and I won’t be roomies. I never really thought you were interested in moving out, though. You’re such a homebody.”
“I’ll still be a homebody, but in a different home.” Lia could barely contain her excitement. “And I’m so happy for you, Daff. I can’t believe it has taken Spencer this long to give in. You’re like water dripping on rock, absolutely relentless.”
“And I’m really happy you’ll finally be chasing your dream, Lia. Who cares how long it took for you to get to this point? All that matters is that you’re here now.” Lia grinned—Daff could be so sage sometimes.
“So what happened at the PTA meeting last night?” Lia asked after they’d ordered their meals from Suzy.
“Oh my God, the drama,” Daff said with her usual dramatic flair. “The asshole math teacher called Charlie an ill-mannered, ill-tempered, ill-bred . . . That was as far as he got before Spencer hulked out on him. I mean, it was pretty sexy. Spence doesn’t get aggressive, but he was so pissed off that he seemed to expand to almost twice his size, and then he leaned down over the guy, like so . . .” Daff leaned over her wineglass and glared at it, reminding Lia a bit of Snoopy the beagle’s vulture pose. “And said, all quiet like, ‘I dare you to finish that sentence’ . . . Oh my God, I could have jumped his bones right there and then. The teacher practically wet himself before he stuttered an apology and said something about Charlie needing to focus more in class and to stop being disruptive. Spencer just gave him a disgusted look and told him that if Charlie fails math he, Spencer, will hold the teacher personally accountable and that was that. We left. In grand style. I did jump his bones soon after. And he asked me to move in after that. He said that he hates not having me around all the time . . . still no proposal, but this is a step in the right direction.”
“It definitely is.” Lia nodded enthusiastically. Suzy brought the requested bubbly and their food, and there was silence between them as they took a moment to sauce and season their food. After which Daff lifted her glass of sparkling wine and urged the bashful Lia to do the same.
“To my little sister getting her degree!” she said with a grin.
“To my big sister, moving in with her man,” Lia added, and they both giggled like schoolgirls before clinking their glasses together and taking a sip.
“So you saw Sam Brand last night?” Daff asked after the giggling had passed and they were focused on their food again, her voice much too casual. The subject change caught Lia by surprise, and she blinked before clearing her throat and nodding.
“Yes. He looks pretty rough.” She avoided Daff’s keen gaze and dug into her chicken schnitzel and mashed potatoes with what she hoped looked like relish. Quite honestly, the memory of how banged up and bruised Brand was made her lose her enthusiasm for the meal.
“I went around there this morning,” Daff said between greedy bites from her huge burger. Lia waited while her sister took her sweet time before elaborating on her initial statement.
“And?” she finally prompted when it looked like Daff was going to scarf down the entire burger without pausing for breath.
“What?” Daff asked around a huge mouthful of meat and bread. “Oh.” She swallowed and took a sip of water to wash it down. “He’s such a jerk. I definitely don’t like him—we’ll make sure the cabin is stocked until he’s able to get out and do some shopping himself, but I won’t be going around to help him out with food prep or anything. I don’t want to spend any more time around that douchebag than I have to. I don’t care what Spencer says.” The last was said so defiantly that Lia was willing to bet Spencer had already said quite a bit about her decision not to lend a neighborly hand to Brand in his time of need.
“He can’t really do much with his dominant hand incapacitated,” Lia said, recalling his frustration in attempting to get his shirt off the night before, and then she flushed when she recollected his chest once the shirt had actually come off. It took everything she had not to fan her flushed face.
“You okay? You look a little feverish,” Daff asked, and Lia flushed even more.
“It’s rather warm in here, isn’t it?”
“Not noticeably.”
“Anyway, I don’t think I’ll be seeing Gregory again,” Lia said, desperate to change the subject.
“Gregory?” Daff looked blank, and Lia stared at her impatiently.
“Gregory, I mentioned him before. Several times, in fact. The bank manager?”
“Oh, that guy. For some reason I thought his name was Grant.”
“Really? Do you ever listen when I talk?” It was exasperating how self-involved Daff could be at times.
“Well, you never sounded particularly enthusiastic when you spoke about him, I figured he wouldn’t last long. So there was no point in really paying attention, was there? And look, I was right. You’re not seeing him again. What was wrong with him? Did you fall asleep in the middle of dinner or something? Because that guy sounded boring.”
“He had third-date expectations,” Lia said primly.
“You went on three dates with that guy? He lasted longer than I expected. So he wanted to introduce his wiener to your hot pocket, did he?”
“Must you?” Lia asked. Daff could be so juvenile and vulgar sometimes.
“Did he want to holster his hot glue gun in your spasm chasm?” Daff continued solemnly and then snorted when Lia frowned at her.
“You’re such a child,” Lia chastised. “I’m never telling you anything again.”
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist,” Daff said, choking back her laughter. “Tell me what happened.”
Lia pursed her lips and refused to comment, lifting a forkful of mashed potatoes to her mouth instead.
“Come on, Lia,” she said coaxingly. “Don’t be such a baby. I was just teasing. Tell me what Gilbert did.”
“For cripes’ sake! His name is Gregory.”
“Lia, we’ve discussed this before . . . you know I can’t take you seriously when you use words like cripes.”
“Just because you like to swear doesn’t mean I have to.” Lia knew she sounded like an old woman, but seriously, her sister went a bit overboard with the language at times. It was so unladylike.
“Tell me about Gregory.”
“Fine! He kissed me. And got a bit gropey.” And just like that, Daff went as serious as a heart attack. All laughter fled from her eyes, and her expression froze. She could be a bit scary when she got into protective-big-sister mode.
“Do I have to find him and chop off his balls? Or did he listen when you told him to back off?”
“Of course he did. Eventually,” Lia said carefully. Daff practically had smoke pouring from her nostrils, she was fuming so much.
“Eventually? What the fuck does that mean?”
“It wasn’t anything serious, he touched my boob and kind of rubbed himself against me. But then you called and I had an excuse to go.”
“You don’t need an excuse, Lia. All you have to do is tell him no. And if he doesn’t listen, knee him in the groin.”
“I won’t see him again.”
“Not just this Gregory asshole. Any guy, Lia.”
“I know, don’t worry,” Lia placated her, and Daff shook her head.
“It’s hard not to. You’re terrifyingly naïve at times, Lia. I worry about you.” Her words made Lia bristle. She wished her family would stop seeing her as this helpless, sweet little girl who couldn’t take care of herself.
“It’s not your place to worry about me, Daff,” she said, injecting enough frost in her voice to make her sister sit up and pay attention. “I’m not a child. And while I may have made a few stupid decisions in the past, I’ve learned from all of them. I never repeat my mistakes.” Well, aside from that Sam Brand thing. But luckily nobody knew about that, and it definitely wouldn’t happen again.
Daff didn’t say anything for the longest time, merely stared at her, before shaking her head and shrugging.
“When are you thinking of moving into Daisy’s place?” she asked. Another jarring subject change, and it took Lia a moment to adjust.
“I’m not sure. I haven’t really spoken to Daisy about it yet. I hope she doesn’t have a potential tenant in mind already.”
“I doubt that.”
“I’ll call her tonight. When are you moving out?”
“Soon as I can. Wouldn’t want Spence to change his mind.” She was only half joking.
“He wouldn’t.”
“Yeah, I know, but I’m paranoid sometimes. Besides, I really can’t wait for us to be under the same roof.”
Lia smiled; it was strange to see her oldest sister so hopelessly in love. Daff had always been tough and self-sufficient. She had become jaded in recent years, but since she and Spencer had fallen in love, the hard edges Daff had been starting to develop had softened.
“You will be soon enough,” Lia told her, and Daff grinned.
“I’ve turned into a total sap,” Daff said with a rueful shake of her head.
“Total.”
“Shut up.”
I need your help! Lia stared blankly at the message on her screen later that evening. Her parents were chatting amiably in front of the television and Lia had been contemplating heading up to her room for an early bedtime when the cryptic message from the unknown number came through.
The second message appeared on the screen a moment later. It’s Brand.
Of course it was.
How did you get my number? she texted back.
I have my ways. Seriously, princess, I need your help.
Lia bit her lip uncertainly as she stared at the screen. She was a sucker, and it seemed that even Brand knew that. She was picturing him sprawled at the bottom of the staircase, hurt even worse than before.
What’s wrong? Are you hurt?
Kind of.
Now what on earth was that supposed to mean? Either he was hurt or not—there was no kind of.
You going to help me or not?
Wow. Bossy. Part of her wanted to switch off her phone and ignore his cryptic messages. But her conscience screamed at her not to leave the poor man to fend for himself. He was injured, and helping him was the right thing to do. Especially since it seemed like Daff wasn’t going to.
What do you need? she found herself reluctantly asking. The reply came seconds later.
Can you come over?
It’s really late.
It’s 20:30
She very nearly responded that eight thirty was late for her but managed to stop the pathetic response just in time. She sighed. She didn’t owe him anything, but she’d feel terrible if he was really in pain or in need and she just ignored his cry for help.
I’ll be there in 10 minutes.