“Sorry about that. You’ve been wonderful. Awesome. The best, really.” I cleared my throat to quit throwing out ridiculous adjectives. “The dogs have loved it. But you have a business to run and you need your space. And Cheyenne’s a kid. She needs her brother. It’s time for me to get out of your hair so you can focus on what’s important.”
“You’re important too.”
I waved that off. He had to say it, of course. Brooklyn was such a kind man, he’d never let me think badly of myself. “Sure. But priorities, right? I have a ride coming later to get me to Shane and Theo’s.” Another lie, but I would, as soon as I figured out who to call. “I just need to pack.”
“Are you sure? You look—” He hesitated and I bet he was censoring the words, like crap. “—tired. Wouldn’t you rather sleep here and think about it in the morning?”
I was tempted, but then something thudded in Cheyenne’s room, like she’d thrown something against the wall, and I knew what I had to do. “No, I’m good. Just give me an hour. You need to figure out what you’re going to say to Cheyenne. After you let her calm down, because my experience with sisters says do not push her right now unless she tries to head out the door.”
Brooklyn glanced down the hall. “You’re probably right.”
I straightened, settled my crutch under my arm, and turned, plastering a smile on my face. “I wish I had other words of wisdom, but I don’t. Good luck.”
“Uh, thanks.”
Brooklyn trailed after me as I went to my room. I didn’t want him to watch me, didn’t want him to see whatever expressions my face was going to have as I got ready to leave this little haven, so I said, “I’m going to change clothes,” and shut the door in his face. Gently, slowly, but unmistakably.
Once I heard his steps recede down the hall, I got out my phone. James? No, he and Colin would be in the middle of feeding the kids dinner. Neil? He’d already worked a full day, part of it making up for me slacking off. In the end, I called Joe, Kevin’s dad.
“Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”
“I need a huge favor,” I told him. “I need a ride for me and the dogs and Xandra over to Shane’s place in about an hour.”
“I thought you were staying with that guy from the shooting. Did something go wrong?”
“No, no.” I tried to sound casual. “Just, his little sister turned up and she really needs the room. And I have Shane’s place as a permanent invitation. So I’m going to move out of Brooklyn’s house and give his sister my space.” More half-truths, but I think I sold it.
Joe said, “Sure. I’ll bring the big SUV, if we’re moving all the dogs. Do you want extra hands to carry things? Alec could come.”
“No.” One person witnessing my pathetic retreat was enough. I hadn’t brought much stuff over, because Brooklyn already had all the dog beds and toys and bowls my little family needed, and I’d gotten by with a few changes of clothes. “We should be good.”
“Okay. Text me the address. I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“Hey, friends and family, right? We do what we have to. I’m sure Brooklyn appreciates it.”
Family. We do what we have to. Not my family, and apparently not most of Brooklyn’s but at least he and his sister would have a second chance to forge those bonds. “Right. Thanks.”
An hour later, I stood on Brooklyn’s front step with Eb and Twain on leashes. A grumpy Xandra and even more grumpy Chili were already in their travelling crates in the back of Joe’s SUV with my bag. I wanted to just go, get out of there, lick my wounds and figure out how to move on in private.
But I owed Brooklyn more than that. He leaned against the doorframe, one arm braced on the wood, the pose seeming artificial like a fake “handsome man at ease in the sunset glow” photo. The late sun picked out blond highlights in his hair and scruff, and shadowed the hollow of his throat. I know what his skin tastes like there.
Not a helpful thought. I said, “I really appreciate everything. You practically saved my life. I hope things go well with Cheyenne.”
“Me too,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder. She still hadn’t emerged from her room, even to assuage curiosity about me thumping around. “How’s your head? And stomach?”
“Better,” I reassured him, which was true. “I’m not going to puke in Joe’s car, I promise.”
“I’m glad.” He hesitated. “You’ll let me know if I can help? With the shelter, I mean.”
“Or if I can help you,” I said. “With your sister or anything.”
“Sure.”
“Yeah.” My headache might’ve eased, but the pain in my chest was making up for it. Couldn’t blame that on the trauma, though. I held out my hand, as if to a stranger.
Brooklyn closed his long fingers around mine and squeezed.
