He jerked open the car door and dropped her onto the passenger seat. She let out an adorable squeak as she landed. Even furious and drunk, she somehow managed to be beautiful.
“Wanna talk about it?” He slammed the door behind him, started the ignition, and tinkered with the dials until hot air blasted through the vents.
She shook her head and turned away from him. Fine. He was too tired to press for information she didn’t want to give.
He drove her home in silence. By the time they pulled up outside her apartment she was making soft snoring sounds and her head hung forward. With a sigh he eased out of the car, careful not to slam the door. He circled, found her key in her coat pocket, and slipped his arms around and under her to carry her inside.
Outside her apartment, he shifted her weight so he could reach the lock and stumbled inside into a dimly lit room. Presumably Cleo had left the lamp on in the living room so Molly wouldn’t fall to her doom when she got home. She was still limping from her previous fall, the last thing she needed was for a matching injury to the other foot – or worse.
She stirred in his arms, making cute sleepy noises and muttering to herself as he moved with the grace of a hippo in a china shop. He stumbled, she slipped, he righted himself. Her grip on him tightened as he walked, but after a few moments her hand fell slack around his neck, her chest rising and falling with even breaths.
In her room, he toed off one of his shoes and used his foot to pull back her quilt before laying her flat on her back. She had a chunky necklace around her neck that he removed with minimal under-his-breath swearing. Bras he could work, necklace clasps, not so much. He fought with the straps on her heels, but finally eased them off before tucking her feet under the blanket and covering her.
He sat on the edge of the bed, brushed her wild hair from her face, and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “You’re going to be the death of me Molly Morrison.”
She stirred under his touch. “You’re not allowed to die.”
He smiled. “You let me carry your lazy ass all the way from the car and you were awake the whole time?”
She didn’t answer. The bartender said she’d had way too much to drink, and from the stench of whisky seeping from her pores, she was pretty far gone. He should leave, but his hand kept stroking her soft skin and his heart wouldn’t let his feet move.
He sighed, a lump forming in the back of his throat. “I really wish you weren’t my best friend’s sister, Molly.”
She sighed and stilled.
“If you weren’t his sister I could tell you how much I love you, how much I think you’re a freakin’ badass, and how badly I want to be with you.” He leaned over, planted a quick kiss on her forehead and made his way back through the house to the kitchen. He grabbed her a glass of water and a banana, a tub of Tylenol from the bathroom and left them by her bed.
***
The next morning, Finn found Will at the breakfast table of the hockey house, scowling at a bowl of Lucky Charms.
Finn spun a chair around so he could sit on it backwards, hugging the back. “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend? Will Morrison never eats that shit.”
Will sighed and dropped his spoon with a clang in response.
“And while we’re at it, what are you doing here?” Finn picked up Will’s spoon and shoveled a heap of cereal into his mouth. “How can you not like that delicious mallowy goodness?”
Will pushed the bowl across the table to Finn. “Knock yourself out.”
“Spill.”
Will shook his head. “It’s good. I’m good.”
Of course he was. Will saying “It’s Good” was the equivalent to a woman saying “It’s fine” – Finn had learned the hard way, it was never fine. Finn took another bite and pointed the spoon at Will. “Are you trying to convince me, or yourself? To be honest, I’m not sure you’re convincing either of us, man. What gives? Girl trouble?”
“Worse.” Will leaned back against the chair and folded his arms. “Molly trouble.”
Finn knew it was Molly trouble, but half the battle with the Morrisons was getting them both to admit the problems they were facing out loud. Once that had been accomplished, things flowed a little easier and they could work to a solution. Some days they were more stubborn than others.
“Again I say: spill.”
Will leaned forward on his hands, fingers spearing into his hair. “I don’t know what to do about her.”
Something coiled in the pit of Finn’s stomach. “Do? About her?”
“She needs to check her behavior.”
The serpent in Finn’s gut coiled a little tighter, slithering up his chest and wrapping itself around his pounding heart. He loved Will with everything he had, but his sometimes low opinion of his sister made him madder than a hornet in a tin can. He clenched his jaw, hoping gritted teeth would prevent him from lashing out.
