Page 36 of Complications

I did not look at him. I did not notice any part of him. I kept my eyes on the floor because— Well, because I didn’t…

Shit.

I fucking hated how attracted I still was to this asshole after twenty years. I ought to be over it. Childhood crushes don’t just disappear because they’re supposed to.

“Yell if you need help. I’m going to find something to eat,” I said before slipping out the door and shutting it carefully behind me.

Because simply walking away from him wasn’t an option, I stood outside the door for a few minutes until I was sure he could manage on his own. With one good arm, he could do a decent enough job as long as he wasn’t trying anything acrobatic or slippery. For about half a second, I considered offering to help, but I knew exactly how quickly he’d shut that suggestion down.

Satisfied he’d be all right, I made my way back down the hall to grab the duffel bags and deposit them in the bedroom. It didn’t take long to tuck my gear away into the dresser. I double-checked that my weapon was properly loaded and laid it carefully inside the drawer of the small bedside table.

I shrugged out of my jacket in the closet, unstrapped the knife from my ankle, and dropped it beside the gun in the drawer. The shoulder holster stayed on. At this point, I barely noticed the weight anymore. I sure as hell noticed when it was gone.

Not that I’d ever admit it, but the only time I took it off was when Joey was in the house, and I’d only made an exception for it now because of his injury. He might hate my guts, but he’d never let me die. If I had the audacity to get myself killed on his watch, he’d take it as a personal insult, and I’d take it as an opportunity to haunt him forever. Neither of us wanted to deal with that possibility.

I considered unpacking his clothes, but I knew he’d lose his shit if I touched anything of his, so I left the bag on the floor instead. If he needed help, he could direct me later.

Logistics handled, I went back into the kitchen to see what was there. Elio had said it was pretty well stocked with basics, and he wasn’t lying. In the cupboards, I found a decent selection of canned soups and boxed meals, all carefully stored in plastic containers to keep out any unwanted visitors. And there was plenty of meat in the freezer.

I pulled out a couple of pork chops. There was enough time left in the day that they’d defrost for dinner. For lunch, I grabbed a couple of blue boxes of mac and cheese and some sausage to fry with it. It wasn’t fancy, but it would do in a pinch.

While I worked, I kept half my attention down the hall in case I heard anything unusual. There was plenty of cursing coming from the bathroom, but nothing that sounded life-threatening.

When Joey shouted his frustration—which came out sounding like a fox getting fucked in a forest fire—I didn’t bother to hide my laughter.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” Joey shouted from the other side of the door.

“You. I’m laughing at you.”

“Well, fuck you.”

“I already told you no. How many times are you going to ask?”

That got me silence.

CHAPTER THREE

Joey

“No.”

“There’s only one bed, so there’s only one option. We have to share it. It’s a king. You’ll be fine.”

Frankie wasn’t technically wrong, but I didn’t want to admit it. I refused to say the word right. He wouldn’t get the satisfaction of that, even in my head.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“That’s not gonna be good for your shoulder. You won’t have support on one side, or you’ll hit the back of the sofa on the other.”

“Great point. You sleep on the couch.”

“I don’t want to.”

And there was The Tone. It was the one Frankie used when he’d already made a decision, and the only thing that would change his mind was dynamite—and that was only because he would be dead, so it wouldn’t matter. As a rule, he never changed his mind. Ever. Goddammit.

Sleeping next to this fucker would be torture. I’d managed to go nearly my entire life without being in close contact with him. Once in a shed was more than enough, and now here I was, faced with it again, and I didn’t even have a good argument for why he should give up the bed for me—other than I was a big goddamn baby who didn’t want to sleep next to him.

“We’ll put up a wall of pillows. You’ll be fine. Your honor is safe. We won’t tell anyone we didn’t have a proper chaperone.”