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Something shuttered behind her eyes. She looked away. “I fell.”
“An MCL sprain is a contact injury. I see it with football players, soccer players. Clients involved in tackle sports.” He took her chin and turned her face back to his. “Did somebody take you down?”
She was already shaking her head when she opened her mouth. “I—”
“Remember rule number one,” he interjected. “Don’t lie to me.”
Wrong tactic. Her chin went up, along with all her defenses. “I’m not. Look, Luke, you already know everything you need to know about my knee. You’re not my insurance company. I don’t owe you an accident report.”
So much for instincts. He had to pick his battles with Quinn, and the truth was, he didn’t want to draw a line in the sand over this. Not yet, anyway. He got to his feet and walked to the display wall, leaving an open area between them. “Sounds like we’re done talking, then. Let’s put this brace to the test.” He pointed to the space. “Come over here and give me ten four-count burpees.”
If looks could kill, he’d be getting sized for a body bag right now. But despite her mutinous expression, she stood, walked to the center of the floor, and prepared to do as he asked.
“Oh, and Quinn?”
She expelled a loud breath and turned to shoot lasers at him with those baby blues. “What?”
“I’m tougher than I look, too.”
…
“I’m thinking the fact that you answered my call means you’re not still mad at me, eh, Quinnie?”
Quinn heard a note of contrition beneath her brother’s forcefully upbeat question and warned herself not to drop her guard completely. Drugs or no, Callum was an excellent actor. “I’m not mad at you.”
“Even though I trashed your life?”
Although she stood alone in the kitchen of her villa, the instinct to take precautions against anyone overhearing anything about her brother’s situation kicked in. Maybe, as twins, they felt extra protective of each other, or maybe watching him grow up in the spotlight had done it, but guarding his privacy came as naturally as guarding her own. She used the towel draped over her shoulder to wipe sweat from a relentless morning of cardio off her face, and then switched the call from speaker and brought her phone to her ear. “You didn’t trash my life.” Aspects of it were a little worse for wear, but nothing she couldn’t repair. Hopefully. “How are you?”
“I’m okay.” A self-deprecating laugh flowed over the line. “Rehab sucks, even in this country club you’ve sprung for, but I’m feeling better. More stable. Much more in control.”
“Good to know.” She hated the caution in her response, but dealing with Callum the last several months had trained her to be wary. The days when there had been no need for careful words and safe topics seemed like another lifetime. She missed hanging out on set with him when they were little, plotting escapes from stern, old Mrs. Frick, their tutor, in between taping his scenes as the precocious, what-will-pop-out-of-his-mouth-next kid in the family-oriented sitcom that had put him on the map. Hearing old Eminem songs could bring tears to her eyes, remembering how they’d filled downtime making their mom film “videos” of them rapping and dancing to “Slim Shady” or “Lose Yourself.” When she’d get depressed about a botched audition or a lost role, he’d talk like Yoda or Forrest Gump just to make her laugh.
“What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy to talk to me? Shit. You are mad, aren’t you?”
“No. I just…I didn’t expect to hear from you.” She opened the fridge and looked for today’s lunch box from the resort. Luke preordered all her meals, snacks, and drinks, so they’d be ready and waiting for her at the proper times. Five days into her training, she already knew a meal break was nothing to squander. Her stomach growled in protest at the empty shelves. Dang. They hadn’t delivered her lunch yet. She’d have to call the concierge when she finished talking to her brother. “You were pretty resistant to going to Foundations. I thought you might be mad at me.”
“I’m not. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep myself together, Quinn. Really sorry.” Then, because maybe the moment felt too heavy for him, he pitched his voice into an impersonation of Yoda and added, “Miss you, I do.”
It still made her smile. “I miss you, too.” On this point, at least
, she could be completely honest. She missed her brother—the talented, active, mischievous brother she remembered growing up with. Not the untrustworthy, manipulative stranger coke had turned him into. She definitely didn’t miss dividing her time between her professional commitments and trying to keep tabs on him.
“That’s actually part of the reason I called, besides to hear your voice. I wanted to invite you to come visit.”
Her heart clutched a little. She leaned against the kitchen counter and noted a new goody basket on the island. Luke had cancelled this little hospitality, but either today was an exception or somebody new in housekeeping hadn’t gotten the memo. “I will, soon, Callum. I promise.”
“I’ll be here all week,” he quipped.
“I know. But it’s going to be more like next month.”
“Seriously? I mean, I know you’re busy. I’m just…I’m fucking lonely, you know? You and me, we go way back.”
It was an old joke, but she felt her lips lift anyway. “And we’ll go way forward, too, but I can’t get there right now.”
“Are you on location for something?” His curiosity sounded a little forced. Their career trajectories were a sensitive issue. Because she wasn’t on location, but rather facing down a setback of her own, she decided to level with him.
“Not exactly. I’m in my own form of rehab. Eddie sent me to fat camp at Paradise Bay for six weeks.”
