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He’d been a bit like Teresa, he supposed.
A tiny project manager.
And truthfully, that was the part of his previous job he’d enjoyed—coordinating tasks, making sure the right people were assigned, that they had what they needed.
A puzzle every day.
Something heliked.
Now that was progress.
Grinning, he went to text Teresa about that particular discovery and was mentally turning over in his head how to make puzzles sound sexy, when his cell rang in his hand.
Frowning, he glanced at the screen.
Asher.
That was convenient, since he wanted to rip his younger brother a new asshole for hurting Mel the way he had.
He swiped, put it up to his ear.
“Hey, fuckhead, you need—”
But then Asher was talking—
And…
Insults faded; worry intruded.
He pushed them aside and focused on what he did best.
Taking care of the people he loved.
His lazy TV day was over, as was sitting on his deck staring out at nothing while crafting sexy text messages to his woman.
His brother needed him.
“Right,” he said when Asher took a breath. “I’ll be right there.”
Thirty
Teresa
“What do you think we should do?” he whispered.
Asher was inside, sporting a black eye.
But apparently, that wasn’t nearly as bad as what he’d given to the man Melody was dating—no, correction—the man Melhadgone ononedate with.
The man who’d assaulted her.
And Mel…well, Melody was bruised and bloodied and needed crutches and had five stitches in her cheek.
“The hospital called the police,” Jeremy said, shifting so that he could slip an arm around her waist, and this was a time when she didn’t know if she was the one comforting and caring for him or if it was the other way around.
And it was a time she realized she didn’t care.
They were there for each other.
