AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“For fuck’s sake,” she mutters, but she smiles. “I love you, too, dickhead. I’m glad you’re okay. Call if you need anything?”
I salute her but I’m a bit teary because she didn’t ask me to stop doing stunts or stop having fun. She’s my twin and even though we haven’t been close in twenty years, she gets me on a basic level.
Or, more likely, she figured it was pointless, which makes me sad. She ends the call, leaving me alone in the dark.
Shit’s been weird with Jessie for a long time. We were besties until Nic came along. It’s been hard navigating her hurt. His hurt, too, because Jessie can figuratively nut a man with one perfect eyebrow raise.
“Are you serious right now?” Mina’s voice, annoyed and thick with sleep, nearly makes me drop my phone. “Why are you out here yelling about your penis? Do I need to take you back to the hospital?”
I get to my feet—slow again, because the edible kicked in and I feel like molasses—and smile at her. “Nah, typical Tuesday night at Casa Timothy.”
“It’s Sunday,” she says. “Come on. Back to bed.”
“It’s Monday,” I point out, just so she’ll glare at me. She’s so damn cute when she’s annoyed.
“Timothy Alexander Foley, if you don’t get your ass in the house, I will—”
I fold her into a hug and the fight drops out of her. She sighs.
The last week has been hell for her. For everyone. I love my family, and I love Nic, but Mina’s been here for me in a way no one else has, since the day we met. I count on her in a way I don’t count on them. Maybe all we’ll ever have is friendship, but I’m grateful for that. Even though it hurts.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “For being here. For putting up with me.”
“Anytime,” she says, taking my hand and pulling me back into the house.
Chapter fourteen
Mina
Timothy’sparentsleaveandover the next two days, he retreats to his room, spending most of his time where I’m not allowed.
He’s recovering, but I thought we’d hang out. Lounge on the sofa and talk. When we’d watch movies at my apartment, he’d often lie on the sofa, his head in my lap. He can’t look at a screen for long right now, but he could lie like that and nap while I watched something on my phone. We could play a short game of pool, or he could help me cut fabric—he’s done that before. Instead, he’s hiding from me.
I chose the bold colors for my autumn release, hoping I could draw strength from them, but it’s not working. My nerves are fraying as my scissors cut through the fabric. What if he has another brain bleed and I don’t notice because he’s in his room? I check on him every few hours, which irritates him, but too bad.
Fabric cut, I move on to sewing gussets. Another day’s work and I’ll be back on schedule. I set up my portable table in the living room and lined the wall next to me with plastic tubs of cut fabric, organized by size and style. I purchased a new embroidery machine with some of the money from Timothy’s parents and sold my old, finicky one. I’m not ready to embroider anything yet, but I test it out on a few scraps, just to try it.
The noise of my sewing machine is the only sound in the house and it’s eerie. I want the old Timothy back. I want him looking over my shoulder, asking questions about what I’m doing, pulling a pair of underwear over his head, and asking if he looks hot in them.
The front door opens and Nic walks in, locking it behind him and toeing off his shoes. I finish my gusset, then lean back in my chair, rubbing my neck. Done for the day.
“How’s Timothy?” he asks in a quiet voice as he heads into the kitchen.
I glance at the clock. It’s 9:30. Timothy went to bed an hour ago. I follow Nic into the kitchen. “He’s too quiet.” The last two nights when Nic asked, I told him Timothy was fine, and physically, I believe he is. Mentally, I’m not sure.
Nic stops rummaging in the fridge and closes the door with a sigh. “Yeah.”
“What do you mean,yeah?” I ask, irritated when he doesn’t say more. Not that Nic’s been around to see how quiet Timothy is. He’s busy on set.
“The doctor said he’d sleep a lot, right?” He reaches for the chocolate cake on the counter and slices off a tiny wedge. “Don’t tell my trainer,” he says, leaning over the sink to eat it. Like I give a shit if he breaks the ridiculous diet the studio has him on. He’s all muscle and bones anyway.
“It’s not the sleep. When he’s up, he’s different. Quiet and…not himself.”
Nic shrugs. “He’s still coming to terms with his retirement, and if his head hurts, he probably doesn’t feel all that chatty.”
I saw the misery in Timothy’s eyes when he made his retirement official before his parents left, and of course, his headaches will make him quiet. This seems like something more. “You aren’t worried?”
He polishes off the cake in three bites as he considers. My throat goes dry and I fight the urge to gag because cake is disgusting.
