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“What happened the morning after Thanksgiving?” Timothy asks abruptly. “Before you and Camden left.”
He was a hungover wreck, thanks to Nic and Timothy. “He was sick, and I looked after him.”
“You were curled together on the couch when I woke up. Nic saw the same thing I did and assumed you’d made your choice. He went home and proposed to Addison, figuring Camden would propose to you, and he needed to move on with his life.”
“That’s ridiculous, but you should look into becoming a screenwriter for a soap opera.”
Timothy makes a soft snorting sound. “Camden was pissed, by the way. Said after he heard about Nic’s engagement, he tried to call you a few times.”
That much is true. I ignored the first few calls, and when he kept calling… “I blocked his number.”
Timothy shakes his head. “He wasn’t good enough for you.”
“Nope.” I pop thep.
“Nic is, even if he doesn’t believe it. You should talk to him. He’s too torn up from the past year, but if he knows how you feel, he’ll open up. Promise.”
I don’t bother pointing out that he can’t promise that. “What about me?”
Timothy’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t face any more rejection, not from him.” It sounds petulant, but I don’t care. I’m halfway drunk and all out of fucks. Oh, and Nic said out loud to my dumbass brother that he doesn’t want a relationship with me. He said it again to my face. I don’t need to make him repeat himself a third time.
Timothy looks stumped. Finally, he laughs bitterly and rubs the back of his neck. “You two are impossible. Still got that sofa bed in the office?”
“No.”
“I’m not leaving you alone tonight. Nic’s my best friend and I love him, but you’re my sister. I love you too. We all do. I think right now you need to hear it.”
He might be wrong about everything else, but he’s so right about that. “I don’t want Nic to lose you guys. No matter what.”
Neither of us speaks for a long time, but we continue to pass the bottle back and forth. I’m well and truly drunk when Timothy clears his throat. “He loves you.”
Does he think repeating this to me enough times is going to make it true? Timothy and I are going to fight about this until we’re both old and in a nursing home. “I got rid of the sofa bed. You can take my bed.” He can’t drive after the amount of whiskey he’s downed.
He eyes me critically. “You’re going to pass out hard on the couch?”
I nod. I’m smaller than he is and haven’t put my body through the shit he has, so one night on the couch won’t kill me. “Sheets are clean.”
“Am I going to wake up with a dildo up my ass?”
Like I leave vibrators under my pillows and lose them under my blankets. “Only if you put one there. In which case, you can keep it.”
He laughs, getting up and heading for the bedroom. “Good night, weirdo.”
“Hey, Timothy.”
He turns, leaning on the wall. He relived his accident today. It’s a shadowy fear in his light brown eyes, and I understand why he blew up at me.
“He’s going to be okay,” I say softly. “And so are you.”
My brother takes a shuddering breath. “Today scared the shit out of me.” He pushes himself off the wall. “You’re going to be okay, too, sis. This is all going to work out between you and Nic. I promise.”
I nod. I don’t believe him, but I can’t bring myself to take that away from him. “Leave the bottle.”
He laughs. “Not a chance.”
Chapter thirty-two
