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“I don’t see any discharge—”
“If you say the word ‘puss,’ I’m jumping out into traffic,” Lowell interrupted, scowling as Trapp continued, paying him no mind.
“—But I don’t like how red it looks.”
“So you’re saying I need to see the doctor.”
“I’m saying you absolutely, one hundred percent ought to see a doctor, both of you together. For couple’s counseling. But you might want to see if that needs debridement, and you should probably get a two-course antibiotic.”
“I don’t like the way that sounds.”
“Yeah, well, you’re going to like the way it feels even less. Next time get her one of those rubber balls you stuff with peanut butter if she wants to bite something so badly. Or don’t and let her keep trying to pop your balls like they’re water balloons; it’s your life. But stop sending me the proof. You’re making me an accessory.”
“Is she a wolf or a rabid dog?” Lowell muttered under his breath, not loud enough for Grayson to pick up, earning Trapp’s silent laughter.
His self-imposed banishment to the pool house had turned out to not be as dramatic as he’d led his mother to believe. Grayson still spent the majority of his week in Bridgeton. His girlfriend only showed up at the house on weekends, sometimes not even then. He had alluded to the fact that they lived together in the city only that one time, but he rarely talked about himself and his private life to anyone but Trapp, and had never mentioned that fact again.
The only time Lowell mentally made the house off limits was when Vanessa was in residence, which usually meant the week leading up to the full moon and the day after, and when the heat of summer set in, not even his guest cabana was safe. She liked to lay out beside the pool, and he had only needed to catch her topless twice before he decided to simply take himself out of the equation during the full moons altogether, loading up the kayak and driving to the lake. He didn’t need to be inadvertently aroused by his brother’s girlfriend, didn’t need to catch them having sex next to his cabana’s little window, and didn’t want to be made to feel like he was in the way.
He’d sat on the kitchen counter stuffing his face with takeout noodles a few weeks earlier, on one of the rare weeknights Grayson was home, having just flown in from several days in the capitol. He listened, from his position atop the counter to his brother’s phone conversation. It was work-related, and most of the legal jargon went over his head, but Lowell could tell it was Vanessa on the other end of the line from his brother’s tone of voice, slightly gentler and less strident than he usually was.
“So, is she actually your girlfriend, or what? Never thought I’d see the day where you settle down with only one. Does she taste like candy or something?”
Gray had grinned in response, pulling a fork from the drawer and the takeout container from Lowell’s hand, helping himself. Lowell had scowled, removing the second white takeout container from the bag on the counter beside him, glad he’d been prepared.
“She’s smart, she’s ambitious. She’s mouthy as fuck. Gorgeous tits. Puts up with me, somehow. And yes, she does taste like candy, now that you mention it. What’s not to love?”
“Trapp said she’s kind of crazy,” Lowell pointed out in between a mouthful of noodles.
What Trapp had actually said when Lowell had questioned him about Vanessa’s monthly presence at Grayson’s home, including joining them for brunch at their parents’ house after every moon, was that she was crazy, but her crazy complemented Grayson’s crazy, and that they were very good together. Lowell remained unconvinced. He didn’t like sharing the limited attention he received with anyone, least of all some stranger, particularly one who had displaced him from the main house and sat whispering with his father each month, an indulgence usually only granted to his eldest sons.
Gray had only laughed, turning away with Lowell’s noodles.
“If they’re not a little crazy, what’s the fucking point in living?”
The point is not needing stitches on your scrotum, he thought, mentally revisiting the conversation. Lowell closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the passenger window of Trapp’s truck as he and Gray continued their conversation. It was too fucking early to be awake, too early to hear about his brother’s violent sex life with his supervillain girlfriend, too early to do anything but bundle up in a cocoon of blankets and go back to sleep.You should just get out at the next intersection and walk home. It’s not like they really want you there.
They were going to meet Jack and Liam for breakfast, a standing date the youngest Hemming son had with their father twice a week from the sounds of it, skipping his morning study hall every Monday and Wednesday, a luxury that had not been afforded to Lowell at any point in his life. Trapp joined them on Wednesdays, and he had been invited to come as well.
He had been at the Pickled Pig with Grayson and Trapp when the former had instructed Trapp to bring Lowell to breakfast, the first time he was learning of the standing affair, even though he had been home for what felt like six years at that point.
“Can you please bring him the fuck with you next week? I realize it’s just for an hour or two, but it’ll be two hours less of him creating mischief in every fucking room of my house.”
“I can’t believe you’ve been getting breakfast together all this time, and no one ever invited me,” he had fumed after two rounds of drinks, feeling incredibly sorry for himself. He had been home formonths. Months that felt like years and only a handful of weeks depending on the hour of the day with nothing to break up the monotony, and just across town, his brothers were yukking it up with their father twice a week over bacon and eggs.
Trapp had merely rolled his eyes.
“Lowell, I have asked you to come with us so many fucking times, I can’t even count. I asked you the first week you were home, but you had to call your office every day to see if there were any updates, even though they had just kicked you out of the fucking country forty-eight hours earlier. I asked you a few weeks later when you were staying with Jackson, and you couldn’t be assed to get out of bed that early. I just texted you, like, two or three weeks ago, as a matter of fact, to let you know I would pick you up on the way, and you never responded.”
“Yeah, because I was asleep! Who has breakfast at seven o’clock in the morning?!”
“Grownups with jobs,” Grayson had answered succinctly, and Lowell had just groaned. He’d walked into that one and knew better than to let Grayson trap him any further.
“Yeah, you know what? That’s fine. Get me out of the house for a few hours. It’s not like I have anything left to see there. Did you know he has a sensory deprivation tank and a marble steam room in his bathroom? Who the fuck spends that much money onhumidity? Did you actually have a custom drawer made for all your sex toys? Did you tell the carpenter what he was building? Or did you pretend it was for socks that need their own long compartments and a convenient charging dock? Can you imagine what he went home and told his wife?”
Grayson had only shrugged, tipping back his drink with a smug smile.
“I hope he told his wife that his clients fuck so much they need a way to keep electronic reinforcements at the ready twenty-four hours a day. Real men can get on their knees and take a strap. I don’t want to wait for shit to charge when she’s in a toy kind of mood, and that was the best money I’ve ever spent.”
