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“Yes, well…” Drawing a deep breath, she lets it out again so it almost feels like the gust brushes across my skin. “My silence and my distance are to protecthim. I’m still furious, Minka. And I grew up with too many siblings not to be tempted to settle this with a kick in the nuts. So until I come to terms with this mess, I’m staying away. And if he wants to cry to you about how he’s sad and sorry, then that’s something you’re going to have to deal with.”
I wander along the hall and emerge into the living room to find Archer flopped back on the couch. His head lolling to the side, his legs draped across the coffee table—and in the kitchen, Timothy Malone himself sits on the section of counter I deserted just a few minutes ago.
My heart skips a beat when our eyes meet, his presence startling me. I didn’t know he was coming over, and I definitely didn’t hear him come in.
Remembering Aubree on the phone, I bring a finger to my lips to ensure he stays quiet.
“Anyway,” Aubree’s tone changes in my ear. It’s impossible, and yet, it’s almost as though she knows he’s near. “When are you coming back to work?”
I move toward the coffee table and drop my supplies by Archer’s feet. “I’m planning to stop in tomorrow, actually.”
“Really?” she perks up.
“Not for a full day,” I clarify. “But my email is overflowing, and my voicemail isn’t even recording anymore, there are so many. So I’ll start with an hour or two and work my way up until Archer can take care of himself again.”
“I’m fine,” Archer mumbles sleepily. His eyes are already droopy, his body lax. “I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah,” Aubree snorts in my ear. “He sounds just swell. If you’re coming in tomorrow, I’ll save the rest of my update for then.”
“Everything else is under control?” I ask. “No fires to put out?”
“None. Doctor Patten has night shift running perfectly, and because she’s basically you, she’s holding the threads together and doing a little extra OT.”
“Thank god for Patten.” Tearing a fresh dressing open with my teeth—nice one, Doc—I set the package on the table and move next to open the antiseptic. “I’ll have to get her chocolates or something to say thank you.”
“No need. I already put some in your desk drawer, then told her where to find your stash. Every morning when I clock back in, half are gone, so I know she’s enjoying them. And because she thinks she’s stealing, they taste so much better.” Humored, she adds, “I put more in the pile each day so she doesn’t feel bad. It’s a system.”
“And it’s working. Alright, well, I’m hanging up. I need to dress Archer’s wound, then I have to order something for dinner.”
“I’ll order for you,” she says, somewhat lighter after our talk than she’s been all week. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll get it sent over.”
“To save me from speaking to other human beings?”
“That’s how much I love you,” she singsongs. “Chinese? Thai? Burgers?”
I consider for a moment and look into Archer’s exhausted eyes. He would pass out if I let him. He’d go to bed on an empty stomach if I gave him the go-ahead. And behind him, a perfectly healthy—physically—Timothy Malone, the oldest of five brothers and the heir to a cartel he’d rather burn to the ground.
He’s hurting, because he wants Aubree’s forgiveness, and she’s staying away, because she’s terrified she’ll give it too easily.
“Chinese, please,” I tell her. “With spring rolls, and the chicken stuff with vegetables.”
“Protein and veggies,” she mumbles, making me wonder if she’s writing my order down. “Just what the doctor prescribed.”
“Har.” I roll my eyes. “I’m going now, but thanks, Aubree.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you when you get to the office tomorrow.”
Dropping my shoulder and letting my phone fall, I catch it before it hits the table. Then I move onto the couch and slide onto Archer’s lap. I straddle his legs and rest practically on his stomach, considering his poor posture, then I set the cap from the cream aside.
“Did you let yourself in?” I ask Tim. “Or did Archer get up?”
“I’m right here, ya know?” Arch’s hands go to my hips. He’s tired, but he’s not dead. “I can hear you talking about me.”
Ignoring his complaint, I glance over the top of his head and meet his brother’s haunted stare.
“Let myself in.” Then he nods toward my phone. “How is she?”
“Coping.” I squeeze ointment onto Archer’s shoulder and study the way his wound is already closing up. It’s rough, fragile… the hole could so easily open again if he’s not careful. But that’s why I’m here, to make sure he rests. “She’s doing alright,” I tell my brand-new brother-in-law. “She’s still processing, so she’s not ready for things to go back to normal.”
