Chapter Seventeen
A knock at the door pulled me out of my book, and I placed my Kindle down, wondering who the hell was bothering me. I hurried to the door, hoping whatever sibling was knocking would be quick and I could get back to my book as soon as possible.
I opened the door, ready to say something smart to one of my siblings, but instead my mouth snapped shut as I stared at Brady. His hair was sticking out of his hairband. The lines around his eyes were more defined. The brightness of his green eyes dimmed as he stood, radiating defeat.
I took his hand, pulled him inside, and shut the door. I guided him to my kitchen and pointed to the stool while I got his bottle of whiskey. I poured him a glass and pushed it toward him.
“You have another bottle of my whiskey.”
“Franc left it here. It’s good. I wouldn’t give it back to him. Figured he could just get another bottle.”
He smiled before taking a sip.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I had a shitty day and normally I’d just go home, make a fire, and read, but all I could think about was you.” He extended his arm to me, and I went to him willingly. I kissed his forehead and stroked his beard, wishing I could fix him.
“Want to tell me about your day?” I asked. “I know you were getting Ron from the hospital. Did that not go well?”
“It went fine. I guess. The nurse gave me a list of meds he has to take. Ray picked him up and is going to stay with him tonight. I have to be there tomorrow by nine, then Albert said he’ll switch off with me at two so I can get to the distillery. I need to get a nurse. I can’t expect Ray and Albert and the rest of the vets to take care of him.”
“You can’t expect that of yourself, either. What do you need me to do?” I asked, my fingers itching to dive into paperwork and get this all figured out for him so the tight lines around his eyes would ease.
“It’s not your problem.”
“I already offered, so stop being a stubborn ass, and let me help.”
“You’re sexy when you’re bossy.” He kissed my neck, and for a second, my brain shut off.
“You used to call me she-devil.”
“You still are. You’re just wicked in other ways.”
“I know what you’re doing,” I said, and with the strength of all those Pilates classes, I pushed off him and rounded the counter.
“Hey.” He tried to grab for me, but I was still pretty spry for my thirty-eight years. “You’re getting distracted, and this is important.”
He inhaled and let it out slowly, his big shoulders shrinking in on him with the exhale. “You’re right. I could use your help.”
“Great!” I grabbed my emergency kitchen notebook and plopped it on the counter. “Let’s make a list.”
“Did you just pull a notebook out of your silverware drawer?”
“Yes, it’s my emergency kitchen notebook.”
“Kitchen notebook. Does that mean you have one in every room?”
My immediate response was yes, but the way he looked at me with one eyebrow raised and a smirk tugging at his lips made me pause. “What’s wrong with being prepared?” I asked almost defensively, clutching the notebook in my fist.
“Nothing,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “Just trying to decide if I should check under couch cushions and rugs.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t mock the system until you’ve tried it. This notebook has saved more dinners than I care to admit, and it’s now going to help you get organized.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he replied, his grin widening.
“Just you wait until I get my color-coded Post-it tabs.”
He laughed, the tight lines around his eyes easing. He might have been mocking me, but at least it was helping with the tension he was carrying.
“Color-coded Post-it tabs? Now I’m scared,” he teased, leaning against the counter, his grin softening into something almost… affectionate. “You’re not gonna alphabetize my spice rack next, are you?”
I crossed my arms, tilting my head. “Only if you ask nicely.”
“Please tell me you’re not gonna turn this insurance paperwork into a flowchart?”
I smirked, grabbing a pen. “Don’t tempt me. A good flowchart could solve half your problems.”
“If it were only that easy.”
“It could be. But we have to start somewhere. Okay?”
He nodded.
“We have to get all the information together to make this process go smoothly. First, we need to know what kind of care Ron is going to need. Personal care like bathing, dressing, grooming… things like that.”
“As far as I know, he’s still capable of all that, but I don’t know for how much longer.”
“What about medical care, like administering medications, which I’m going to guess is a must?”
“Yes. He’s on a bunch.”
“Okay.” I jotted that down. “What about household assistance, like cooking, cleaning, running errands?”
“Technically, I could run errands. The cooking and cleaning, though, would be a big help. I don’t trust him with the stove. I took the knobs off it when I brought him home.”
I tapped the pen against my lip. “Smart.” I added those to the list. “What type of hours are you looking for? Specific days and time?”
“I don’t know.” He ran a hand over his face, defeat settling into his shoulders. “I don’t know if he can be by himself at all. Look at all his incidents. Going for a walk and forgetting how to get home. Causing a scene at Espresso Yourself because he thought the place was a restaurant from twenty years ago. Almost killing himself by filling his house with propane. I mean… most of the time he seems lucid, but then he just stares off into space like there’s nothing going on up there. Going into the house today, he literally froze on the steps, and it took him a good minute or so to snap out of it.”
“It sounds like he needs full-time care.”
I was no expert, but that’s what it sounded like to me. We would fill out all the necessary paperwork and go from there. At least I could help Brady with this. We spent the next hour going over the information, then he went to his truck and retrieved the paperwork, and we got to work.
Another hour later, and our I’s were dotted and our T’s were crossed. He might have to make a phone call, but the hard part was over.
I held my hand up, and he stared at me.
“High-five,” I said.
“I didn’t take you as a high-five kind of woman.” He high-fived me and linked his fingers through mine, pulling me to him. He nuzzled my neck and exhaled. “Thank you. I could never have done that without your help.”
“You could have, but it would have been much more stressful without my system.”
He laughed. “Take the compliment.”
“Okay.”
He kissed me then, and I immediately melted into him. I wanted to ask him about where we stood and if we were just sleeping together or if it was something more, but he had enough stress on his plate as it was. Speaking of plates, it was well past dinnertime, and neither of us had eaten.
“Let’s go get something to eat. My treat,” I said.
“How about takeout? We can bring it to my place.”
“Are you actually inviting me to your hideaway in the woods?”
He tilted my chin, his green eyes boring into mine. “I want you in my bed.”
My breath hitched, his words hanging heavy in the air between us, charged with a mix of heat and vulnerability that left me unable to speak. His home was his sanctuary—a place not many people were invited to. The fact that he wanted me not only in his home, but in his bed proved to me this wasn’t just sleeping together.
This was something more.