Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Frankie
“For the love of all that’s holy, just let me help you. You don’t get extra points for being as difficult as possible,” I bit out after sliding down the embankment and getting covered in dirt and twigs.
Joey still had the audacity to try and get back up the embankment while holding his bag and what was obviously a dislocated shoulder.
It was beyond me how one man could be as stubborn as he was, but he never ceased to amaze me with how he stubbornly avoided anything that had to do with me.
There was no doubt that I’d fucked up, but that was twenty years ago, and at some point, you’d think he’d at least speak to me again so I could apologize.
“I don’t need your goddamn fucking help. I can get up there by myself.” The anger in Joey’s voice was directed at himself, and I knew it, but I also knew he never missed a chance to take it out on me.
“Yes, I know. Very self-sufficient. Very confident. Very injured with a goddamn dislocated shoulder.” The last part I nearly shouted, which I hated—I rarely raised my voice—but this man forced it out of me more often than I wanted to admit.
Before he found something else to argue about, I grabbed his duffel bag and scrambled up the embankment with it slung over my shoulder. Once I got it to the top, I dumped it on the front porch and headed back down to get him.
It was a little more difficult to help him out of the embankment while also doing my best not to jostle his injured shoulder, but Joey had no choice but to let me help.
He draped his good arm over my shoulder while I used my own momentum to pull us back up.
By the time we reached the road again, we were both dirty and sweaty, and my once-tamed hair had given up and flopped into my face like some sort of street urchin.
I absolutely hated when it fell in my eyes. So annoying.
“Oh my God, why are you worried about your hair right now?”
“Why do you think I am?”
“Do you not think I can see you messing with it? I might be dumb, but I’m not blind.”
Rather than reply to that bit of nonsense, I grabbed my bag from the back of the SUV and indicated for him to go ahead into the house. I wasn’t going to take the chance of him falling back down again.
Joey rolled his eyes but headed to the house.
If he was in pain—which I knew he was—he wasn’t going to give me the satisfaction of showing it.
His one concession was to hold his arm in place, close to his chest. After a momentary detour to grab his duffel from the porch, I followed Joey into the cabin.
Elio said not to expect much, and I supposed he was right compared to where he lived, but it was still nice. Almost cozy.
The living room and kitchen were combined, with a small table tucked into the corner. A short hallway led to a bathroom with what looked like a tub-shower combo and two doors that I assumed belonged to the bedrooms.
“Come sit at the table. I need to look at your shoulder,” I said, keeping my tone as neutral as possible.
“I don’t need your fucking help. I can put it back together. I can do it myself.” The contempt in Joey’s voice dripped from every word, but now wasn’t the time to worry about offending him.
“You absolutely cannot get your shoulder back in its socket. Sit at the table and stop being stubborn.”
With Joey, it was easier to skip politeness and go straight to the point. If I tried to be nice, I couldn’t control him. We’d be here all evening, and he’d be in pain the entire damn time.
The stare I gave him was nothing short of a stonewall.
He glared back at me before finally swearing under his breath and coming to sit in the chair I’d pulled out for him.
I didn’t say thank you. In fact, I didn’t say anything because I knew the last thing he wanted to hear was the sound of my voice unless it was absolutely necessary.
“Can you take your shirt off?”
“Yeah, I can. I’m not helpless,” he growled.
“Wasn’t doubting it,” I answered blandly.
“Fine. I will.”
I forced myself not to roll my eyes as I watched him struggle to get his shirt off without any help. Dear God, this man was stubborn. He’d rather dislocate his other arm than admit he might need my assistance.
“Oh, for the love of God, let me do it.” I pushed his hand aside and took over, easing the shirt first off his good shoulder and then leaving it hanging from the elbow on the bad side.
Joey sucked in his breath when I gingerly touched the joint, the ball of it sitting at an awkward angle. It looked like a simple dislocation, nothing broken, just knocked out of alignment.
I grasped his wrist in one hand and braced the heel of my palm against his shoulder with the other.
“I’m going to count to three, and then I’m going to put it back into place, okay? I don’t need to tell you it’s going to hurt like a bitch.”
“It already hurts like a bitch, so get on with it,” Joey said, rolling his eyes and trying to control his pained breathing.
I tightened my grip on his wrist.
“One—”
Pop.
“Motherfucking goddamn shit. You fucking asshole, you said you were going to count to three!” he shouted, followed by a string of curses.
I didn’t know why he thought my mother needed to fuck a goat, but if it made him feel better, I supposed I’d let it go. She’d been dead for close to ten years, so I doubted she cared one way or the other.
“The surprise is better. You’re not bracing for it.”
“Fuck you.”
“No, thank you. You already tried that.” He fumed while I fashioned a makeshift sling out of a cotton drying cloth I found. Joey didn’t curse me outright, but the mutterings under his breath about my medical abilities were nonstop.
“Why are you tying it so tight? I’m just gonna take it off in a minute.”
“If you move one inch to remove that sling, I will find a bed, tie your working arm to it, and leave your ass there. We aren’t discussing this.”
Joey glared at me before he finally bit out, “You’re a real asshole, you know that?”
With that line hanging in the air, I turned on my heel and headed down the hallway to figure out where our bedrooms were. Given that Joey had restarted his search for the perfect curse word to describe our situation, the odds of him dying from the shoulder repair were somewhere close to zero.
My exploration of the cabin didn’t go as well as I’d hoped.
The first door in the hallway led to a pantry and laundry combination.
The second door on the other side of the hallway led to a small bedroom dominated by a king-size bed.
There was enough space to walk around the bed, but the room was small enough that even the dresser was tucked into the sliding-door closet.
The bathroom was the bookend of the cabin. As I’d hoped, there was a linen closet with a selection of towels, toiletries, and bedding.
There were no other doors.
There were no other beds.
Joey was going to lose his shit.
“What are you staring at?” Joey asked as he pushed his way past me into the room.
He still kept his arm close to his torso in the sling, but the pinch of pain around his eyes had lessened. He’d be back to mostly normal use soon, but for now, it probably still ached quite a bit. I made a mental note to try to find him some pain pills.
“I’m looking at where I’m sleeping tonight.” I let my words settle on him before he gave me a dirty look at my presumptuousness. He was easier to manage when things were laid out as a conclusion.
“Then I guess I’m sleeping across the hall,” he said as he stepped around me and opened the door across the way.
I silently watched him from my spot. He hadn’t moved from the doorway, glancing around as if there might be some secret passage in there. When he was satisfied there was no wardrobe to Narnia, he turned back to me with absolute fury.
“What?”
“Where’s the other bed?” Joey asked with controlled fury.
I knew part of it was annoyance at having to figure out sleeping arrangements, but the overlay of pain was obvious.
“Looks like we’re sharing.”
“You can take the couch.”
“The fuck I will.”
“Fine, I’ll take it. My ass is not sleeping next to you. Fuck that shit. I’d rather sleep on the goddamn floor.”
Joey’s rant would’ve been more effective if he’d managed it without gritting his teeth in pain and swaying just the tiniest bit.
Rather than indulge his temper tantrum, I decided it would be best if he got himself cleaned up in the shower while I figured out if there was any food in this place. Even as a kid, he’d always been in a better mood after a hot shower.
“Can you manage in the shower by yourself, or do you need help?” I asked conversationally.
The look he returned should’ve killed me, and he was likely disappointed it didn’t.
“Even if I needed help, I wouldn’t get it from you,” Joey said before stalking off toward the bathroom.
I waited a few seconds to get my breathing and temper under control before I followed him down the hall.
He hadn’t had a chance to get undressed or start the water yet.
Rather than watch him struggle, it was easier just to turn the water on myself and methodically get to work on him.
By some miracle, he didn’t argue with me.
I gently took his arm out of the sling and then knelt on the bathmat to remove his shoes and socks before unbuckling his belt and pulling his jeans down along with his briefs.
I did not look at him. I did not notice any part of him. I kept my eyes on the floor because— Well, because I didn’t…
Shit.
I fucking hated how attracted I still was to this asshole after twenty years. I ought to be over it. Childhood crushes don’t just disappear because they’re supposed to.
“Yell if you need help. I’m going to find something to eat,” I said before slipping out the door and shutting it carefully behind me.
Because simply walking away from him wasn’t an option, I stood outside the door for a few minutes until I was sure he could manage on his own.
With one good arm, he could do a decent enough job as long as he wasn’t trying anything acrobatic or slippery.
For about half a second, I considered offering to help, but I knew exactly how quickly he’d shut that suggestion down.
Satisfied he’d be all right, I made my way back down the hall to grab the duffel bags and deposit them in the bedroom. It didn’t take long to tuck my gear away into the dresser. I double-checked that my weapon was properly loaded and laid it carefully inside the drawer of the small bedside table.
I shrugged out of my jacket in the closet, unstrapped the knife from my ankle, and dropped it beside the gun in the drawer. The shoulder holster stayed on. At this point, I barely noticed the weight anymore. I sure as hell noticed when it was gone.
Not that I’d ever admit it, but the only time I took it off was when Joey was in the house, and I’d only made an exception for it now because of his injury.
He might hate my guts, but he’d never let me die.
If I had the audacity to get myself killed on his watch, he’d take it as a personal insult, and I’d take it as an opportunity to haunt him forever.
Neither of us wanted to deal with that possibility.
I considered unpacking his clothes, but I knew he’d lose his shit if I touched anything of his, so I left the bag on the floor instead. If he needed help, he could direct me later.
Logistics handled, I went back into the kitchen to see what was there.
Elio had said it was pretty well stocked with basics, and he wasn’t lying.
In the cupboards, I found a decent selection of canned soups and boxed meals, all carefully stored in plastic containers to keep out any unwanted visitors.
And there was plenty of meat in the freezer.
I pulled out a couple of pork chops. There was enough time left in the day that they’d defrost for dinner. For lunch, I grabbed a couple of blue boxes of mac and cheese and some sausage to fry with it. It wasn’t fancy, but it would do in a pinch.
While I worked, I kept half my attention down the hall in case I heard anything unusual. There was plenty of cursing coming from the bathroom, but nothing that sounded life-threatening.
When Joey shouted his frustration—which came out sounding like a fox getting fucked in a forest fire—I didn’t bother to hide my laughter.
“What the fuck are you laughing at?” Joey shouted from the other side of the door.
“You. I’m laughing at you.”
“Well, fuck you.”
“I already told you no. How many times are you going to ask?”
That got me silence.