Chapter 1
Birdie
Winter is going to kill me.
Dead.
Deader than dead.
God, how do I get myself into these predicaments?
I blame my mother. She’s the one who convinced me it would be a good idea to help Winter out by taking on some of the renovations at home for him while he’s busy with club stuff.
“He’s barely home at the moment,” she said, “He’ll appreciate not having to come home and do even more work.
” I agreed with her, completely, but now that I’m assessing the mess I’ve made in our home, I’m not as sure.
Carey will know what to do. He always does.
I call him and he answers on the first ring. “Whatever you’ve done now, I don’t want to know and I can’t fix it for you.”
“Have I told you lately that you’re the worst brother in the world?”
“Often. And FYI, it’s my goal in life. Surely one day soon you’ll stop calling me in one of your emergencies if I’m firmly cemented in your mind as the shitty brother.”
“I hate to break it to you, but Lucas doesn’t have the skills you do, so it won’t matter how shitty a brother you are, you’re always gonna be the one I call.”
“Christ,” he mutters. “Seriously Birdie, how much shit can you get into while Winter’s away?”
“I’ll have you know I’ve managed well on my own while—”
“Bullshit. He’s been gone two weeks this time and you’ve called me four times for help. At this point, I shudder to think what you’ve broken, because I’ve already fixed your toilet, shower, garage door, and that hole you put in the lounge room wall.”
“I didn’t break the toilet or the shower! They—”
“What is it? What have you done today? I’ve gotta head out in half an hour and take care of some stuff, but depending on what it is, I might be able to swing by later and take a look.”
“Shit, no. I need you to come now. Winter will be home this afternoon. I need it fixed by then.”
Carey starts to say something to that, but a deep voice sounds from behind me. “I’m home now. What needs fixing so urgently?” Winter.
I spin around and lay eyes on my husband who’s watching me with arched brows, waiting expectantly for my answer. “Gotta go,” I say to Carey, “Winter just got home.”
I end the call and Winter closes the distance between us so he can slide his arm around my waist and kiss me. It’s not a quick kiss, but it’s also not his usual “I’ve been away far too fucking long and I missed you” kiss. My man is exhausted. That’s what I feel the most in his kiss.
When his lips are finished with mine, he pulls his head back and says, “Well? What do you need fixed?”
I bite my lip and step out of his hold. “I don’t want to tell you.”
His brows furrow. “Why not?”
“Because you won’t be happy.”
“What have you done?”
Winter knows me well, so he knows that when I tell him he won’t be happy, he probably won’t be.
“I think it probably isn’t as bad as it looks and won’t take much to fix.
” He also knows that when I say stuff like this, it means the complete opposite.
It is as bad as it looks and it will take a lot to fix.
I like to live in my own distorted reality.
Winter is hard-core about facing reality head-on.
We have some issues we’re working through.
He jerks his chin at me. “Show me.”
“You’re exhausted; why don’t you sleep for a bit and then we can figure this out.” And maybe in that time I can find someone to make magic happen.
“I am exhausted, and I am going to get some sleep, but that won’t happen now until I know what we’re fixing.”
Shit. “Okay, but just remember how much you love me. And how much you like my lips around your dick.” I’m pulling the big guns out for this. I’m going to need those guns with what I’ve done.
“Fuck,” he mutters, raking his fingers through his hair. “This is gonna hurt, isn’t it?”
My face pulls into a pained expression. “Just a little.”
I then turn and lead the way into the kitchen, my stomach clenching like I’ve eaten the worst curry in the world. When we reach our destination, Winter follows me in. I don’t look around to gauge his reaction; I simply hold my breath and wait.
It feels like minutes pass before he says, “Baby, your lips are gonna be around my dick a lot for this. And that’s just for starters.” He moves past me to inspect the room. “I’m not sure how you thought Carey would be able to fix this in a day.”
Clearly I believe my brother has superpowers.
“So, umm, on a scale of one to ten, where are you sitting right now?” I ask, following him.
He doesn’t answer me instantly; instead, he takes a good, long look around the room at everything I’ve done before bringing his eyes to me.
“The tiles should look good once they’re finished.”
I want to vomit.
Please God, let this just be a bad dream.
Let me wake up and discover I didn’t fuck this up so badly.
“So umm, the tiles…. There’s no more. And the supplier can’t get any more either.
” I screwed up when I figured out how many we’d need.
But I’m not verbalising that because he’s a smart man and can figure that out himself, and well, I feel like the biggest idiot for screwing that up, so I don’t want to mention it.
He gives me that look of his that says “you’re fucking kidding me”.
As he opens his mouth to say something, my mother’s voice floats down the hallway to us.
“Birdie, I may have a solution to your tile problem.” She stops abruptly when she spots Winter.
“Oh, you’re home earlier than we expected, Winter.
” Then, glancing at me, she mutters, “Shit.”
“Yeah, you could say that,” I agree.
She glances between Winter and me, uncertainty written all over her face. “Ah, so I think I’ve found those same tiles from another supplier. I thought we could take a drive now and see. But if you want to stay home with Winter, I can go myself.”
I’ve missed Winter and have been desperate for him to come home, but right now, going with Mum sounds like the best thing I’ve heard all day. Winter has other ideas, though.
“I’ll go and check them out,” he says.
“No,” I protest, “I messed this up; I’ll fix it.”
He moves to me and places his hand on my hip. “Angel, I’m not trying to be a dick, but I don’t want you anywhere near fixing this.” His lips brush mine, and he says, “Let me take a shower and clean up, and then I’ll sort the tiles out.”
I watch him leave before turning to Mum. “On a scale of one to ten, how pissed do you think he really is?”
Her expression says it all: I’m screwed. “Birdie, he’s calm right now, but when he takes that shower he’s gonna start thinking, and I’m fairly certain you’re looking at a level eight at the least.”
That’s what I’m worried about, too.
Winter Morrison is a slow burn most of the time. I think I’m in for some hell later.