Chapter 13 Caleb
Caleb
I stood in the basement with a set of plans and a bad attitude, trying to get a bead on what to do about the wall that wasn’t on the plans but was right in front of my face.
I hadn’t seen nor talked to Emma since four nights ago at the bar, but she’d emailed that Henderson was willing to do whatever we thought was right as long as it ended up looking how he wanted it to.
No pressure at all.
“We have to move it.”
I found Ryder standing behind me, hands on hips, studying the wall, also looking irritated.
Great. I turned to pace the length of the basement, and a flash of fiery pain zapped up my leg.
Ryder’s gaze flew directly to my thigh. “You good?”
“Fucking fantastic. And I agree the wall has to go,” I said, trying to keep my bad temper from my voice. “But it’s gonna hold us up.”
“I don’t know, Emma seems pretty reasonable,” he said.
I laughed shortly. “She’s a lot of things. But reasonable isn’t always one of them.” I knew my mistake the instant his brows went up.
“You’ve gotten to know her well then?”
“She’s our liaison,” I pointed out.
“Uh-huh. Tell me nothing’s going on.”
I stared at him. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Nothing was going on, all I had to do was say it, but bad temper and pride went hand in hand. “What’s your fucking problem today?”
“My fucking problem?” Ry asked, voice tinged with disbelief and just loud enough to set me off.
Each of us, after how we’d grown up, had various triggers associated with confrontation.
Like how Tucker couldn’t handle seeing someone he cared about get hurt.
For me, big and intimidating as I knew I could be, a raised masculine voice made me want to throw up.
It was embarrassing as hell, so I covered the response by walking away. Always.
Today being no exception, I’d just turned to go—anywhere other than here—when Ryder drew a deep breath and lowered his voice, with clear effort.
“My problem,” he said much more quietly, “is you. You’re the three-date wonder.
Hell, you’re the one-date wonder. What’s going to happen when you get bored with her? The job is at least six more months.”
“I’m not going to screw this up,” I said, going for calm and failing. “I told you I wanted more responsibility, and I meant it. I’m doing it.”
Ryder blew out a breath. “You are, and I’m grateful.”
I snorted, and he rolled his eyes. “I am,” he insisted. “But I’m going to say this one more time: Think ahead, put the company first. No complicating things. Period.”
“Like you did with Penny?”
Ryder stared at his boots for a beat, probably contemplating murdering me with his bare hands. “Fine. Yes, I met Penny at work. But she wasn’t an employee and not directly involved in the business in any way.”
“Emma isn’t your employee either.”
“She’s directly involved,” he said.
I stared back, unable to say why I was doing this, pushing the issue when there was nothing going on between me and Emma, thanks to my own big, fat mouth.
“I’m not compromising on this,” Ryder said. “Not when the last time cost us a big client. Make your decision.”
We stared at each other some more.
“Well?” Ry asked.
Resentment boiled up, hot and fiery. I hated when he pulled the older-brother bullshit, but more than that, when he’d started to fall for Penny, it had been me and Tucker to talk him into taking that fall. We’d been right there to remind him he deserved love and happiness.
“I’m an adult,” I said. “I can think with two body parts at the same time. Stay out of my personal life.”
“Then keep your personal life out my business. And for fuck’s sake, rest your leg when it gets this bad.”
“It’s not bad.”
“Yeah, and I’m the Easter Bunny.” He stalked away, and I flipped him off behind his back.
“I saw that,” he said.
“I wanted you to.”
The rest of the day kicked my ass. Taking care of Hank and running the jobsite on top of doing my half of the office management as I’d promised Ryder was taking a toll, like it or not.
By the time the weekend rolled around, I was completely done in.
I needed a few days alone, but that wasn’t going to happen.
Hank might not be able to talk, but he was still a large presence that required constant supervision.
Both Ryder and Tucker had offered to take him as needed, but pride dictated I handle him myself.
Sunday was my one day to sleep in, and since I hadn’t been able to fall asleep to save my life, I was trying to make up for it by sleeping past sunrise.
At some point just after dawn, I’d finally fallen into a deep sleep when something nudged me awake.
I opened my eyes and nearly screamed like a little kid.
Hank stood at my bedside, his face an inch from mine, and thanks to the hall light behind him, he was backlit like a horror-movie villain. All that was missing was his instrument of torture.
“Ah?”
“Jesus.” I put a hand to my hammering heart. “The house on fire?”
Hank shook his head.
“You hurt?”
Another shake of Hank’s head.
“Then, and I mean this in all sincerity, what the fuck?”
Hank lifted his hand, which was holding a coffee mug. An empty coffee mug.
Right. I looked at my phone—10:01 a.m. “Fair,” I said.
“Ah.” He waved the mug again, and I felt like an asshole.
“Okay, okay, I hear you.” I sat up, and shit, flashes of shimmering spots danced across my vision.
Migraine aura. This wasn’t my first rodeo or even my hundredth.
Ever since my spectacular crash and burn on the ice in the NCAA D1 tournament all those years ago, migraines had been a way of life.
They didn’t come nearly as often anymore, mostly just when I got too tired or stressed.
Like now.
If I wasn’t careful, in an hour or two, I’d be curled in the fetal position on my bathroom floor, puking up my guts, unable to handle so much as a sliver of light or a decibel of sound.
I drew a deep breath and got out of bed.
I had some time before it hit; I also had meds.
I’d be fine. Fine. Without turning on a light to make things worse, I passed by Hank, then stopped short.
He was buck-ass naked. “What happened to your pajamas?”
“Ah.”
No need to try and interpret that. Hank hated pajamas.
Hank hated pants. If I left him alone for any amount of time, he managed to get them off.
Last week, I’d put him in the living room recliner to go cook dinner, and when I’d come back five minutes later, he’d been wearing nothing but his reading glasses and socks.
Which was why I now had a blanket spread over his recliner.
We made a pit stop in his bedroom on the way to the kitchen. I opened the top drawer of his dresser, and since I tried to learn from my mistakes, I didn’t even bother holding up the first pair of boxers because they were red, and he hated red. I held up the blue.
He shook his head.
I held up green ones, then black, then striped. No to all. With my eyes narrowed, I showed him the only pair left. Red.
“Ah,” he said, then smiled his approval.
In that moment, I knew it wouldn’t be the migraine to kill me. It would be my father. Death by frustration.
Mornings were a huge production. The days of me rolling out of bed, taking a quick shower, throwing on work clothes, and heading out in less than twenty minutes from when I’d opened my eyes were long over.
I had to make Hank coffee, take out the dogs and then feed them, and get both myself and Hank showered and dressed before we could head out.
In an impressive downpour, I drove Hank and my dragging ass to Al’s Diner for our weekly Sunday “bonding” Colburn sibling meal—Tucker’s decree.
He said it kept us connected, and he was right.
We were connected, for better or worse. We used to do a weekly dinner at the Cork and Barrel, but the alcohol, combined with our competitiveness over darts and pool tournaments, was never a good idea.
So now we did brunch or lunch, sometimes at the diner, sometimes at one of our homes, which only occasionally turned into warfare.
I caught up to everyone as they were just about to pile into a booth. I gave Ry a chin nod, kissed Penny on the cheek, then stopped to wave at Hazel, who’d just walked into the diner.
At the sight of us, she froze.
Kiera waved her over, and Hazel reluctantly headed our way. “Just picking up coffee,” she said, awkwardly staring anywhere but at Tucker.
“Stay,” Kiera insisted, looking at all of us, especially Tucker. “Right?”
“I’ve really got to—” Hazel waved a hand toward the door.
Kiera grabbed her hand and held on. “You’re staying.”
And since no one was stupid enough to talk back to Kiera, we all crowded into the booth, Hazel going last, perching on the edge of the bench seat as if unsure of her welcome.
Kiera gave me the do something eyes, so I nudged Hank in on the other side of the booth next to Ryder, then squished Hazel by practically sitting on her lap until she scooched…right into Tucker, who stiffened.
“Sorry,” Hazel said.
“No, that was me,” Tucker said, dramatically scooting as far as he could from her, while she did the same, neither making eye contact.
But hey, at least it wasn’t my drama, which meant I could sit back and enjoy.
“Ah,” Hank said, pointing to his mouth.
Kiera handed him half her breakfast sandwich, and he grinned from ear to ear, then dug in.
Kiera watched him for a moment, her expression unreadable but soft. Even kind.
It had been my biggest shock that of us all, Kiera was the one who seemed able to tolerate him the easiest. I couldn’t fathom why. I gave Abi and Alex gimme hands, and they squealed in delight and climbed out of Tucker’s lap and across Hazel to get to me.