Chapter 26
Hendricks
“Hey, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
I turn in the direction of Miles’s voice. “Well, you found me.”
He leans over the metal gate and peers into the stall where I’m checking on one of our pregnant heifers. I don’t need to see him to know he’s staring at me, wondering why I haven’t answered his messages this morning.
Peeling off the protective gloves, I toss them into the rubbish bin and give Daisy a hard pat. “Good girl. Baby is looking on track. He’ll be here soon.”
“A boy, eh?”
I nod, dropping my stethoscope into my vet bag. “Yup.”
He frowns, leaning so far on the gate he’s practically swinging. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Something is . . .” His head tilts, and I know he’s trying to figure it out. He once convinced himself we could read each other’s minds, but thankfully, while we can communicate silently, our abilities don’t stretch that far.
My mind is not the place for him to be right now.
“And, I’m guessing, our drunk overnight guest?”
I stifle a smile because he’s half correct.
Boy, that was a fun morning.
Watching Clementine grapple her steaming hangover while Max was being extra himself was the best part of my day.
Was the second croissant and hot chocolate I allowed Max to have as a Sunday treat necessary?
No. But she puked on the doorstep and called me an arsehole.
Not to mention the position I’m in now with her secret, whether she wanted me to know it or not.
Therefore, her punishment was dealing with a sugared-up Max while she mainlined black coffee and bacon sandwiches like they were a newly discovered hangover cure.
The worst part of my morning was dropping Story off at home before Max saw her.
I still can’t believe I get to kiss her, but the lingering one I planted on her halfway down her parents’ driveway didn’t curb the feeling that I was hiding a dirty little secret.
I arrived back home ready to burst with all the information I’m holding.
I have new empathy for Miles and his intolerance for keeping anything to himself.
But he’s the one I’d normally share everything with, which is making things a thousand times harder. I can’t tell anyone until I know what it is I’m dealing with, and catching our baby sister and his sworn enemy in a compromising situation isn’t something you bring up in casual conversation.
No. I need to speak to Clementine once she’s hangover-free. Though it did occur to me that a three-day recovery was more of an avoidance issue so I’d leave her alone.
“Have you seen Clemmie?”
He shakes his head. “Lando and Holiday caught me up on what happened. Did anyone get a photo?”
“No, Milo.” I laugh, knowing exactly why he wants it. “You already used her for last year’s Christmas card, two years in a row, and you’re asking for serious trouble.”
“Hmm.”
I can tell he’s thinking about it. Every December, Miles, because he clearly hasn’t done enough shit stirring throughout the year, sends out a personal Christmas card to everyone he knows with an—let’s just say—unflattering photo of one of us on it.
I usually come out fairly unscathed, but that’s only because Miles and I are identical.
It briefly occurred to me that’s why Clementine is conversing with Torres, before dismissing it as an extreme reaction. I know she was mad about the Christmas card Miles sent this past year featuring her, but going after Miles’s arch nemesis is not Clementine’s style.
Moving past my twin, I fetch a bucket of grass for Daisy and leave it in the stall for her to enjoy before she’s taken back to the fields with all the other cows.
“So . . .”
I pick up my equipment and walk out. “So what?”
He frowns again, annoyed. It’s an emotion Miles very rarely feels. “Hendricks, what’s going on with you? Is it Story? Because I think you should go for it. Fuck everything else, it will sort itself out.”
I weigh my answer. I never hide anything from Miles. My developing relationship with Story is definitely something I would have talked about with him. But I just don’t know whether I’ll pull it off so that he thinks that’s all I’m concerned about. Lying isn’t a skill I was blessed with.
In the end, I swallow hard and spill. I do it while washing my hands in the big outdoor trough. If I’m not looking at him, he can’t see that it’s not all that’s bothering me.
“Things progressed with Story over the weekend.”
He leans back against the wall, arms crossed. “How so?”
I go into detail without going into too much detail, starting with collecting Story and Clementine from the pub, and ending with taking her home.
“So she told you she was staying? Good, I was worried she’d drag it out.”
I look at him, confused. “You knew?”
“She told Clem and me when I went to collect Max the day you went into London.”
I shake my hands dry, not caring in the slightest that I get Miles with the drips. “I can’t believe you knew. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I would have, but she said she wanted to tell you, and it was better coming from her anyway.”
Huffing, I pick up my bag and walk toward my car. He’s right. It was better coming from her, but call me a hypocrite because I’m annoyed he didn’t tell me.
“Fucking Clementine,” I grumble to myself, deciding right there that she needs to tell Miles. Or I will.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“So . . .”
“So what?” I snap again.
“Hen, I’m asking what happened with Story,” he replies, slowly and deliberately. “Are you two together now, or what?”
I shake my head because we’re not. Not even close. “It’s something we need to figure out.” I push my cap up and give my head a good scratch, which is followed by a yawn. “It’s hard, though.”
Maybe the reason I’m in such a bad mood is because I haven’t properly slept in days. Too many complications are going through my head at once. The exact reason I wanted to wait with Story. She deserves more than a half-present and distracted partner.
Miles stays silent, probably so I don’t snap at whatever he suggests. He waits for me to speak.
“As much as I wanted it, I thought it would be weird with Story and change our relationship so drastically. But it felt so normal, like it was always meant to be this way. However, I still need to take my time with her because of Max.”
Miles nods gravely, like he knows what it’s like to be in a relationship, the concept of which has me grinning.
“You don’t want to introduce Miss MacIntosh as Daddy’s new girlfriend just yet.”
“Exactly, he’s never seen me with anyone.”
“But . . . you still want the sex, and Story lives with her parents. You can’t have her sleep over at Burlington because of Max, so you’re a bit fucked. Or not—” He snorts.
I watch my brother and the gears turning in his head. The moment sex is involved in any problem, he becomes a savant.
“It’s not solely about the sex, but also yes,” I admit, even if I’m loath to.
I haven’t had sex for months. I haven’t had good sex for .
. . well, compared to the experience with Story .
. . maybe I’ve never had good sex. Mind-blowing, toe-curling sex.
Something between us clicked that night, and ninety-five percent of my thoughts over the past two days have been about when we can do it again.
“What was it like?” Miles holds his hands up, right before I tell him to mind his own fucking business. “Actually, you know what? I don’t want to know.”
“I wasn’t going to tell you.”
His mouth drops, and his brows shoot up. “That good?” His hands wave again. “Nope. Please don’t answer.” He lets out an exaggerated shudder. “Bleugh.”
I am not going to ask what that’s about.
“But”—he snaps his fingers—“you need a hookup venue.”
“Milo—”
“I’m serious. Otherwise, how are you going to get down to it? It’s not healthy to be celibate at our age, Hen. Sex adds years to your life, and I really don’t want you to die before me. No one else puts up with my crap like you do.”
Staring at Miles, at how serious he is, a smile stretches across my face, and then I burst out laughing.
I don’t know why I find it funny because it’s not, but I can’t help it.
I’m barreled over, wheezing so hard I can’t breathe.
It’s the first time I’ve laughed all day.
It’s the first time I’ve laughed like this in weeks.
I wipe the moisture from my eyes. “So I’m doing this to live longer and to put up with your crap?”
“Yup.” He nods. “I have it. Use Bluebell.”
“What?”
“It’s empty. Holiday doesn’t live there anymore since she’s at Burlington. No one uses it.”
I clap a hand on Miles’s shoulder and pull him in for a hug. It’s rare, but sometimes my brother is a genius. “You’re right.”
“When it comes to sex, I’m never wrong.”
Opening the Land Rover boot, I toss in my bag. “D’you want a lift somewhere? I’m heading over to the stable yard.”
He pulls a pleading face and puts his hands together. “You can’t take me to Foxleigh, can you? I left my car there the other day.”
“Sure, jump in.” It’s in the opposite direction, and I don’t really have time, but since Miles has helped me with one of my problems, I can help him. “Give me one second.”
Pulling out my phone, I shoot off a message to Story.
HENDRICKS: Meet me at Bluebell at 10? Clothing optional, door will be open.
STORY: Why, Lord Burlington, is this a booty call?
HENDRICKS: Call it what you want, but for clarification purposes, we’re fucking tonight.
STORY:
I’m still grinning by the time we drive out of the farmyard gates when he turns to me. “You didn’t hear anything about Torres at the charity game on Saturday, did you?”
Fuck. My grin dies, and my fists tighten a fraction on the steering wheel. Guilt and anxiety turn up the volume on the party they’ve been having in my belly since Saturday.
“I overheard Lydia talking about it. But I don’t know what it was based on.” There, facts, and I didn’t lie.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that.
“That fucker. How dare he? What the fuck does he think he’s playing at?”