Chapter 20
PIPER
“Pulse still thready,” Ethan says, his words clipped as he tucks Brody’s hand back under the mountain of blankets piled atop him. “Temperature status?”
There’s a beep, and Mom removes the digital thermometer from Brody’s ear. “Ninety-four,” she says. “It’s rising.”
Ethan takes it from her and checks the reading himself, then frowns.
Brody’s on one couch in the family room, and I’m on the other.
Both of us are bundled under every comforter and blanket in the house, and Ethan’s made us wear woolly hats.
The room is filled with people, but no one dares say anything or move a muscle.
The unspoken consensus seems to be that the person in the room most at risk is my older brother.
Even Martha is sitting quietly on Harper’s lap as she watches her father.
Ethan strides over to me, gently tucking my hair behind my ear so he can take my temperature. He grunts when he sees the reading.
I’m feeling fine, but I’m not going to tell Ethan that when he’s driving full throttle down Panic Street and his brakes have failed.
“We need more wood on the fire,” he says to Hudson.
Then, because Hudson doesn’t immediately spring into action, Ethan does it himself, jabbing at the embers with the poker to produce more heat before throwing on as many logs as will fit.
Mom surreptitiously removes her cardigan and looks longingly at the closed window, as if she’s ready to throw it open. Hudson’s already down to a T-shirt, as are Mia and Cara, and Marv has his shirt sleeves rolled up and is perspiring freely.
I meet Brody’s eyes across the room, and we exchange a smile. He still looks exhausted, but now that we’re home and he’s going to be all right, the fear that was wrapped around my heart is finally receding.
“Can the wall heaters go any higher?” Ethan asks Dad.
Ever the diplomat, Dad checks the thermostat again, even though he’s already done it twice in the last hour. I bet Mom could fry an egg on those heaters right now.
“Full blast,” he says.
Ethan clenches his jaw and looks around the room as if there must be something else he can do to bring the room temperature up to Death Valley in July.
With his forehead knitted in a perma-frown, he checks Brody’s temperature again, then lifts a mug of steaming sweet tea from a small table next to the couch and takes its temperature.
Martha pulls a face, clearly thinking he’s lost his mind, and I hide my grin under a blanket.
“Drink,” Ethan orders Brody. “It’s at the optimal temperature.”
Brody shuffles as if to sit up, but Ethan stops him.
“Wait. Let me. You don’t want to lose any of the heat inside the covers.”
Ethan tucks the covers around Brody, trapping his arms like a mummy, then supports his back and lifts the mug to his mouth.
I’m pretty sure Brody could hold the mug just fine, but he knows, as we all do, that Ethan needs this.
It’s not just his apology for not trusting Brody’s instincts; control is the only way he can cope when someone he loves is in any form of danger.
That’s what he trained for as a search-and-rescue pilot, and, in his eyes only, he failed to prevent Olivia’s death from sepsis.
When Ethan’s happy with how much Brody has drunk, he lays him back down and turns his attention to me, lifting me up, and making me drink my mug of hot tea like I’m an invalid.
“Daddy,” Martha begins in an authoritative voice.
“Yes, sweetie?” Ethan replies, not looking her way as he heads back to Brody with the thermometer.
“You told me that if people are dangerously cold, then they have to be naked and cuddle.”
“That’s one of the ways to restore body temperature safely,” he replies, his attention on the thermometer.
“Then why doesn’t Aunt Piper take her clothes off and Uncle Brody take his clothes off, and they can cuddle on one couch?”
I catch Brody’s eye again, and he raises an eyebrow.
Screw the tea and blankets. That one tiny gesture makes heat whoosh through me like a flamethrower.
Not content with the first reading, Ethan takes another. “It’s easier to monitor their vitals this way,” he says to Martha.
“But Daddy, if they were lying on top of each other, then you wouldn’t have to keep moving,” she says, as if the logic is inescapable.
Mia snorts and turns it into a cough.
“Are you sick, Aunt Mia?” Martha continues.
“Only in the head,” Hudson mutters.
Martha’s interruption breaks the spell Ethan has cast over the room.
“I’m gonna get a pot of clam chowder on,” Mom says. “There’s enough for everyone twice over, so I hope you all stay for dinner. If anyone wants a drink, just holler.”
“I’ll help,” Mia says.
“Me too,” Harper, Cara, and Marv say at the same time.
Within a few seconds, everyone runs from the hottest room in the house, leaving Brody and me on our respective couches with Ethan hovering.
He takes Brody’s hand out to check his pulse.
Without anyone in the room watching me, I shamelessly eye-fuck the man who told me he was in love with me when we were growing up.
The look Brody gives me in return takes my breath away. It promises that the kiss that rocked my world last night was only a taste of what he intends to unleash as soon as we’re alone.
“Hmm,” Ethan says, staring at Brody’s wrist. “Much stronger.”
Brody raises an eyebrow at me again, and I shove my hands under my backside to stop them from moving between my legs.
Ethan tucks Brody’s hand back under the blankets like he’s trying to buy time.
Now that Billy’s safe, my anger toward my brother is receding, replaced with empathy for the man he is now and everything he’s been through. He’s far from old, but the lines around his eyes speak of the grief in his heart that never seems to lessen.
“I’m sorry for what I said to you,” I begin. “I—”
Ethan holds up a hand. “No. Don’t apologize.”
He’s still on high alert, his gaze fixed on the floor, the muscles in his forearms tensed as his hands form into fists.
“I … I need to think about what you said, but I can’t do it now. There’s no space,” he says.
I know what he means. The shock and stress of the day is going to take time to fade.
“But I need to apologize to both of you for not listening to Brody. I was wrong. I was panicking and shouldn’t have dismissed you the way I did.”
“It’s cool, man,” Brody says.
“No, it’s not. I’m sorry.”
Ethan’s gaze flicks to the door leading to the kitchen, and I know he’s finding it difficult to have Martha out of his sight.
“What’s Brody’s temperature right now?” I ask.
“Ninety-six.”
“So no longer mildly hypothermic?”
“No. But—”
“What about mine?”
He checks it again. “Ninety-eight.”
“So normal, then.”
“It should be ninety-eight point six.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, and reach a hand out from the covers to squeeze his. “We’ll be fine. Go see Martha.”
Ethan doesn’t immediately reply. I can sense his hesitation, so I squeeze his hand a little harder. “It’s okay. And thank you for taking such good care of us.”
He stands and drags a hand down his face, but his feet don’t move.
“We’ll be fine. I promise.”
“Thanks, bud,” Brody says.
“You need to keep resting. Keep warm. Fluids. Hot food. More rest,” Ethan tells him, ticking off each point on his fingers.
“We will.”
“And game night is canceled. Sorry.”
Brody glances at me, and I nod. “Tomorrow?” he says.
My brother’s shoulders relax a little. “That’d be great. But only if you’re better.”
“I’m sure I will be.”
Ethan nods, then gives the room another once-over to make sure there are no hidden dangers, like an open window.
As soon as the door closes behind him, Brody’s on his feet, the mountain of covers tumbling to the floor.
“What are you—”
He takes the top comforter off me and bundles it into a ball. “This one’s in the wrong place.”
“And where should it be?” I ask, my heart rate rising.
“On our bed.”
He tears off his woolly hat, then holds out his free hand. “I don’t know about you, but I’d quite like to ignore Ethan’s advice right now and follow Martha’s.”
I drop my own hat to the floor and take his hand, a zing of electricity running up my arm at the contact. Brody pulls me to my feet and brings my body flush with his.
“You sure?” I ask breathlessly. “Are you fully recovered?”
His answer is to pull me closer against a part of him that’s operating at peak efficiency. “I never would have chosen for this to happen with a houseful of people downstairs, but right now, nothing’s more important to me than being alone with you.”
My heart is beating double time, and all I can do is nod. I can’t think about the future. All I can do is run headlong into the moment I’ve dreamed of my whole life.
Brody steps back and frowns at his bare chest, still dirty from rescuing Billy. “I’m gonna have to take a quick shower.”
I lean into him. “Need any assistance?”
His breath hitches, and then he growls, “Fuck yeah.”
He kisses down my neck, his lips like fire, and my legs begin to buckle.
A loud laugh erupts from the kitchen, and I push him back. “Quick! Before one of them comes back to check on us.”
Like teenagers sneaking around, we stifle our own laughter and tiptoe upstairs. Brody tosses the comforter into our room, then takes my hand and pulls me into the bathroom.
The moment the door closes behind us, I’m on him like my pussy’s got an itch, and he’s my scratching post. I wrap my arms around him and crush my lips against his.
His tongue meets mine, and I swear my mouth is having an orgasm right now. It’s like fireworks, with every fizz and bang ricocheting inside me until I’m shaking.
Brody’s got one hand threaded through my hair, keeping my mouth on his, and the other tugging down the zipper of his pants. I help by reaching inside to free his cock, moaning when I finally wrap my hands around it, like I’ve found the Holy Grail of dicks after a lifetime of searching.