22. This Isnt the Bigs
Chapter 22
This Isn't the Bigs
“Is something going on between you and Chelsea Selkirk?”
Reece stared at his phone before answering Shane. “Where the hell did that come from?” He thought his buddy had phoned because he’d heard about Neve’s spill, but he quickly understood the real reason for Shane’s call. The question threw him off-kilter.
Neve was zonked out in her room, and he was standing in her kitchen, looking out the window at bare tree limbs crusted in ice.
“She was leaving Neve’s clinic just as I pulled up, and they were arguing about something. When I walked her to her car, Chelsea started drilling me about you.”
Oh shit! “Did she say what she wanted at the clinic?”
“Something about a cat she thought was hers?”
What? Was Chelsea Mr. Whiskers’s so-called owner? And if she was, was she responsible for the poor cat’s condition? What had she said to Neve? For that matter, what had she told Shane?
Reece’s shoulders kinked, and he reached back to rub at the spot. “Huh. Didn’t know she was into cats.”
“Me neither.”
“So what kinds of questions was she asking about me?” Reece held his breath.
“All personal shit, like where you were these days, what you’d been up to, some other lame questions. Stuff she doesn’t normally ask about anyone, which is why I was wondering about you and her.”
“Not sure why she was asking you those questions. There’s absolutely nothing going on between us.” Total truth.
Skepticism flickered in Shane’s eyes before he changed direction. “Are you going to the parade tonight?”
Now Reece’s shoulders eased a fraction. Chelsea hadn’t said anything to Shane about Reece and Neve’s so-called marriage, or the deputy sheriff surely would have chased that juicy lead. Reece might have laughed out loud at his clueless friend if he’d been in a joking mood.
“I don’t think so. Neve needs to stay put. I’m pretty sure she’s rocking a concussion.”
“She got it trying to knock you down, I heard. What did you do to piss her off?”
“Who says she was pissed at me?” Too late, he realized his tone was tellingly defensive. He was going to have to rein in his reactions.
“Right. She was gunning for you because she wanted to save you from a hawk that landed on your shoulder. Stitches?”
“Didn’t need ’em. I used Liquid Stitch. Look, I gotta go check on her.”
“Okay. Mind if I stop by later to say hi?”
“You just saw me.”
“I’m not talking about you, dumbass. I want to make sure Neve’s okay.”
Reece bristled. “I’m taking care of her, so she’s okay. Having visitors right now will just wear her out.”
Shane scoffed. “Gee, Dad, is it all right if I text her?”
“Later. She’s sleeping right now, and I don’t want you—or anyone else—waking her up. ”
“Who are you talking to?”
Reece whirled. Neve slouched against the doorframe in leggings, oversized wool socks, and a clingy T-shirt that made it obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra. He lifted his eyes to hers the moment he realized they were lingering somewhere they shouldn’t be. Fortunately, she was too busy yawning to notice.
“I’m talking to Shane. He wants to know how you’re doing.”
She flapped a hand. “Tell him I’m fine.”
“Hear that?” Reece barked into the phone.
“Yeah. So it shouldn’t be a problem if I call her,” Shane deadpanned.
“Yes, it is. She doesn’t know what’s good for her.” Reece hung up and slid Neve a side-eye, taking in her knotted eyebrows—which she rubbed smooth with her fingers.
“How’s the chin?” With a flesh-colored bandage covering the wound, it was barely noticeable.
“Hurts like hell. And I have a wicked headache.” She stretched her arms over her head, giving him an excellent view of what the thin fabric couldn’t hide. This time he didn’t look away. She didn’t seem to care, and he needed this … treat. God, did he ever. Which made him a total perv, but somehow he was okay with that. She was his wife after all—not for long, maybe, but didn’t that give him some privileges?
Her frown returned. “What time do we leave for the parade?”
“We’re not going to the parade. You’re in no condition, and I’m your charge nurse, so I’m staying with you to be sure you behave.”
“God, you’re a killjoy.”
He grinned. “Ain’t I, though? Good thing too.”
“Who won the game?”
“No idea. Does it matter?”
“Yes,” she pouted. “I want my foot massage.”
“We’ll work out something.” He covered the distance between them and lifted her eyelids with his thumb pad.
“I want to see the ice sculptures.”
“They’ll be there for a while. If you’re a good girl and do everything I tell you, I’ll take you to see them in a day or two.”
“ Everything you tell me?”
He didn’t answer because too many dirty ideas bombarded his brain. Just kept looking in her eyes, dragging it out way longer than he really needed to, while the floral scent of her shampoo or her skin or whatever the hell it was floated pleasantly up his nose.
“What do you think, Doc ?” she prodded. Her warm breath caressed his cheek; he was that close.
“I’d say you’ve got a grade-three concussion, Doc , and that you need to climb back into bed.”
“It’s a grade-one at the very worst, and not until you and I have a little talk.”
Uh-oh. Stepping back, he wrapped a hand around his nape. “About what?”
“Chelsea Selkirk.” She crossed her arms over her chest. He was both disappointed and grateful at the same time.
With a nod, he motioned for her to sit at the kitchen table. “How about I make us some tea? Are you cold?” Before she could answer, he grabbed a coat from a peg beside the back door and threw it over her shoulders.
She yanked it into place. “I guess I must be. Thanks, Nurse Nightingale.”
“Don’t mention it.” He put the kettle on to boil. “I’ll tell you about Chelsea as long as you tell me what that was all about back at the rink—and why she came to see you.”
“That’s not fair. You want to trade one piece of information for two.”
“Okay. Since we’re keeping score, think of something else you want to ask me.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be helping Charlie put up lights at the depot?”
“Really? That’s your other ‘thing’? That’s kinda like Aladdin wasting a wish asking what the weather’s like.”
“Haha. That wasn’t the question. I’m still trying to come up with one. Give me time. I’m a little slow right now.”
“Charlie’s taking care of the lights. I’m staying here with you. While you’re trying to figure out what to ask me, tell me what kind of tea you like.” He opened a cabinet and pulled down an assortment of boxes.
“You know where everything is now, don’t you?”
“Almost. I still haven’t figured out where you hide the good bourbon.”
“I don’t have any good bourbon.”
“Must be why I can’t find it.”
She laughed and immediately let out a little mewl. “Don’t be funny. It hurts. ”
“That’s what they told me when I tried to do stand-up.”
“Is she the reason you’re going to Vermont?”
Nothing like zooming from Point A to Point Z. “I think we covered that one already.”
She squirmed in her seat as she rearranged the coat so it fit her shoulders more snugly. “Well, I didn’t get a satisfactory answer.”
“I’ll try to find one for you. In the meantime, I want to know what happened at the clinic today.”
“You go first.”
“Should we decide with rock, paper, scissors?”
“Never mind,” she huffed.
“I take it Chelsea was the one who contacted you about Mr. Whiskers?”
“She was. And it was a complete ruse. She used the cat to get to you . Or to get information about you.”
“Did she say anything about us … about what happened in Vegas?”
“Oh yeah. She wanted—no, demanded—to know if it was true. When I reminded her that you told her when she called you, she insisted you called her .”
Reece shook his head. “I didn’t call her.”
“You don’t have to defend yourself to me. I know you didn’t,” Neve agreed. She slumped forward with an extended exhale. “Once I figured out who she was and what she was up to, I told her to leave. She said she wanted me to give you a message, so I handed her a pen and some paper and told her to write it down, but she didn’t. So I’m sorry, I have no idea what she wanted to say to you.” Neve sat stone-still for a few beats. “Are you going to ask her what she wanted?”
“Nope.”
“You’re not even a little curious?”
“I don’t have the slightest speck of curiosity.” Maybe because he already knew what Chelsea wanted: to rekindle a fire that didn’t exist. And even if it had caught, her view of fidelity would have doused it like a Rocky Mountain thunderstorm.
He glanced over at Neve as he added tea bags to two cups. “That’s something I’ve always liked about you.”
Her eyes widened with surprise. “What? ”
“You say what you mean. You don’t play games, and you don’t hold back. You don’t let anyone push you around, even when you’re wrong.”
“Excuse me?”
He chuckled. “C’mon, you’re not right all the time. Like trying to knock me down today. You wanted to take out your frustration on me after Chelsea turned out not to be the cat’s owner.” The kettle whistled, and he filled their mugs with steaming water. “That’s really what got you fired up, wasn’t it? It wasn’t that she showed up looking for me. It was about Mr. Whiskers.” Neve’s blush told him he was on the right track.
“Do you always have to be so damn … perfect ?”
He let his surprise show. “Perfect? No way. Anything but.” But it gave him a ridiculously warm feeling that she might possibly think so.
As he delivered the tea to the table, he gently tugged on a hank of her loose blond hair. He’d done it a million times before, but it felt different this time. He’d never noticed how it brushed his fingers like fine silk threads, how it shimmered like the lights of a sprawling city when you saw it from miles up in the air.
“I need my secrets, damn it, and you seem to guess them all,” she grumbled.
While he might have known Neve his entire life, he didn’t really know her. She was made up of one beguiling layer after another, and he was overcome with an urge to peel them back slowly, one by one.
The pink in her cheeks deepened, and she blew on her tea, averting her eyes. He was looking at embarrassed Neve, though the reason for her discomfort escaped him, and every fiber in his being wanted to understand. See? Layers.
She wasn’t wearing makeup today, and her golden-brown lashes were thick and long, accentuating the stone-washed-denim hue of her irises. Suddenly, he wanted to write a song about those eyes. A tune wound itself around him, followed by a sprinkle of words brimming with love. And he wasn’t a songwriter.
What the hell is the matter with me? He needed to stop the poetic rantings in his head.
She lifted those eyes to his, and a plea lingered there. A shred of memory floated to the surface of his brain. Her eyes had looked that same way the instant before he had kissed her in Vegas. A floodgate of recollection opened up, and he could feel the softness of her lips against his, the taste of her tongue teasing his, how her skin had smelled like flowers and vanilla. How perfectly her sensuous curves had fit him.
“Okay, here’s the thing.” She canted her head. “Are you listening to me?”
He cleared his throat. “Of course I’m listening. What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Looks like you’re miles away, and you have this dopey look on your face. What I have to say is important, and I need your attention. I need you to be serious. I have a confession to make.”
He focused on the bridge of her nose to keep from losing himself in her eyes. “I’m all ears.” I can do this.
She went on to tell him that anger had clouded her judgment. Between being mad about Chelsea’s blindside and upset that Mr. W hadn’t found his forever home—while reliving the condition he’d been in when Cade had first brought him in—she had taken a run at Reece on the ice. “I thought it would make me feel better.”
He raised his mug to hide the amusement that surely showed in his expression. “And how did that turn out?”
“Obviously, it didn’t turn out well. It was a stupid thing to do, and I want to apologize for letting myself get carried away like that. I should have kept my emotions under control instead of trying to take it out on you by checking you into the boards. Not that we actually have boards, and not that I was actually trying to hurt you. I just wanted to knock you down.” The corners of her mouth twitched. “You’re kind of like a brick wall. And for the record, I’m glad I’m the one who got hurt and not you.”
“Well, I’m not glad it turned out that way. You scared the hell out of me.”
“I did?”
“How can you act so surprised? Of course you did. I about had a heart attack seeing you in a motionless heap on the ice.”
Her eyes filled with something akin to confusion. “Oh.”
“What?”
“Didn’t know you cared.”
His mouth dropped open. “Seriously? Neve, if I didn’t care, I wouldn’t have stuck around all week. I wouldn’t have panicked on the ice. I wouldn’t have married you.”
Oops .
Walls had been crumbling all week long, starting with the wedding, where the alcohol had torn away his inhibitions and allowed him to give in to what he was pretty damn sure had been staring him in the face all along. Had Neve been Chelsea or any other woman, those walls would have stayed firmly intact. But this was Neve, his oldest and best friend. Neve had pulled down those walls.
Moments passed to the ticking of a clock and sipping of tea as Reece contemplated this shiny new revelation. Its presence didn’t exactly sit well with him.
Neve cradled her cup in her hands. “I’ve got to admit it was interesting meeting your love interest … former love interest. Other than our high school prom queen—”
“She wasn’t a girlfriend.”
“Which one do you mean?”
“Both.” The prom queen had been a passing crush, a curiosity, a challenge—as in, could seventeen-year-old Reece do the prom queen? Immature, testosterone-driven stuff. Chelsea had been about testosterone-driven urges too, though he’d conducted himself in less of an asshat manner. Or maybe not, judging by the lingering results.
Like he had with the prom queen and every other hookup since—not there had been that many—he’d fallen into a pattern where his interest in a woman peaked and quickly waned. Would he have behaved differently if, instead of the prom queen, he had chased Neve in high school? The answer reared up and hit him square between the eyes.
Yes.
Neve yanked him from his convoluted musing. “I’m a little surprised you got involved with your incident commander.” He cocked a questioning eyebrow. “You’re usually so practical. Didn’t it occur to you that things might go off the rails and get awkward at SAR?”
“It did.” He swallowed an uncomfortable knot. “But we talked about that possibility beforehand, so I thought we were on the same page. I also believed things would eventually fizzle out and go back to the way they were before.” He held up his hand. “Don’t say it. I was an idiot.”
To his relief, the look she gave him was one of benign appraisal rather than one that telegraphed she thought he was a dumbass. “What did you see in Chelsea?”
He opened his mouth and closed it again .
Neve’s brow lifted slightly. “You can tell me. No judgment here.”
“Sex,” he blurted out. “It was about sex with someone who could relate to my world.” If she hadn’t before, Neve now knew what a complete douchebag he was. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
Oddly, her face didn’t give away any emotion. No surprise, no disgust, no pity. “Would you have admitted that to anyone else?”
“Hell no!”
“Then I’m flattered.”
Not the reaction he expected. “Because?”
She took a thoughtful sip of tea. “It means you feel comfortable enough with me to be honest. I know how closely you hold everything to the vest, and I consider it an honor that you trust me.”
“I’ve known you my whole life,” he reasoned.
“You’ve known Micky his whole life too. Would you have shared that with him?”
“Good point. I wouldn’t even share that with my brothers.” They probably truly believed he was a virgin. Ha! Reece sat back and sighed. “So you don’t think I’m a douche?”
“I didn’t say that.” A cute little smirk curved her rosy mouth—a mouth he was spending way too much time looking at, with memories of how it had felt against his haunting him.
“So you do think I’m a douche.”
“I didn’t say that either. What I do think is that you’re not this impenetrable tower of superhuman strength and that you’re as normal as the rest of us. I see you, Reece Hunnicutt. Know what else? Chelsea’s not the only one who can relate to your world. Others might not be in the same field as you, but we get it.”
Her words rang with truth and washed another wave of warmth over him. He turned cold with her next remark.
“We all need that physical connection from time to time.”
The thought of Neve having a “physical connection” with anyone made his stomach turn over. “Even you?” he prodded, though he couldn’t figure out why he wanted to torture himself.
She nodded. “Even me.”
“But not with Cantrell.”
“Not with Leo Cantrell. At least not yet. ”
A burst of fury detonated inside him. “But you’re not seeing him anymore.” His words held a keen edge he hadn’t intended.
“Not while I’m married. I’m not seeing anyone. But once this thing with us”—she motioned between them with two fingers—“is over and done with, who knows? I wouldn’t mind finding out if he and I can pick up where we left off.”
“Cantrell’s not good enough for you, Neve,” he growled—with intention this time.
She straightened her shoulders.
Against his own better judgment, Reece barreled ahead. “He’s a pretty boy with more money than brains.”
“Which must explain why he’s got more money than God,” she deadpanned. “No brains involved there at all.”
Heat simmered in his veins—not the good kind. “Does money mean that much to you?”
“You’re twisting my words, Reece. Money’s important to me insofar as it keeps the lights on, but I’m no gold digger, if that’s what you’re implying.”
His lungs deflated. “No, that’s not what I meant. I just … You need someone who’s good enough for you.” And sadly, that someone wasn’t him either.
“So tell me. What gives you the authority to decide who is and isn’t good enough?”
“No one gave me the authority. I took it.” He chuckled, hoping she’d join in on the joke. When she didn’t, he launched into his argument. “It’s just that I know a lot about you. For instance, I know that, given a choice, you’ll pick coffee chip ice cream over any other flavor. I also know that your favorite baseball team is the San Francisco Giants—though exactly why they are is a mystery I have yet to solve. You also think your legs are too short—”
“Stubby.”
“Yeah, stubby—except they’re not, but that’s a discussion for a different day. There are more facts where those came from. I guess you could say I’m a Neve Embry expert, which empowers me with some level of authority.”
“That’s a load of BS,” she scoffed .
“Is it, though, when you’ve been friends with someone your whole life? You keep claiming the same authority, saying how you know this and that about me because we grew up together.”
She didn’t have a comeback, and she huffed. “You’re looking mighty proud of yourself over there, Reece Hunnicutt.”
“As I should.” He put an extra helping of smug into his smile before raising his cup to his lips.
She slid him a calculating side-eye that put his warning systems on alert. “Since we’re such good friends who know so much about each other, why didn’t you come knocking on my door when you were looking for sex?”
Tea spewed from his mouth. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
He wiped the tea from his chin with the back of his hand. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not. Why wouldn’t you approach someone you know, that you share that warm, fuzzy, safe space with? I’m not trying to put you on the spot. I’m genuinely curious.”
“Because …” He was about to say because she was like a sister to him, except she wasn’t. Probably never had been and certainly wasn’t anymore. He’d recently moved her out of that category he’d cast her in years ago. “Because we are good friends, and I wouldn’t want to destroy that. Sex and friendship—not a good combination.”
“If not sex and friendship, then what? Who says you can’t be best friends and lovers too? I mean, lots of people talk about marrying their best friends. Didn’t Noah say something like that when he and Hailey exchanged vows? Doesn’t your mom make bones about friendship being the foundation for a strong marriage, yada, yada? Not that I’m implying sex between friends should lead to marriage.”
“Are you forgetting that it did? Not the sex part. The friends part.”
She flapped a hand at him. “I’m not talking about a drunken night in Vegas.”
“Well, I am. That never would have happened if we’d been strangers.”
“People who don’t know each other get married in Vegas all the time.”
“ People do. Not you and me. We know each other too well.” What he didn’t say was that sleeping with Neve wouldn’t be having sex—it would be something profoundly different. Soul-deep and terrifying, and probably like no other encounter he’d ever had. Therefore, it could never, ever happen.
She rubbed her fingers over her forehead. “You’re making my head hurt.”
“Sorry. I guess what I’m trying to say is that if I were ever to marry anyone, it would be you, Neve.” That was his heart talking, and he couldn’t have shut it up if he’d tried. In fact, he was one big flailing failure lately when it came to corralling his emotions. They seemed to be leaking out of him like a punctured water bag.
Her eyes misted over. “Oh.”
They held each other’s gazes for long strokes of the clock, and an undeniable electrical charge built up between them, crackling in the suddenly thick air. Unable to stop himself, he reached out his fingers and lightly traced the side of her face, down her jawline just short of the bandage, feathering them over lips he wanted to taste.
Her phone rang, breaking the spell, and he yanked his hand away.
“Oh, hi, Leo.” Her eyes widened in surprise. “You heard? No, I’m fine. Yes, I saw where you called the other day. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to hit you back.” She shrugged and turned her body away from Reece. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were going to be at the parade. Was that the reason you called?” She nodded. “I wish I could, but I’ve been told to stay home.” She fired a glare over her shoulder.
Countering the urge to snatch the phone from her hands and yell at Cantrell to stop sniffing around—she was a married woman, for God’s sake!—Reece rose from his chair and stepped outside. Maybe the chilly air would calm down his runaway libido. Telling himself that lusting after his best friend—who was suffering from a concussion , for fuck’s sake—wasn’t getting it done. Logic didn’t seem to have a seat at this table.
Which led him to the unavoidable conclusion that Pandora’s box was now wide open, with all his secrets strewn around him. He was so screwed.