9. Joel
Chapter nine
Joel
I yank on the bronze handle and the door slams shut behind me. Jock yips through the side gate as I storm out to the drive. I don’t have any words to offer the trapped dog.
I take my work van, since nothing could make me sleep here tonight, but regardless of this shitstorm, I still have to work tomorrow—while she gets the day off. She’s probably already on the phone with Belinda talking about her awful alpha partner. If we’re even together anymore.
Words ring in my ear, jumbled and harsh, but I can’t seem to string the sentences together. How did we get to this?
I dial Jeremy at every intersection, but he’s not answering. My foot comes off the accelerator as I approach the freeway while deciding if I head for the closest hospital or his home. At the last second I veer across the lanes. His unit is closer.
Twenty minutes later, I run up to my brother's house, out of breath with worry. His gravel driveway’s empty, but of course he won’t have a car.
It’s at the wreckers, most likely. A ceramic gnome sitting beside the front door gives me the middle finger.
I can picture the stupid thing asking so now you decide to visit?
“Jeremy?” I pound on the door. “You in there?”
For a long moment, my heart lodges up in my throat, but then footsteps shuffle inside. The door creaks open.
“Joel?” My brother peers out, voice hoarse as he speaks. “Hey, bro. What brings you here?”
An irritation burns in the back of my eyes. “You had a fucking car accident, that’s what!”
One side of his mouth ticks up with a hint of his iconic smile. “Yeah, guess I did.”
He rubs his jaw, revealing a host of bandages up one arm. Those crisp white strips stained with seeping blood rub me raw inside; I could’ve lost my brother forever. And I didn’t take his calls because I might get in trouble?
“Shit,” I mutter, the guilt blocking my airflow like a phantom sucker punch. “What happened?”
He moves aside to let me enter.
“Um. Lights went green, I took off and then wham!” He slams his palms together. “Not my fault, but here we are.”
I wince. “The truck?”
He shakes his head.
His small apartment closes around us. Single bed under the window, kitchenette clean but piled with mismatched plastic storage containers. One recliner faces the TV cabinet, also piled with junk. His guitar clings to a little shelf in one corner.
“You staying long?” he asks, jerking his thumb toward the sink. “I was about to have some instant noodles.”
I stare at my twin. He’s been in hospital, lost his truck, and now he’s calmly offering to make me ramen? I bark out a harsh laugh.
“What did the hospital say?”
“Oh.” His eyes slide away from mine. “They let me out just a few hours ago. Concussion, apparently, but shouldn’t be too serious.”
He says it like he doesn’t even know for sure.
“Sit down,” I growl, pointing to his faded forest-green recliner. “I’ll do the cooking.”
He doesn’t argue. That’s not his style. In fact, he’s always followed my lead without complaint. I stomp my way through the kitchen, opening cupboards to search for a pot. My alpha intensity steams around me, finally seeping out of lockdown. Even without asking, I know Jeremy won’t mind.
The armchair squeaks as he lowers his big body into it, but I catch his softly hissed breath. He’s in pain.
Silence descends as I put the dehydrated noodle sheets in the pan, add water, and get it on the stove. My shoulders relax and I slump on the bench.
“Sorry, bro,” I say.
Jeremy throws me a quizzical look.
“For not taking your call yesterday. Tracey, she—” I peter out. What kind of man blames his fiancé for his own shitty behavior? “I mean, I should’ve realized you needed me.”
Jeremy shrugs. “It’s okay. I’m all right.”
It’s infuriating how laid back this guy.
I slap my hand down on the bench. “You could’ve died! I saw the wreckage.” I shove away from the bench and push his dirty dishes into the sink.
He studies me, gaze thoughtful. “Yeah, I s’pose I coulda.”
Not sure if I’m imagining it, but I read a challenge in his thoughtful gaze. What would I, his older brother, his twin, have done if he hadn’t made it?
I run hot water and get the dish brush out, scraping at caked-on food stains before giving up and leaving the mess to soak. Can’t blame him for having crusty dishes when he was in hospital overnight.
Or for any of the broken things in my life.
When the water in the pot starts boiling, I crack four eggs in and stir them a little. Half a rotisserie chicken from the back of the fridge gets shredded and thrown on top to heat up, and then I turn the stove off and dish up the food.
Jeremy starts to get up, but I shoo him back into place and take the bed. Reminds me of the old days, sharing a house after moving out of Mom and Dad’s place. The lack in his home also makes me feel guilty for having designer furniture with cup holders and warming technology back at my house.
“Noodles are soggy,” he says.
“Don’t look a damn gift horse in the mouth,” I retort.
He smirks and slurps up the steaming food.
“So,” I start around a mouthful. “Your boss give you time off to recuperate?”
“Nah. I got fired.”
I choke. “’Cause of the accident?”
“Nope. Half an hour before. Came late to work one too many times.”
I stare at him and he sucks his bottom lip in sheepishly. A bubble rises in my throat and when it pops it comes full of laughter. I cackle, choke, and splutter. Instant noodle broth comes out through my nose.
“Fuck!” I wheeze, setting my bowl on the bedside table. “You’re a scream.”
Jeremy shrugs one shoulder, grinning widely. Probably more at me than the situation.
“I’m not actually laughing at you, you know?” I clarify, wiping tears.
“I know. But it’s so me, isn’t it?”
As annoying as my twin is, and clueless about the world, just twenty minutes in his presence has made me forget that my own life is imploding. He’s always had that effect, like the world is simpler when he's around.
“How’s things for you?” he asks. “How’s Tracey?”
“Complete shit,” I say, finally honest with myself. “Scored the biggest electrical contract of my life but I’m exhausted and I think Tracey’s leaving me.”
“Fuck,” he whispers. “Sorry man. I hope it wasn’t because of me?”
“Nah. ‘Course not.”
The fight might’ve been, but that was just an excuse. Either way, I don’t want Jeremy blaming himself.
“Is Jock okay?”
I snort. Trust my dog-loving brother to remember the hound.
“He’s fine, just needs a hell of a lot more exercise.” I scrub one hand through my hair and sigh. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, bro. Seems like, no matter what I do, it’s wrong.”
He scoffs. “You and me both. But I do have a job interview.”
“Oh? Where at?”
He looks away and I immediately know something’s unusual.
“Fess up,” I order, grabbing my bowl and loading up another mouthful.
My brother, no joke, flushes red. “Um, at the Heat Wave clinic.”
Heat Wave? Heat? I tap my lip while my mind catches up. “Holy shit! The place that helps omegas through their heats?” Can’t say why, but my thoughts flick to Tracey’s question about his dick. “For real?”
He nods, still not meeting my eye.
“Well, you’re built for it. Those omegas don’t know what’s coming for them.”
“Stop it!” He throws a wadded-up shirt at me.
I chuckle, fending it off and setting my bowl on the windowsill. “All right, all right. My bad. But fuck.” A chain reaction of word play sets off in my head. “Well, fucking’s kinda the point, right?”
Jeremy leaps out of his seat and tackles me. I laugh as he closes a choke around my throat.
“Mercy, mercy! And are you even supposed to be walking around?”
He cranks it tighter in warning before releasing me.
“Guess your concussion can’t be too bad then?” I mutter as I roll into an upright position, massaging my throat.
He glares at me, but his heart isn’t in it. “I said it wasn’t.”
I grab my bowl and shovel down more food, the easy meal meeting a need that oysters and smoked salmon haven’t been able to satisfy for months. “W’ens ya in’view?”
“Tomorrow.”
My noodles slop into the bowl, spraying hot droplets as I freeze. “Tomorrow?” My gaze flies to his bandage-covered arms. “Are you shittin’ me?”
He shakes his head.
I force down a groan. “Dude, your arms! You’re a mess.”
He glances down like he only just thought about his injuries. “Oh. This probably won’t look good, right?”
His crestfallen expression batters at the guilt already lingering in my heart. “Let’s ring Mom. She’ll tell us what to do and I’ll go to the store for you.”
His jaw works, but then he nods. “Okay.”
I dial Mom, more guilt piling on as I realize it’s been three weeks since I called home.
“Joel, honey? How lovely to hear from you!”
Just her voice makes me smile. “Hey, Mom.”
Jeremy hisses at me, wagging one finger and miming driving a car. I shake my head and point at the TV, but he crosses his forearms in a big no.
“Is something up?” Mom asks.
Mothers always know.
“I’m here with Jeremy.” I pop the phone on loudspeaker. “We’re hanging out and eating noodles.”
My brother leans closer. “Hi, Mom!”
“Wow, both my boys together. Sounds like fun. I’ll be right over.”
We laugh, since she’s three hundred miles away.
“Here’s the thing. Jeremy’s got some scratches on his arms, and we need to know what’s the fastest way to heal them up.”
“You okay? What happened?” she asks, striking fast.
“I’m all good, Mom,” Jeremy says, flashing me another meaningful I told you so look. “Just surface scratches.”
“Okay. If you’re bleeding, sprinkle cayenne pepper on it.
Honey will deal with any infection, if it’s still raw.
Otherwise, a comfrey salve or aloe vera gel.
And drink some rosemary tea, if you can get your hands on it.
” She rustles around. “I’ve got some here.
Want me to send you a pack? Too late to send today, but I could post it in the morning? ”
I glance at Jeremy, but he shakes his head.
“Nah, that’s okay. We’ll find something here,” I say.
“Okay.” Doubt darkens her voice. “And you’re really okay? Do you need me to fly up there?”
We share a grin loaded with years of memories. Mom’s a worrier.
“Don’t come, Mom,” Jeremy says. “We’ve both got too much going on to host you.”
He’s right. I’m the only one with a spare bedroom, and there’s no way I can take her back there, when Tracey’s raging. If I even have a home to return to. An icy tingle lodges in my belly.
Mom goes quiet for a minute and I check my watch. “Mom, I’m gonna go race to the shops before things shut. Thanks so much for the advice.”
“Any time, darlings. And it’s so nice to hear you’re hanging out together. Your dad and I’ve been worried about you both. Oh! And look for some Glory Oil, if you can. That’s great for scars.”
It’s harder to hang up than I thought. Even Mom and Dad noticed how much I’d drifted apart from my brother.
I jump to my feet and rinse my bowl, Tracey’s scolding about dirty dishes ringing in the back of my mind even when she’s not around. Every little thing reminds me of her.
“I’ll be back,” I promise, swinging my keys around one finger. “Anything else you need?”
Probably a dumb question . . . I bet there’s heaps he needs.
Jeremy shakes his head.
I drop by the pharmacy and then the garden center, hunting for ingredients.
Mom always says fresh Aloe Vera is better than the tube stuff, so I grab the biggest plant on display.
I haven’t had much to do with gardening since Tracey and I finished our landscaping, but it’s oddly normal to be digging through pot plants and breathing in the combination of citrus leaves and jasmine vines.
Reminds me of my childhood.
On my way back, I spy a pickup with a For Sale sign on it. The guy only wants five grand, which probably makes it a piece of shit, but I can do this much for my brother who almost died, right? The seller even agrees to deliver it the six miles to Jeremy’s unit.
As I pull up outside Jeremy’s place, my phone rings—the dial tone signaling it’s my fiancé.
My gut tightens. Did she see I spent $5000? I thought I paid for it with my personal account. If it’s not that, then is this the final blow to end our relationship?
I swipe across the screen to answer, cold tingles trickling through my chest.