Chapter 12
Twelve
Tobin was here. Outside her door.
Why in the hell did I agree to this? Glutton for punishment, much?
A quick adjustment—five minutes—then back to the dance party. In, out, no emotions.
Grier took a fortifying breath and swung the door open.
Her resolve failed her the very second she saw Tobin, hunched over the shorter woman Grier recognized from the photo in Tobin’s cockpit. Her sister, she reminded herself.
Tobin’s olive complexion had turned ashy, her skin faintly clammy. She was in obvious pain, but even that didn’t blunt the pull of her presence.
Grier’s eyes betrayed her, tracing the line of camo joggers that bunched loosely at Tobin’s calves before tapering up to the rounded curves of her ass.
A simple cream cotton V-neck clung to her frame, sheer enough to reveal the hot pink of a sports bra beneath.
Her torso was covered with a faded navy hooded zip-up, hanging loose around her collar bone.
The beguiling tattoo sleeve on Tobin’s left arm was hidden beneath the zippy, much to Grier’s disappointment—but she was recompense with intrigue when her eyes caught a flash of ink peeking along Tobin’s left clavicle, ghosting through the thin fabric of her shirt.
“Hi,” Tobin offer sheepishly.
Grier nodded, uncertain she could trust her voice. The emotions she’d tried to bury were boiling too close to the surface. Somehow, she managed a terse, “Come in.”
She felt cold—disengaged. She’d built a wall against this woman, something she’d fought ridiculously hard to stop doing after Nora’s death, and something she’d instinctively returned to after Tobin’s curt, inexplicable text message following the gala.
She’d treat Tobin, sure—but she didn’t have to make it pleasant.
The women hobbled over the threshold, immediately met with the wide-eyed stares of Grier’s family.
“Tobin, nice to see you again,” Grant offered, attempting to raise the temperature in the room.
“Hi, Grant. Sorry to crash your evening.” Tobin’s voice was soft. Grier could see the embarrassment in Tobin’s demeanor, even as she clung to her sister.
It didn’t matter. She should be embarrassed. Grier refused to allow this woman to yo-yo her heart.
“Hi, Captain Maes!” Delta bounded over, blissfully oblivious to the tension thickening the air. Lake followed close behind, tail wagging, whining excitedly after approaching Harrow and then Tobin for introductory sniffs. She yipped when her wet nose met Tobin’s outstretched hand.
“Hi, baby! It’s good to see you again!”
The entire room looked at Tobin with widened eyes.
“You know our dog?” Delta asked, confusion creasing her brow. “I’d recognize this gorgeous girl anywhere. You rescued her from Fetch a Friend, yeah?”
Delta nodded excitedly. “Yeah! Lake was rescued by them before we brought her home.”
“I know.” Tobin’s voice softened. “She flew in my helicopter after we pulled her from her previous home.” And quieter, “If you can call that a home.”
She looked down, jaw tight with the memory.
Grant’s tone gentled, filling the silence Tobin left behind. “They didn’t tell us more than the basics when we adopted her, but they implied it was pretty bleak.”
Tobin gave a small nod, still not meeting his eyes. “Yeah. Not worth repeating.” After a beat, she added, “But I’m grateful she found a forever family.”
Grier noticed Grove’s standoffish posture—hips cocked, arms crossed, eyes piercing Tobin as she stood there, vulnerable in her pain. Grier met Grove’s gaze and, like only sisters could, held an entire conversation through eyelids, eyebrows and dilated pupils.
Grier: Behave.
Grove: I am behaving. She hurt you.
Grier: I know, but you still have to be nice.
Grove: A cold shoulder is nice. Comparatively.
Grier: Fine.
Grove: Fine.
“That’s our younger sister, Grove.” Grier nodded toward her sister as she made introductions, then looked to Tobin’s sister, expectantly.
When Tobin didn’t move to make the introduction, the woman stepped forward and extended a hand. “I’m Harrow, Tobin’s sister. I’m very sorry to disrupt your evening, but very grateful you allowed it. To be honest, I kind of forced her to call you tonight.”
Grier looked to Tobin for confirmation, but she wouldn’t meet her eyes.
This was not off to a great start. The tension in the room was palpable.
It was obvious both of them had shared at least partial narratives with their siblings, and everyone present was feeling a little protective of their respective sister.
Only Harrow seemed entirely at ease tonight—and Grier leaned into that, hoping her confidence might smooth the ripples of insecurity just enough for her to treat Tobin.
When Grier returned her attention to Harrow, the woman continued her explanation.
“Tobin talked so highly of the treatment you did on her arm a few weeks ago. When I picked her up from the rescue, I didn’t know what else to do with her—she just got worse at home.
So, I kind of told her to call you, or I would.
” She shrugged, abashed. “It’s my fault we’re here.
I’m sorry to intrude. I just really didn’t know what else to do. ”
“It’s fine,” Grier said, letting her hackles settle a fraction. “Can you help me get her downstairs to my table? Then, I’m sure Grant and Grove can get you something to drink while you wait.”
They managed to get Tobin downstairs, where Grier had set up her portable treatment table in front of the couch. She hid her smile when she heard Tobin mutter several rather harsh curses under her breath as she fought her way down each step.
“You can sit on the edge of the table,” Grier indicated, with no small amount of reticence.
“Since I’ve never adjusted you before, I’m going to do an exam first. It’ll help me get a feel for what’s going on—and it gives your body the chance to get to know my touch.
There’s no point in treatment if you don’t trust me; it’ll only make things worse.
” She met Tobin’s unwavering gaze and took it as acceptance of her terms.
“Harrow, this is gonna take a bit. Make yourself at home. You can head upstairs with everyone else, or you’re welcome to wait down here—I’m used to an audience.”
Grier watched the silent exchange that passed between the sisters. After a series of eye waggles and shoulder shrugs, Harrow finally reported aloud, “Well, I think I’ll leave you two to it.”
Tobin’s shoulders sagged slightly, and Grier couldn’t ignore the pang of hurt at the understanding that Tobin had lost the argument— wanting Harrow to stay and be a barrier between them.
Harrow made her way up the stairs and shut the door at the top with a soft snick.
They were alone for the first time. Not exactly how Grier had fantasized her first private rendezvous with the captain would begin.
This is so fucked up.
She shoved her feelings aside—for now. She could unpack them later, after Tobin left and she could decompress with her siblings. And chocolate. Or root beer floats.
Grier sighed, steeling her emotions and slipping into doctor mode. She could do this.
“Can you show me where it hurts?” she asked, sitting on the edge of the couch across from Tobin.
Tobin placed her palm on her left low back and slid it down her butt.
“It starts here, above the pelvis, and there’s this deep, constant ache in my butt.
When I sit, there’s a shooting pain from my low back into the butt and down the leg, but it subsides after I settle.
When I walk, if I put any weight on my left leg, I get sharp, shooting pain from my butt down to my ankle.
The inside of my big toe is numb—sometimes tingles. ”
“That all fits with your L4 compression fracture. Have you always had the sciatica with it?” Grier leaned back against the couch, arms crossed—reluctant to show compassion to the woman who’d toyed so viciously with her emotions.
“Yeah, but not in a long time. Mostly in the first few months after the accident. PT really helped.” Tobin couldn’t maintain eye contact.
If Grier were stronger, she’d have forced their eyes to meet— stare straight into her soul and force her to feel the hurt of the last week.
But she wasn’t that strong. She couldn’t bear to look into those swirling green eyes. She feared she’d crash over the very tenuous ledge she was barely clinging to.
“Okay. Can you kick your right leg out without pain?” Grier demonstrated what she wanted. Tobin complied, wordlessly.
“And the other leg?” Tobin tried, but barely moved the leg before she winced.
“What about both legs together?”
Again, Tobin tried, bracing her hands behind her on the table to lift the left leg. It barely wavered before she cursed under her breath.
Grier heard the strain in Tobin’s breathing and forced herself to remain detached. She moved on.
“I’m going to stand behind you. Please cross your arms over your chest.”
Again, Tobin abided wordlessly.
“I’m going to turn your body to the right and then lean you back against me. You’ll feel my hand press over your pelvis. Are you comfortable with that?”
Grier watched Tobin hesitate, stiffen, then nod once. She told herself Tobin was just bracing against the anticipated pain from the orthopedic test—not from her touch. It was a cognitive mind-fuck, suspending her own self-trust like that.
Grier stepped in behind her, reaching around to grip Tobin’s forearm. She positioned her chest against Tobin’s back and gently rotated her, pressing her other hand into the joint at Tobin’s pelvis.
Tobin’s body was rigid in her arms.
“Does this hurt?” Grier asked, her voice softer than it had been moments before.
“Not where you’re pushing. But I can feel it start to sharpen the pain on the other side.” Tobin said, her voice tight with restraint.
Grier shifted her stance to perform the same test on the opposite side. Tobin whined against closed lips as Grier pressed her hand into the joint, feeling substantial warmth and swelling beneath her palm.