Still Crushing on His Best Friend’s Older Sister: Cates Brothers # 2

by Kilraine, Lee

  Quinn grunted. “I think I might be insulted.”

  “Why? Was it you?” She stared at his lips as if this would reveal the truth.

  “I don’t kiss and tell.”

  “See, you don’t even know. I told you y’all needed name tags.”

  “I’d say you need some more coffee.”

  Delaney looked around the floor at all the wineglasses and coffee cups lined up. “Oh, good gravy, I know what I need more than coffee.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The bathroom. Help me up,” Delaney said. “No! Do. Not. Touch. The. Legs. Just grab my hands and pull.”

  Quinn gently pulled her up by her hands. He kept holding on to her while she swayed precariously.

  “Okey dokey. Step out of the way, Great Wall of China.” She looked up at him as she pushed against his chest. “Someone’s been working out.”

  He watched her limp and sway down the hallway, then followed after her looking for the bedroom. The faster he could pack some clothes for her, the easier this might be. Her bedroom was practically bare. The dresser had clothes in only two of its six drawers. One drawer held bras, underwear, and socks. The other drawer held sweats. Four pair of dark grey sweatpants, six grey sweatshirts, and a stack of T-shirts. Huh.

  Opening the closet he found two suitcases on the floor and one pair of gym shoes. He grabbed the suitcases and laid them on the bed. He pulled the newer blue one forward, figuring if everything fit in it, he wouldn’t need to take the banged-up suitcase.

  “Don’t open that!” Delaney yelled from the doorway. She moved into the room to open the battered yellow suitcase but turned to squint at him suspiciously. “Wait. What are you doing?”

  “I’m helping you pack so I can take you home. Remember, Greer sent me to get you? She really needs you at home.”

  “She does?” Delaney looked up into Quinn’s face. “Why?”

  “Because,” he said, quickly reaching for the yellow suitcase to start packing while she was distracted.

  “Because? Clearly you weren’t the brother on the debate team.” She stood and hummed a few notes from the Sesame Street theme song, then stopped. “Why didn’t she mention it on the phone?”

  “You know Greer—she’s bad at asking for help.” Had he just said that? Hell, Greer had no problem asking for help. Help paint her kitchen, help fix her speeding ticket . . . help Delaney.

  “Okay. I can come down for a day or two to help Greer.”

  Quinn scooped up her sweats from the drawer and threw them into the case. He figured he’d hurry while Delaney was being cooperative. He reached in to grab her underthings out of the last drawer.

  “Gah! Take your hands off my panties,” she squeaked.

  “If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that,” Quinn said.

  “Get your hands out of my drawers.”

  “Yeah, that too.” He backed away to make room for her.

  Delaney scowled at him as she finished packing her drawer of underwear, trying to hold it close to her chest so he wouldn’t see it.

  “That it?”

  She pointed to the framed photograph next to her bed and snapped her fingers, pointing at it again. She was either too mad to talk to him or too tipsy to remember her nouns. Both were a possibility. He went over and snagged the frame. Giving it a quick glance, he saw it was a recent photograph of Greer. He tossed it in the suitcase on top of the unmentionables. “Bathroom?”

  “No, I already went, thank you.”

  “Do you have anything to pack in the bathroom?”

  “Oh, a couple things. You know”—Delaney lowered her voice—“some personal items.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes closed,” Quinn said, then left the room to pack up the bathroom. He made a detour to the kitchen to grab a plastic bag, and then dumped everything he saw in the bathroom into the bag. It wasn’t much. Some shower items, feminine supplies, lip balm, and lots and lots of prescription bottles. Holy hell, Greer had made a good call. He quickly headed back to Delaney’s bedroom, where it was very quiet. He found her lying sideways on the bed as if she had just fallen backwards after sitting down. She was snoring. Quinn crammed the plastic bag of toiletries into the suitcase and closed it up. He leaned over her, nudging her shoulder. “Delaney, wake up. Let’s get going.”

  “Quinn, I haven’t slept in months.” She sat up. “If you could just stay quiet, I think I can finally sleep.”

  “Now that I know there’s no emergency . . .” Except Quinn was pretty sure that once the alcohol wore off, she’d still be a hot mess. From what he had seen tonight, Greer was right about Delaney needing help. “. . . and I know you’re just drunk—”

  “Drunk? I wish. No, that was hours ago. Pretty sure I’ve moved into the hangover stage if this honking headache is anything to go by.” She massaged her forehead and then lay back on the bed again. “Ssssh. I just need to sleep for a week. Or two.”

  “Greer, remember?” He grabbed her hands so he could help her stand.

  “I remember. There’s only one thing though,” she said, not quite steady on her feet.

  “What’s that?” Quinn turned around from picking up the old battered suitcase just as Delaney said, “I think you’ll have to carry me.”

  And then she fell against him, throwing her arms around his neck for support.

  In that moment, holding Delaney in his arms, two things became clear. First, Greer was going to owe him something real big. And second, he was in trouble. Seeing Delaney again, being near her—holy hell, the woman was dangerous. But she needed help. Greer was right about that. So, he’d take her back to Climax and make sure he was never, ever alone with her.

  2

  Delaney sat in the dark kitchen of her childhood home nursing a killer headache. The headache was a small parting gift from being a contestant in the “Delaney Lyons, How Low Can You Go?” game. Turns out . . . pretty low. And considering she was a little sketchy on some of the details, maybe even lower than that.

  She did remember that less than twenty-four hours ago she’d been carried out of her apartment, driven five hours south to her hometown of Climax, North Carolina, force-fed water and aspirin, and shoved into a bed to sleep it off. A few hours after she’d fallen into a restless sleep in Quinn Cates’s guest bedroom, the nightmares had her wide awake and out of the house, driving to the only place open in Climax: a twenty-four hour gym.

  That’s where a fight had broken out. Well, a verbal scuffle, so she’d left at the strong recommendation of the muscle-bound desk attendant. In trying to avoid going to her childhood home, she’d stopped at the library as it opened for the day. Turned out she wasn’t very popular at the library either. It seemed she’d lost her civilized polish along with her left foot.

  “Tell me you didn’t!” Greer yelled before Delaney even heard the front door slam shut behind her.

  Delaney covered her ears, trying to stop Greer’s voice from performing the rest of the lobotomy she herself had started yesterday. She’d known the story would get back to her sister; she just hadn’t thought it would travel so fast. She at least thought she’d get to say hello before the reckoning. What a lousy bunch of tattletales those muscle-bound gym rats were.

  Oh, hell. She knew she couldn’t blame anyone but herself. Ever since the explosion, she was unable to filter her thoughts and impulses. That was the main reason she had stayed put in Washington, D.C.—until Greer had Quinn kidnap her last night. She would totally pin the blame on him, except she, of all people, knew Greer could have sweet-talked Elvis out of his fried peanut butter and banana sandwich.

  So, she would own it. But, dammit, she had spent her whole life protecting Greer and she refused to let the last eight months change that. For Greer, she would paste on a smile and find a leftover crumb of the positive attitude she’d had in the beginning. Back when she’d attacked her rehabilitation each day. Before the anxiety had started. Before the nightmares had arrived and sleep had disappeared. Before all the emotions she�
�d been ignoring had hit like a tsunami, pulling her under.

  She felt like a ticking time bomb. If she couldn’t figure out how to defuse, she sure as hell wanted to be alone when it went off. She sucked in a sharp breath as she realized that if she stayed in Climax she was sure to become a mini-explosion in her sister’s life. No. No way was she going to let that happen.

  “Tell me you didn’t,” Greer said again, only now she was walking toward her through the dim kitchen.

  “I might have.” Delaney squinted when Greer pulled the kitchen blinds up, flooding the table in bright, cleansing light. It probably wasn’t good that Delaney’s first instinct was to scurry into the dark like a roach.

  “Congratulations. You’ve already been kicked out of the gym and the library, upset the sweet little old Simon sisters, gotten a parking ticket, and reignited the old rivalry with your arch nemesis.” Greer stood across the scarred oak table from Delaney with her hands on her hips. “You’ve been in Climax less than twenty-four hours!”

  “Was it good for you too?” She raised her eyebrows. “Or too soon? Premature?”

  “Do not stoop to Climax jokes at a time like this,” Greer said, doing a perfect imitation of a—well, a pissed-off sister. “And tell me you did not drive tipsy.”

  “No. I drove hungover with a bitch of a headache. Did the town pass a law against that in the last eight years?”

  “Why did you get Barbie’s BFF all spooled up at the gym and then leave?”

  “Stacie? I did not get her ‘spooled up.’” Delaney reached out for the mug of coffee in front of her. “I’m pretty sure she was born that way.”

  Greer leaned against the Formica counter next to the sink. “You should have stayed.”

  “That good, huh? Did she blow?” Delaney blew on her coffee and took a sip, hoping the caffeine would have time to beat back her headache before Greer got to the serious stuff. She must have been drunk to have fallen for Quinn’s “Greer needs your help” line. No, she knew why she was here.

  “Oh boy, did she. Like Mount St. Helens.”

  “Did her face turn all red and did she get those frown lines all around her nose so she looked like a raccoon?”

  “She sure did. How did you know?”

  Delaney shrugged. “She used to do that in high school. You know you probably can get the videotape out of the security camera and replay it all in slow motion.”

  “How do you think I know about it?” Greer laughed, but then sobered quickly. “Delaney, you should seriously be ashamed of yourself.”

  “Hey, I went to the gym, didn’t I? How was I supposed to know Stacie works out before eight a.m. and she still hates me like I broke up the Backstreet Boys? So, I left.”

  “After putting in a piss-poor workout. Delaney Lynn Lyons, you know the agreement we have with your doctor.” Greer stared at her sister and raised an eyebrow. “That’s right, you don’t. Because you dropped off the face of the earth for a few weeks. He almost didn’t release you on convalescent leave.”

  “I’m out of bed. That’s more than I managed the last three weeks in D.C. See, you’re helping me already.” Delaney picked up the newspaper sitting in front of her. “Oh, damn, haven’t the Panthers gotten any better since I’ve been gone? They lost by twenty-one.”

  “This isn’t about me. It’s about getting you whole again.”

  Delaney dragged her eyes up from the paper, gazing at Greer with a cocked eyebrow.

  “Sorry. That was a poor choice of words.” Greer sighed. “You know what I mean. Healthy again. I can’t stand how much weight you’ve lost. You need to eat more.”

  “What do you want from me?” Delaney snapped, tossing the newspaper on the table.

  “I want you to fight harder,” Greer said. “Like you did when we were growing up.”

  Delaney took a slow, deep breath. “Well, I’m not sure I have it in me anymore.”

  “I can’t accept that.” Greer’s voice ground out harsh and tense. “You just need to stop trying to do it alone.”

  Delaney dropped her head onto the kitchen table and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to block out her sister’s voice. Greer needed to stop expecting miracles. She didn’t want to tell Greer this might be as good as she gets. She was too afraid to admit that to herself. It was easier to quit than to follow a road paved on false hopes and impossible dreams.

  “You’re my hero, Del.”

  “Don’t say that.” She looked sharply up at Greer. “I don’t want the pressure anymore. I just want to be left alone.”

  “I can’t do that,” Greer whispered. “I love you and I’m so scared for you.”

  “Join the club. Nine months ago I knew who I was. I was a nurse and I was a runner. I had a purpose. My life had a path.” Delaney rubbed her fingers in a circle on her throbbing forehead. “I feel like Alice.”

  “You mean Wonderland Alice?”

  “Um-hmm. Like I fell down a rabbit hole and I’m still falling.” She pressed her fingertip on a crystal of sugar that must have escaped her coffee cup. “I’m lost and I’m so tired. I’m tired of working hard and waking up in the same place.”

  Greer pulled out the chair next to Delaney and sat down, moving the chair close.

  Delaney sat back, pulling away from her sister. “Mostly I just want to close my eyes and not—”

  “Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.” Greer jumped up so abruptly her chair almost fell over. She started pacing back and forth along the well-worn oak floor. “Don’t you think I know how you’ve been feeling? Why do you think I sent Quinn up to D.C. to bring you home? I was afraid I’d get a phone call . . . and I’d never see you again.”

  “Hey, now. I’m not—” Delaney’s chest clenched as she heard the pain and fear she’d brought to Greer. God, she’d spent most of her life keeping Greer safe; how could she be the one hurting her now? She clasped her hands together to stop their shaking as she looked at the raw fear on Greer’s face and realized guilt cut just as deeply as the sheer physical pain she’d been living with.

  “You might be. We both know it.” Greer rolled her shoulders back and shot Delaney a fierce look. “So, here’s the deal . . . we are turning this around right now. You will start eating again.”

  “Hooyah.” Delaney knew she didn’t have a choice but to agree—not after seeing the real fear on her sister’s face.

  “Don’t get cute, because I could still call your doctor,” Greer threatened.

  Delaney would swear her blood pressure spiked. “You would call Dr. Evil?”

  Greer ignored her and continued with her list. “Two. You will begin showering regularly again.”

  “Fine. That part I’ve hated.”

  “Okay, since I’m two for two.” Greer looked up toward the ceiling. “How about talking with a counselor?”

  Delaney rubbed her fingers against her temples while she considered. “I won’t rule it out. You know I had psychotherapy for seven months, and it did help—in the beginning. But after a while, butting my head against my blocked memories got too stressful.”

  “You’re still missing the weeks around the explosion? Nothing has come back?”

  “Not missing.” Delaney shook her head. “With dissociative amnesia, the memories are there. I just can’t access them.”

  The doctors had said her memories would probably return, but a part of her was afraid to find out what was so bad that her brain shut it out. She definitely wasn’t going to tell Greer about the nightmares that had started a few months ago. The nightmares were why she’d stopped her pain medications.

  As a nurse, she knew all about the side effects and she’d wanted them out of her system to try to stop the nightmares. But the nightmares hadn’t stopped. They were getting worse. “So, when I get my memory back, I’ll go back to counseling. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  “I’ve got a rule of my own. Number four . . . no telling anyone about losing my foot or Afghanistan. I don’t need the pity and I don’t need the
gossip. I had enough of that growing up in this town.”

  “It’s Climax, Delaney.”

  Delaney raised her eyebrows. “If you don’t say anything and I don’t say anything . . .”

  “Fine. Against my better judgment, I won’t say anything. Number five.” Greer looked down at Delaney, daring her to complain. “You will be nice to people.”

  Delaney snorted. “You know, if you’re going to ask for miracles, why not just ask for my foot to grow back?”

  “Six. Physical therapy. Two times a week at my office.”

  She nodded her head, her body starting to tense up.

  Greer kept going. “Seven. Gym. Two times a week to begin with.”

  Delaney groaned. “Please tell me there is another gym in town. I can’t keep running into Barbie and her posse and keep your rule about being nice too.”

  “No, it’s the only gym, but I can get you a buddy whenever Barbie or her posse is there. Quinn would’ve been there to run interference this morning, but he had to work an accident out on Highway 62.”

  “A buddy?” She looked up at Greer with narrowed eyes. “You mean a babysitter, don’t you?”

  “Mentor, parole officer—whatever it takes to keep you honest.”

  “Honest I got in spades. It’s nice that’s in short supply,” Delaney grumbled.

  “I’ve noticed. I heard the Simon sisters were ready to stab you with their knitting needles at the library this morning.”

  “I would like to remind a particular buttinski that it was not my brilliant idea to unleash me on an unsuspecting public,” Delaney said. “It is also not my fault the Simon sisters asked me what I thought about their hats.”

  “Did you have to tell them they looked like nipples?” Greer couldn’t help the laughter in her voice. “That when they stood next to each other they look like a pair of—”

  “Okay.” Delaney interrupted her. She knew what she’d said. “I’ll try nice. I used to be nice. How hard can it be?”

  3

  The next day, Delaney sat outside the only gym in town trying to psych herself into going inside. She did not want to be here, but she’d promised Greer. She had never broken a promise to Greer yet, and that brat knew it. That’s why Greer had made her promise. Greer was no dummy.