More Than Friends (Kingsley #4)

by Brandi Kennedy

  "How 'bout I get you a red-headed slut?" Sherry asked, shaking her head.

  A lock of red hair fell over her shoulder as if to mock her, and Michael laughed again. "As long as she lets me buy her a leg spreader," he said.

  Sighing, Sherry shook her head again as she reached for a pair of tumblers and began to mix their drinks. "Only for you, Mikey," she said. "And only because I'm getting off in fifty minutes."

  "What, in the parking lot? Damn, at least let me drive you home first!" He held his hands up, palms out as if in surrender.

  Sherry threw her head back and laughed. "You're a disaster."

  "I know. But at least I'm the fun kind."

  Just over fifty minutes later, Michael and Sherry were hand in hand as they walked toward Sherry's car. "Come on," she laughed, dropping his hand and wrapping her arm snugly around his waist to keep him from falling over. "Let's get ya home, Mikey. I think that last set o' shots might'a been a mistake. Where'd you hear of those, anyway?"

  Michael laughed, his head swimming and his stomach churning. "A deep throat and a tight snatch," he said, slurring slightly as Sherry propped him against the side of her car. "What makes you think either of those things is new to me?" His eyes widened in surprise as she turned to him and slipped a seeking hand into the front pocket of his jeans. Reaching out, he caught her hand, his fingers loosely circling her wrist. "Don't take my keys, Sher, I need them to get in the house."

  "What if we're going to my house?"

  "Nah." He shook his head, releasing her wrist to mold his hands around the swell of her round hips. She wasn't a very large woman, but she was soft and plump in all the right places; she felt good in his hands, and because neither of them wanted anything more than basic, easy sex, he felt safe enough in hers. "My bed's bigger. Let's go to my house."

  "Alright," Sherry said, watching him away slightly in the evening breeze, off balance even though he was still leaning heavily against her car. "But I still need the keys to get the door open. I can't get you in the house without them, silly."

  "Where's your key? I gave you a key,” he slurred.

  Sherry rolled her eyes. “It’s on my dresser. That’s not helping me tonight though, is it?”

  He smirked, letting go of her and holding his arms out. "Fine," he said. "Take 'em. But you could at least tell the truth. You just want to get in my pants."

  Sherry laughed, stepping close again and resuming her search for his keys. Finally fishing them from his pocket, she tipped her head up and pressed a kiss to the tip of his chin. "Well, I do always have fun with you, Mikey. You got a way of scratchin' the itch without makin' me feel cheap for wantin' it scratched."

  Surprised again, Michael raised his eyebrows. "Cheap! Cheap? You –" He broke off, laughing, and flapped his arms wildly. "Well, if it sounds like a bird and flies like a bird ... I guess I'm a bird."

  "You can't fly," Sherry answered, giggling. "Come on, just get in here."

  "That's what she said."

  "Oh my God."

  "She said that, too," Michael laughed, bending at the waist to prop his hands helplessly on his knees. Tears streamed down his face as he shook his head, struggling for control.

  Sherry opened the car door and stood back, waiting for Michael to move. She waited silently, unwilling to encourage him further but unable to hold back a grin. Finally, still laughing quietly, Michael shook his head. He pushed away from the car, took two toddling steps toward the door, and crumpled to the ground at Sherry's feet.

  Chapter Five

  The morning sun was slicing its way through his eyelids. Michael rolled over, his arm falling over the edge of the bed. The quilt slithered over his naked legs and crumpled to the floor beside the bed. "Sherry?" He rolled back, carefully keeping his eyes closed as he stretched one hand toward the pillow on the other side of the bed. She wasn't there. "Sherry!" The house was quiet around him; was he alone? Had she gone?

  "Sher?" Sitting up, he covered his face with both hands, waiting until he could open his eyes before slowly spreading his fingers. The curtains were closed over the window, but the light coming in through the fabric made his eyes throb in time with his head, which seemed to be slowly collapsing in on itself while simultaneously swelling to twice its normal size. Once he could move his hands away from his eyes, he slid his palms toward his temples to cradle his head. He twisted carefully, still holding his head in his hands, to glance at the empty side of the bed. It was still unmade, the edge of a folded sheet of paper pinned to the pillowcase with a safety pin. Hadn't she stayed last night? Why couldn't he remember what had happened?

  "Where the hell did she find a safety pin?" Keeping one hand pressed against his temple to be sure his head wouldn't slip completely off his shoulders, Michael stretched the other hand toward the pillow and ripped the paper from the pin. He waited to open it, though, until he had allowed himself to drop back against the softness of the pillows.

  "Mikey," she had written, her letters bold and curvy. "You didn't even make it out of the parking lot last night. Luckily for both of us, the security guys were still there, so I had them load you into my car and follow me to your house in your truck. Maybe you should lay off the drinking for a while – it was a bitch, stripping you by myself. Call me. S."

  "All that trouble to get drunk and I didn't even get laid." Groaning, Michael crumpled the note and tossed it to the floor. "Christ, I can't even have a one-nighter anymore!" He threw one forearm over his face, shut his eyes against the sunlight, and went back to sleep.

  When he woke again, the sun had gentled behind a cover of clouds. It was afternoon, it was raining, and it sounded like someone was trying to beat his front door in. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he croaked, his voice scratchy against a dry throat. Coughing, Michael flung himself out of bed, yanked a pair of boxer shorts on, and stumbled toward the balcony. He turned the handles on the French doors, one in each hand, and pushed them open simultaneously; the noise distracted his visitor from their knocking below, and by the time Michael made his way to the balcony railing, he was able to look down into the faces of his brothers. "What the hell, you guys?" Bracing his forearms against the edge of the railing, he arched his eyebrows and watched Drew and Evan squint up at him.

  "We tried to call," Evan shrugged. "You didn't answer. But –"

  "Dad needs us," Drew broke in, exchanging a look with Evan. Michael’s stomach twisted as he realized the Drew was still wearing his police uniform. “It’s mom."

  "What? Mom? Hang on, I'm coming down." Turning back, Michael closed the balcony doors and stumbled through the bedroom, bending to scoop a shirt from the floor. He sniffed it, dropped it with a grimace, and snatched another from the open closet beside his bedroom door. Snagging a hopefully clean pair of jeans from the top of the dresser drawer, he clamped the shirt between his teeth and jerked the jeans on as he hopped clumsily down the hallway. His stomach clenched as his mind replayed Drew's last words.

  "Dad needs us. It's mom."

  What could have happened? His mother was in good health as far as he knew, still remarkably stout for a woman of her age. Had she had a fall? A heart attack? Was she okay?

  He was still pulling his shirt on when he stepped away from the staircase and moved to unlock the front door. His keys were there, hanging on the hook where he always left them, another small scrap of paper folded and propped atop the hook. Snatching the paper from where it rested, he stuffed it into his pocket, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly as he glimpsed the curvy handwriting inside. Another note from Sherry. Glancing around, he made sure there weren't any more notes laying out – then he took a deep breath and opened the door. "Okay, what's up with mom?"

  "She was in a wreck this morning, dude," Evan said. He waited for Michael to step back from the door, and then walked into the house.

  Drew followed, arching his eyebrows slightly at Michael as he passed. His badge caught the sunlight as he turned to walk through the doorway. "You okay?"

  "I'm fine," Mic
hael answered, realizing even as he said the words that they were far from true. His hangover had been forgotten; physically, he did feel fine. But the hangover had only given way as panic had set in. Eva was the cornerstone of the Kingsley family. She was the one who planned the family dinners they still had once a week, the one who raised Michael and his siblings while their father had been working. She had been the one who most supported his starting his own business in favor of chasing a career. And she was the one person in the world who knew how much his divorce still hurt. "Is she okay? She made it, right? I mean, she didn't – did she?" He couldn't even bring himself to ask the question. But if his father had sent his brothers to find him, this couldn't be good; and it was plain that Drew still hadn’t been home after patrolling all night. This was clearly more than just a fender bender.

  Sighing, Drew shook his head, adjusting the various pouches of gear on his belt as he dropped onto the edge of Michael's couch. "Look, man, relax. She's really okay for the most part. She broke her leg somehow, and when the air bag came out of the steering wheel, it broke her wrist. She’s got a little cut on her cheek. The car’s pretty wrecked though, Michael; they had to cut her out of it. I think she’s pretty lucky, and lucky that it seems have just been her."

  “Just her? There wasn’t anyone else involved?” Drew shook his head and Michael sank down on the coffee table, stunned. "How'd it happen?"

  "We don't know yet," Drew answered. “All I know so far is that there weren’t any other cars involved. She hit the guardrail exiting an overpass. But she was coming off the highway, so she was going pretty fast.”

  "She doesn't seem to remember how it happened," Evan put in. "But she was on the phone with me before she left ... she was at a dress fitting with Harmony and Cameron, and Cass and the twins. She told me she didn't feel well, I told her to be careful coming home, and then police on scene called me back since mine was the last number she called." He brought his hand up and slipped his fingers through his hair. Michael could see the fine shiver running through the youngest Kingsley all the way across the room, but Evan was tough; he held his composure and went on. "She'll be at the hospital at least overnight. Dad and the girls are there now."

  Swallowing the lump that threatened to choke him, Michael bent forward and tugged his shoes from under the coffee table. A blink of white paper was visible for only a second in his left shoe, before he crammed his foot in on top of it. He didn't have time today for any more notes.

  Chapter Six

  At the hospital, Michael walked side by side with his brothers; Evan took the protected spot in the middle, just as he had when he'd first learned to walk, back when he had counted on his brothers to hold him up. Now, no longer learning but still the baby of the three, Evan stood tall, his hands in his pockets to hide their shaking. Drew's face was drawn, his lips tight, but he walked with shoulders high and Michael could hear him forcing his breath to come evenly. Michael was the oldest brother, but this time he followed their examples, forcing himself to look fine even though fine was the last word he’d use to describe how he felt. His stomach was in knots, but his shoulders were squared. His throat felt like it was closing, but his face was carefully arranged in what he hoped was a tough expression. His heart was hammering in his chest, but his step was steady – until he saw her.

  Eva looked small in a way he had never noticed before, one leg thin under the blankets, the other already wrapped in a purple plaster cast. She was sleeping with her broken wrist propped on a pillow, the cast glaring bright purple against the clean white of the pillowcase. Drew and Evan fell away as they entered her room, giving Michael the lead as the oldest brother. He stepped close to the side of her bed, looking down at her as his brothers followed him into the room.

  Evan's shoe squeaked slightly against the floor as he moved into place at Michael's right elbow; Eva opened her eyes, smiling as she realized she was not alone. "Hi, boys. Felt like standing around watching an old woman sleep?"

  Michael rolled his eyes while his brothers laughed nervously. "You're not old, mom. You can't even retire."

  She smiled, shaking her head. "I told your dad not to call you kids down here. I'm going home tomorrow anyway. I could have just stayed here and went home; you didn't even need to know about it."

  Evan snickered, reaching out to tap the edge of the cast on her wrist. "Right," he said. "None of us would ever have noticed the cast."

  "I wouldn't," Drew said, forcing a tense smile as he looked at their mother. "And certainly not two casts. I mean, it's not like I get paid to notice stuff or anything."

  "You kidders. Where are your sisters, then? They were here a while ago and we were watching TV ... I guess I dozed off. The pills they gave me for pain knock me right out." She sounded strong, just like always, but tired. The gash on the upper curve of her cheek was unbandaged because it was so close to her eye, but the stitching was neat and clean. She flipped a lock of dark blonde hair from her face, looked up at her sons, and smiled. "Stop looking at me like I'm dying. I'm fine; it's just a little break. Or two." She caught the look of protest on Michael's face and reached up to pat his forearm, braced against the bedrail. "I'm really okay, son. I'd tell you, if I wasn't."

  Michael forced a smile to his lips, covering his mother's hand with his own. "If you say so. I'm gonna go find dad and the girls – let them know we're here." As he backed away from the bed, Evan stepped closer, closing ranks with Drew. Drew looked up though, to meet Michael's eyes, and they exchanged a look as only the closest brothers can, a look that passed the watchman's job from one brother to the next. Drew nodded, accepting the burden, and Michael turned away. In the hall, he found a nurse making her way from room to room. He stopped her, one hand lightly touching her upper arm to catch her attention. "Miss, can you tell me anything about the patient in two-nineteen? It's my mother, the one who was admitted after a car accident this morning ..."

  "Right," the nurse answered distractedly, poking a stylus pen into the fluff of her hair. She was a short, plump woman with graying curls and a voice wobbly with age, legs encased in compression stockings and a soft, wrinkled face. "Well, I can't really tell you much just yet, honey," she went on, "other than what you probably already know if you've been in to see her. The leg and the wrist are broken. We're still waiting for lab results and a few other things. But the doctor should be in shortly to go over everything, and he'll be able to answer all of your questions then."

  "Well thanks so much for your help," Michael muttered sarcastically, watching the older woman's back as she busily walked away. He sighed, turning toward the door to the waiting room as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Composing a text that read only, "Are you here?” he moved into the contacts menu and selected his sisters, Cameron and Harmony, his father Adam, and Drew's wife, Cass.

  "Oh, Michael, you're here. I was hoping Drew could track you down. We tried to call, but you weren't answering and I know the shop is closed today but we thought maybe you were there or –"

  "Hey, hey, relax." The unsent text now forgotten, Michael looked up just in time to catch Cameron as she stepped into his arms. Her curls were soft against the bottom of his chin, and her hands were shaking slightly as she pressed them against his back. Looking over her head, he could see her adopted son, Logan, sitting quietly in the seat next to Harmony. "Hey, where's Mac?" Mac was Cameron's husband, and Logan was the son of Mac's first marriage. Mac had lost his first wife to cancer, and so when Cameron and Mac had married, she had been quick to adopt his son.

  Cameron sniffled against Michael's chest, releasing him to step reluctantly away. "He's still out of town, remember? He's speaking at the psych conference? Today's his day to speak, so the soonest he can fly out to come home is tonight."

  "Right." Michael lifted his chin in a silent salute to Harmony, who had looked up to wave at him from her seat. She had changed so much since she started wrestling – had grown much more confident. She seemed to have finally stopped trying so hard, and instead, simply
settled into who she was. Michael was unbelievably proud of the young woman she had become – and though he always thought of Harmony as his "baby" sister, he had to admit, when she had found her career in wrestling, Harmony had become a force all her own. Much as his own marital failure saddened him, he was looking forward to watching Harmony walk down the aisle and take her wedding vows with Xander Harrison, a fellow wrestler with the company she worked for.

  As if he had been summoned by Michael's thoughts, Xander now stepped into the doorway on the other end of the waiting room, his wide muscular shoulders filling the doorframe. He wore a long-sleeved pullover shirt with jeans, a dark green cap pulled low on his head. Michael and Cameron watched together as Xander looked around the room; he found Harmony easily and made his way over to her, grumbling quietly. "I meant to stay with your dad and Renee," he said, turning in his seat to drape a muscled arm over Harmony's shoulders. "But I think someone recognized me. I swear, I can't go anywhere anymore."

  Leaning comfortably against Xander's side, Harmony laughed. "Perks of being a star," she answered. "I wouldn't know anything about that, though – no one recognizes me yet."