Good Neighbors (Book 1 of the Home Again Series)

by Alyssa Kress

CHAPTER TEN

  There were three flights up to Clint's apartment, and Brennan's right leg ached like a bitch on every other riser. When finally in front of the door, he rang the bell.

  Clint didn't take long to open it up. Brennan had called that he was coming over.

  "Brennan, my man." Clint's greeting smile faded. "What's wrong?"

  "Pulled a muscle running." Judging by Clint's observation, this even affected the way Brennan stood.

  The smile jumped back onto Clint's face as he stepped back from the door. "Not good advertising, bub. Everyone knows it's the shoes that prevent running injuries, and you're wearing some that came from your store."

  "Very funny." But Brennan was glad Clint assumed it was Brennan's shoes which had caused his injury. In fact, it had been the surprise of seeing Erica while he was jogging which had made stumble and consequently pull the muscle in his thigh. The three Tylenol he'd taken this morning hadn't made a dent in the pain. He hobbled into the apartment.

  "Want a cuppa java?" Clint walked backwards toward the kitchen that sat behind a counter.

  "Sure." In glancing around, Brennan saw a far emptier apartment than he remembered. Apparently, Judy had removed her things.

  "Here." Brennan set down the manila envelope he'd brought. "Consider yourself served. These are the documents declaring Erica is applying to be Liam's guardian."

  "I already know that. I told her it's okay." In the kitchen, Clint spooned coffee grounds into a filter.

  "It's a formality, one the court requires." Gingerly shifting his right leg, Brennan sat himself in one of the two folding chairs Clint had set around a card table in the dining area next to the kitchen. He doubted the missing furniture had truly been Judy's. Clint had probably built most of it. Meanwhile, he was glad Clint had offered to make coffee and extend Brennan's visit. He had something he wanted to ask Clint.

  "Yeah, yeah." Clint shoved the filter into the coffeemaker. "Tell me about court requirements."

  Brennan tilted his head. "What dealings are you having with courts?" Then he realized it was obvious. "You filed for divorce?"

  Staring at the coffeemaker, Clint heaved a deep sigh.

  "Hey. Clint. She didn't leave you a choice."

  Clint pressed his lips together and nodded. "I guess."

  How or why Clint seemed to blame himself for the breakdown of his marriage was not something Brennan could understand. But he supposed that as much as a union required two, so did a dissolution. Brennan had certainly done his part in pushing Lois into telling him to get lost: all the occasions he'd shown up at her door, barely sober, whining about how he needed her— To recall it now made his skin crawl with humiliation.

  "At least you don't have any kids or property," Brennan pointed out. "The divorce should be easy."

  With a glance toward Brennan, Clint laughed. "With Judy, nothing is easy."

  Probably true. "Is she still stalking you?

  Clint raised a shoulder.

  "You ought to get a restraining order."

  Clint sighed again. "I'll think about it."

  In other words, he wasn't going to. Brennan suppressed his own sigh and wondered what Clint wasn't telling them. Why did he resist standing up to Judy?

  Or perhaps Clint was simply being Clint. He didn't like being the bad guy.

  This aspect of his character was actually one Brennan planned to use to his advantage today. "Speaking of women who are trouble, I need some help with Erica."

  Clint's eyebrows jumped. "Yeah?"

  "I, uh, told her about my past," Brennan explained as Clint came around the counter into the dining area. "She...didn't take it well."

  "Big surprise." Clint smirked and pulled out the other folding chair.

  "Thing is, I still need to deal with her. See, I told Liam I'd help her find some clients here in Palmwood. Doing that would help her stay here, so he can stay here." Brennan regarded Clint.

  Clint simply looked back, his expression bland. Either stupid or stubborn. "Yeah?" he finally asked. "What's the problem?"

  Brennan spread his hands. "I've got a database of about five hundred people she could contact. But how am I supposed to give it to her?"

  Clint shrugged. "You live next door. Hand it to her."

  Brennan breathed through his teeth. "She already thinks I've been acting like some kind of stalker philanthropist. I helped her fill out the guardianship papers last weekend, and she couldn't wait to shove me out the door."

  "So..." Clint leaned back in his chair. "You're afraid if you help her so much as to give her this great potential client list, she'll assume you're still coming on to her."

  Brennan closed his eyes. "Exactly."

  "Are you?"

  Brennan's eyes snapped open again. "Of course not. All I want is for her to get some clients, so she doesn't have to haul Liam to LA if things don't work out here."

  Clint's cheek hollowed as if he were biting the inside of it to keep from laughing. "Uh-huh."

  "Please. Erica made it crystal clear what she'd think of dating a drunk, even a reformed one. I don't expect, or particularly want, to change her mind about it. Besides—"

  Clint tilted his head. "Yes?"

  Besides, Brennan didn't want to get involved with her even if she weren't completely turned off by him. He wasn't at a stage of his recovery where he could handle a real relationship, the kind with big emotional challenges. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to handle one. While weaning himself from Lois, the urge to turn to alcoholic anesthesia had been sharp. To have that urge again now would be horrific.

  "Besides," Brennan continued. "I'm not interested in her."

  Clint's eyelids drooped over his eyes. "In that case, no reason not to hand her the list yourself."

  "No doubt. But I'd rather you do it." Brennan opened the manila envelope he'd put on the dining room card table and took out a smaller version. He handed it toward Clint. "Here."

  Clint didn't move to receive the valuable database list. "Forget it."

  "What?"

  "I have enough problems of my own. I'm not getting in the middle of this."

  "There's no 'this' to get in the middle of," Brennan insisted.

  "Bullshit. Oh, good. Coffee's done." Clint got up from the table.

  "I'm leaving the list here." Brennan could use Clint's return to the kitchen to make his own escape—and leave the damn list behind.

  "What about your coffee?"

  "I'll take a rain check."

  Clint called after Brennan as he was opening the front door. "I'm not giving Erica that list."

  Brennan didn't answer as he went out and closed the door firmly behind him. Of course Clint would give his sister the list. It would provide her with valuable information to help her grow her business. Besides, Clint was a pushover, never wanted to be the bad guy.

  But as he hobbled painfully down the three flights of stairs, Brennan had to remember one other salient aspect of Clint's character.

  He never lied.

  Damn, Brennan cursed as he limped down the street toward his car. What did Clint think he was accomplishing by being stubborn about this? Of all times for him to decide to take a stand.