by Jill Shalvis
“Okay, who are you and what have you done with my sister?” Brooke asked. “You hate running. You used to say that if you were ever found dead on a treadmill, we should know that you were murdered elsewhere and dumped there.”
“I still hate it. But two pounds! You could tell?” she asked, pleased.
“Tommy told me,” Brooke said. “He texts me a hundred times a day.”
“Oh,” Mindy said, feeling a little deflated.
“He’s my best friend, Min. Of course he kept me updated on your well-being. I was worried sick about you. He said you were doing good, looking happy while living my life.”
Brooke hadn’t said that with a single drop of sarcasm, but Mindy winced just the same. Because it was true. She’d just spent five days with Brooke’s things in Brooke’s world, which had been a kind of stolen intimacy she hadn’t realized she’d missed so much. Being in LA, living Brooke’s life with no Brooke, had made her ache for her sister more than she’d thought possible. “I appreciate what you did for me.” She paused, understanding that they were in a different place than they used to be, but wishing they could go back to when they’d been BFFs. “I miss you. And if I did something to make you stay away all this time—”
“Stop.” Brooke closed her eyes. “You didn’t. Me staying away was about me, not you. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for that.”
Mindy felt the knot in her chest loosen slightly. But only very slightly, because she knew Brooke was clearly still holding back. “It’s worth a whole lot, actually,” she said quietly. “But I really need to go kiss my babies now.” She turned to the door, but stopped at Brooke’s words.
“Linc handled bedtime. He fell asleep in Maddox’s bed with him.”
“He’s home from work?” Mindy asked in disbelief.
“Yep. He says he’s going to try to get home by six every night.”
That didn’t compute. “Maddox’s bed is a three-foot toddler bed. How in the world does my six-foot husband fit in there?”
“I don’t know, Min,” Brooke said with a shrug. “Love makes you do some pretty stupid shit. And he does love you, by the way. Oh, and he’s not doing Dr. Hottie. He was laboring under the false impression that he could have female friends with perfect boobs. He’s not doing Brittney, either, who, bee-tee-dub, is very happy with her girlfriend.”
“Oh,” Mindy said, feeling very small. “I didn’t know.”
“The kids knew.”
Mindy heard something in Brooke’s tone that put her back up. “She doesn’t talk much to me.”
“Because you intimidate her.” Brooke topped off her mug with the last of the wine. “Remember when we were kids and we wondered why our parents were always in a bad mood? Now I’m like, okay, yes, it all makes perfect sense.”
“You don’t usually drink wine,” Mindy said. Confusion was becoming her default emotion. “I’d have thought you’d have gotten into Mom’s vodka, which is still in the freezer.”
“It’s two-thirds water, not vodka.”
“Why would it be two-thirds water?” Mindy asked.
“Because in high school, I used to steal it and replace it with water.”
Mindy let out a long, shaky breath. She was in overload mode. “Are we going to talk about why you hate me?”
“I don’t hate you. I’m actually impressed at what you pull off here every single day. And I get why you lost your shit. Even with Brittney’s help, it’s . . . a lot. But I gotta say, it’s also pretty damn great. If you slowed down a little and let up on that tight grip of the reins, you might like it more.”
Mindy felt her eyes fill. Dammit. “I do like it. I love it. I’ve missed being here. I missed Linc and the kids. I missed everything, even the dirty footprints on my bed. I already miss your sheets, but at least today was sheet-washing day here. Page two, tab seven in my binder—” She broke off because Brooke had looked away. “And . . . you didn’t wash the sheets today.” Mindy nodded. “It’s okay, you were probably swamped with everything. It takes a lot of practice to get it all under control.”
“That’s what I’m saying, Min. Things don’t always have to be in perfect control. It’s okay to forget to do laundry or go grocery shopping sometimes.”
“Says the girl who’s twenty-nine and still has four frozen pizzas in the freezer in case she’s drunk and hungry.”
“Hey,” Brooke said. “Those pizzas are gluten-free, and the crusts are made out of cauliflower. That makes them a vegetable. And I don’t turn twenty-nine until next month, so bite your tongue. Also . . . I’m glad you missed being here, but there’re a few things you should know.”
Mindy felt her stomach clench. “Like?”
“Like I gave Brittney a raise. And before you say a word, she deserves it.”
“I know. The kids are—”
“Your kids aren’t the problem. Your kids are wonderful. It’s you. You’re trying too hard. You’re Mom, Min. And I mean that in the most loving way possible. You micromanage the shit out of everything and everyone, but you don’t have to. Brittney’s good, she knows what she’s doing. And . . . there’s one more thing.”
Oh God. Mindy had to sit. “What?”
“I didn’t use the binder.”
Mindy stared at her. “What do you mean? But I told you—”
“I know. But it didn’t work for me.”
“That doesn’t even make any sense. It’s an organizational tool. Everyone needs a little organization.”
“A little?” Brooke asked dryly. “That binder’s got hundreds of pages of instructions on how to run your world.”
“So?” Mindy was wishing she’d poured herself a mug of wine. “It’s called real life, Brooke. You ought to try it sometime!”
“Wow.”
“Wow, what?”
“I’m trying to remember if you were always so judgy,” Brooke said.
“Yes, I’ve always been this way! And you’ve always been”—she gestured at Brooke—“that way.”
“What way?”
She’d tried to hold back, tried to be kind, but she said it anyway. “Selfish.”
Brooke’s eyes narrowed. “Since that’s actually true enough to be fair, you should know something else that’s true—the kids thrived without the damn binder.”
Mindy blinked. “But . . . how did you know all the things, like who goes to bed when, and who’ll eat what?”
“We winged it. Oh, and newsflash, Mason will most definitely eat a sandwich with the crust still on it. He only makes you cut off the crusts because that gives him an extra minute of your time and a hug.”
Mindy put her hand over her mouth and felt her eyes fill again, and Brooke’s expression went from anger to wary. “What are you doing?” she asked.
Mindy sniffed. “Nothing!”
“Oh my God. You’re crying.”
“It’s allergies!”
Brooke let out a rough breath, turned to the tissue box on the counter, and pulled out a tissue. And then another. And then another. And then a fourth . . .
This only made Mindy cry harder. “Oh my God, and now you’re counting in even numbers like Millie. Did I do that to you both?”
“Min . . .” Brooke blew out a breath. “I’ve always been like Millie. I was Millie before there even was a Millie.”
Mindy blew her nose. “How come I didn’t know?”
“Look, you’re good at what you do, and I’m good at what I do. Which is hiding. A lot.”
Brooke shrugged, and Mindy felt like the worst sister on the planet. Seemed like she had a lot of things she needed to be better at. “You’ve been here almost a week and you don’t look like you’re falling apart or losing your mind. What’s the secret? And how come you’re better than me at everything?”
Brooke snorted. “Are you kidding me? The only thing I’m better at is pretending to be better. And I survived your life because I’m only here for a very short time. I’m the fun aunt—not the same as being Mom.” She softened her voice. �
��Who’s been essentially single parenting on her own. And just because no one starved or died this week doesn’t mean they didn’t miss you, Min. They did. The kids did. Linc did. Hell, even I did.”
“You did?” Mindy whispered hopefully.
“Yes. Do you know how hard it is to read Where the Wild Things Are with the same high level of enthusiasm a thousand times in a row? And if you skip even one little word, Maddox makes you start over.”
Mindy let out a shaky breath. Okay, so having Brooke actually miss her for real had been too much to hope for. “So you did read the binder!”
Brooke shrugged. “Maybe I flipped through it a time or two.” She paused and gave a reluctant smile. “Or four hundred. You’re a nut, you know that, right?”
“Yes.” Oh, how she knew it. “Thanks for being here for me this week,” she said softly. “I know it couldn’t have been easy for you since you don’t have kids of your own.”
Brooke’s smile faded. “Why do you always say it like that?”
“Say what like what?” Mindy asked.
“You throw it in my face that I don’t have kids, like it makes me a lesser woman than you. You do realize that lots of people never have kids and can still take care of others just fine, right? You’ve got no idea what my life is or isn’t. Maybe it’s completely fulfilling just the way it is, did you ever think of that?”
Mindy was taken aback by her sister’s vehemence. “I didn’t mean anything by it,” she said carefully. “But I did just live your life for a week.”
“So?” Brooke asked a little testily.
“So . . .” Mindy knew enough to tread lightly. “It was . . . nice.”
“Nice?” Still sitting on the counter, Brooke crossed her arms. “That doesn’t sound like me at all.”
“That’s sort of my point,” Mindy said unapologetically. “After a few days walking in your shoes—”
“Literally,” Brooke interjected.
“Whatever, you have great shoes,” Mindy said. “But your life . . . it’s . . .”
“Exciting? Adrenaline-fueled? Adventurous?”
Mindy had no idea how to do this, how to tell Brooke she knew the truth about her job. “I was going to say lonely.”
Instead of being insulted, Brooke rolled her eyes. “That’s because you weren’t working twenty-four-seven. You had no real responsibilities. Trust me, if you’d taken on my job instead of just my friends and my bed, you’d be exhausted.”
Mindy hesitated, but decided to go for it. She went to the doorway and dragged in the duffel bag she’d packed for Brooke. “I brought your cameras home.”
Brooke look shocked. “What?”
“Found them in your closet when I was packing some clothes for you.”
“You mean stealing my shoes,” she said, not bending down to take the duffel bag. In fact, she was eyeing it like it was a bomb.
It was all adding up to an equation Mindy didn’t like—Brooke was also in crisis mode. But she was going through it all alone because she’d rather die than ask for help. “There was a lot of dust on your equipment, which surprised me,” she said quietly. “Your cameras were always your babies.”
Brooke’s expression was carefully blank now. “It’s pollen season,” she said, more than a little defensively. “Dust gets everywhere. And I’m going home, so I didn’t need more stuff.”
“You don’t have to rush off.”
“Yes, I do,” Brooke said. “I’ve got work to get back to.”
Mindy warred with herself for a moment, but it was clear Brooke wasn’t going to tell her the truth on her own. “I met Cole,” she said. “Tommy introduced us.”
“I know.”
“We all had dinner a couple of times,” Mindy said. “When I told him about how you haven’t been home in forever and how much I needed you, he said you never took any personal time and that you had several weeks saved up that you could take if you needed.”
Brooke shook her head. “No way. Cole wouldn’t say that. He wants me back in LA.”
“He said it.”
Brooke narrowed her eyes, running the pads of her thumbs over her fingertips, back and forth the way Millie did, and that more than anything broke Mindy’s heart. How had she not ever seen that before?
“What did you really tell him to make him say it?” Brooke asked.
Mindy bit her lower lip, feeling a little bit guilty about this part. “I might’ve mentioned that I thought you needed this getaway for yourself as well for me.”
“Because?”
“Because maybe you needed me as much as I needed you.”
“You used his emotions for me against him? That’s some bullshit, Min, even for you.” She hopped off the counter and turned to the sink, staring out into the dark night. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? And there’s no way I’m staying in Wildstone.”
Mindy’s chest got tight. She was messing this all up. “I promise I won’t ask you to babysit another second, but please? Please stay? We haven’t spent time together in so long.”
“I can’t just abandon my job, Min. I’m super busy. There’s a lot of travel, and stuff to do—”
“There’s no travel.” Mindy drew a deep breath and met Brooke’s gaze. “Tommy’s staff told me.”
Brooke completely closed up. “Told you what?”
Heart aching, Mindy said, “That you work behind the scenes now, producing, editing, and writing scripts. You’re really great at what you do, but you’re not out there risking life and limb anymore. Also that June is a very slow month in the studio, that’s why Cole can give you the time.”
Brooke looked away. “How long were you going to let me go on about how busy I am traveling?”
“Honestly? I was prepared to let you lie straight to my face for as long as you needed to, because though I don’t know why you changed jobs, it was obviously important to you to keep it a secret from me.” She paused. “Which, for the record, I hate.”
Brooke remained silent, and Mindy knew she was losing her. “Please stay,” she whispered again. “You can keep being annoyed at me if you want to—I just really need you here. I brought enough of your clothes to last until the zombie apocalypse. You’ll be happy here.”
Brooke craned her neck to meet Mindy’s gaze, her expression speaking volumes on her doubt about that.
“We’re barely even family anymore,” Mindy said softly.
Brooke actually laughed genuinely at this. “You’ve just rearranged my life so it works in with yours. The only one who would dare do that is my sister. That’s about as family as family gets.”
“So you’ll stay?”
“You really still need me here?”
“Yes,” Mindy said with feeling.
Their gazes met and held, and Brooke sighed. “Then I’ll stay. But once you’re good, I’m out, okay? No more manipulations. I’m going back to get it together.”
“Get what together?”
“My life.” Brooke’s smile was sad. “Because I think it’s possible I’m as messed up as you are.” With that, she left the kitchen.
Alone with her thoughts, Mindy stood for a long moment alone in her bright white kitchen, the one with the stainless steel appliances she’d hand-picked and the pretty see-through cabinets and wood floors Garrett had put in, all of her prized baking tools displayed on the countertops. It was just what she’d wanted.
And yet nothing felt right.
Brooke was as messed up as she was? Why hadn’t Mindy noticed? Why hadn’t she tried to help? Turning, she moved through the dark living room, startled to see her sister curled up on the couch pretending to already be fast asleep.
Mindy stilled. She hadn’t given a single thought to the fact that there wasn’t a bedroom for her sister, at least not unless Brooke had transplanted a kid or two, which she clearly hadn’t. Feeling like a big, fat jerk, she swallowed hard, but the sudden lump in her throat didn’t dissipate. She had to do better, for everyone in her life, she told herself as she gra
bbed a throw blanket and spread it over Brooke, who pulled the blanket over her head and rolled away.
“Tomorrow we’ll move you to the guesthouse, okay?” Mindy whispered. “It’s got a kitchenette and a really comfortable futon that I ordered from the shopping network. Ellen DeGeneres loved it.”
No response from Brooke.
Telling herself Brooke understood, that she would fix it—she would fix everything—Mindy headed up the stairs. The night-light in Millie’s room allowed her to see that the room was shockingly clean, with toys in the bin and all the clothes hung up. Her daughter was wrapped around a huge stuffed teddy bear, smiling in her sleep. Probably plotting her world takeover.
She tiptoed into the boys’ room next. Mason was asleep in his bed, his feet on his pillow, his head under the covers. She gently turned him around, tucked him in, and brushed a kiss to his brow.
Maddox had his face smashed into his toddler bed, his butt in the air, fast asleep.
No diaper.
She was a little worried about that, but didn’t want to wake him. So she concentrated on the man curled up in the tiny bed with him.
Dr. Linc Tennant, father of her children, keeper of her heart, which started pounding like crazy with nerves, anxiety . . .
Love.
His dark eyes opened, heavy-lidded as he worked to come awake, and as it had since they were little kids, her heart took a big, stupid leap at the sight of him: hair messy, eyes sleepy, a crease on his cheek from the pillow. He was in his old college sweats and a T-shirt that read TRUST ME, I’M A DOCTOR.
He blinked at her and slowly sat up, wincing, as he unfurled his long body and stood. Taking her hand, he held a finger to his lips and pulled her from the room into their master bedroom. There, he flipped on the light and turned to stare at her.
She knew what he was seeing. She was showered, dressed, and in makeup—all put together for the first time in . . . forever.
And he wasn’t. He looked like how she’d looked every day since having kids—a wreck—and she couldn’t help it . . . she smiled.
He smiled back and reached for her, but she put a hand to his chest to stop him.
Covering her hand with one of his, he gently squeezed as he ducked down to look into her eyes. “You look beautiful, and I want to hear about your week, but first, I know we’ve got some things to talk about. I know I’ve screwed up.”