Nine Kinds of Naughty

by Jeanette Grey

  chapter TWENTY-ONE

  From the first word of the phone call, Dane’s entire body went tense. Lexie had paced half the length of the room away from him, and he took a single step forward, ready to close the rest of the distance in a heartbeat.

  “I understand,” she said. Every drop of color drained from her face.

  The instant she hung up, she burst into motion.

  “Lex?” He followed her into the other room, only to find her up on tiptoes, reaching to drag her suitcase down from the top of the closet. “Here.” He strode past to get it for her.

  She let him, but instead of leaning into him or letting him take an ounce of her weight, she started tearing clothing from the hangers. She gestured at the bed, and he set the suitcase down. She tugged at the zip and wrenched it open, tossing the mound of clothes in unceremoniously, and if alarm bells hadn’t already been blaring in his mind, they would have started at that.

  She was never so unkind to her shoes.

  “Lexie, Lex.” He got his hand on her shoulder and tried to whirl her around, but she pushed him away.

  She might as well have slapped him.

  “What the hell is going on?” he asked.

  She emptied her drawers into the bags with just as little regard for the contents. “I have to go.”

  Yeah, he’d managed to figure that one out. “What—”

  “Evan was in a car accident. He—he—” She stopped, voice stuttering in her throat, and everything inside of him ached. “He’s in surgery. They don’t know.”

  For an instant she let their gazes meet, and he had never seen her eyes so wide or red or lost. A single tear slipped before she swiped it away, and then she was all business again.

  “Get me a pilot. I want to be wheels up within the hour.” It’d take half that time just to get to the airport. “Send the team the latest revisions. You’ll have to take them through this afternoon’s reports—”

  “Wait.” This time, when he clasped her by the arms, he didn’t let her pull away. His heart pounded, and it took everything he had to still his hands—not to shake her. “I’m coming with you.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Like hell it won’t.”

  She slipped through his grasp, and it felt like it was happening on way more levels than just the one.

  An old, ancient rage bubbled up in him. She wasn’t taking this decision from him. Reacting to a tragedy and barking at him, ordering him around and telling him where he was going to go. This was his life.

  She was his girl. And she was hurting.

  She was still babbling, rambling about all the things she needed him to do as she bustled into the next room to pack the rest of her belongings. He followed until just past the door.

  He barely felt it when his fist impacted with the wall. Canvas ripped beneath the blow, but he didn’t look, didn’t care. All he saw was this woman, pushing him away and running scared, and she didn’t get to do that to him.

  She didn’t get to think of him so low.

  Spinning around, she turned to him, mouth open, gaze darting from his face to the painting he’d put his fist through and back.

  “When,” he gritted out, “are you going to believe me when I tell you I’m not planning to abandon you?”

  Because wasn’t that what everyone else in her life had done? She’d said as much tonight, talking about her father and her brothers and her dickhead of an ex. The going got tough, and the people in her life got gone, but that wasn’t him. He didn’t run.

  He did the right thing, goddammit all. He did what people needed him to do, and he was sure as hell going to be there for the woman he—he—

  Fuck, the woman he loved.

  The canvas fell as he removed his hand from it. There’d probably be a dent in the plaster, and his knuckles were stinging, but it was all in the background.

  Lexie took a step back as he took his first one forward, and he stopped, swallowing hard. He held both hands in front of himself to show he meant no harm.

  “Please.” The word tore at his throat. “Don’t push me away. Let me take care of you now.”

  The shining in her eyes spilled over. She dropped her briefcase and ran across the room and straight into his open arms, and when had anything felt so good in his fucking life? He wrapped her up as tight as he could, lifting her clear off her feet as she buried her face against his chest.

  “Let me handle everything.” He pressed soft kisses into her hair.

  “Okay.”

  She said it so quietly, but it might have been the loudest word he ever heard.

  It was like a scene right out of a movie. Lexie stood outside Evan’s hospital room, gazing in, her hand at her mouth and her legs frozen, her heart thundering.

  “Go on.” The nurse coaxed her forward.

  But it wasn’t until Dane squeezed her palm that she came back to herself. She glanced over her shoulder at him. His eyes were serious, but he managed a small, encouraging smile all the same.

  She didn’t think she’d ever been so grateful for another human being in her life. Leaning up on tiptoes, she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He cupped her face so tenderly, returning the kiss.

  “I’ll be right here,” he assured her.

  She swallowed and somehow found the strength to move through the door.

  The lights were dim in Evan’s room, and his eyes were closed. The heart monitor by his bedside told the same story the doctor had—that her brother was alive and mostly well, even.

  Not that you could tell by looking at him.

  A cut-off sob tore at her throat. She stumbled the remaining feet toward his side and dropped into the chair there.

  God, he looked so pale. His dark hair, longer than it had been the last time she had seen him, lay matted and limp around his face, made worse by the bandages taped across his cheek. Road rash, probably, from where he’d scraped across the ground.

  For a second she had to clench her eyes shut.

  Of all the ridiculous things they’d always been prepared for in this family. They’d rehearsed how to deal with a kidnapping or a ransom, a death threat. Even a photographer or a disgruntled shareholder sneaking into the house.

  But a car accident? Evan had . . . he’d just been walking across the street. A normal pedestrian in a normal city, and someone had run a light, and now he was here.

  She opened her eyes again and took a deep breath, only to have it lodge in her throat. The whole left side of his body was a mess—a cast on his arm and traction to keep the shattered collarbone in place. The break to his ribs had done something to one of his lungs, but he was breathing. He was fine.

  Reaching out, she grasped his right hand in hers. A watery laugh spilled from her lungs. “Jesus. You are going to be such a cranky bitch when you wake up, you know that?”

  He always was. Even as kids, she and Rylan had weathered colds and sprains with Bellamy stoicism, while Evan had always been so dramatic, swearing he was dying as soon as he was well enough to complain.

  “I’d give anything for that right now,” she whispered.

  She didn’t know how much time passed as she sat there in silence, willing him in her mind to wake up. The nurses had said he’d probably be out for a while—that after surgery and with all his injuries and pain medication he needed the rest. But if she could just see his eyes or that crack of a wry smile, then maybe . . . Maybe she could trust he was all right.

  God, she wished Rylan were here. She’d called him from the car to the airport back in Barcelona. At the first word out of her mouth, he’d been ready to hop on the next flight, but there’d been a note of reservation in his voice. Promising to keep him updated, she’d told him to stay put. The sad fact of the matter was that they needed someone with boots on the ground in New York to keep things running. And besides. There was a reason Lexie was Evan’s emergency contact. He’d be happy to see her when he woke up, while Rylan . . .

  Well. The inevitable shouting
match probably wouldn’t be conducive to Evan’s recovery, now would it?

  Sighing, she rubbed a thumb across Evan’s knuckles. One of these days, she was going to force those boys into a room and make them hash out their shit. But she couldn’t think about that right now. As much as she wished Rylan were here, it was better if she handled this on her own.

  And it wasn’t as if she had to handle it alone.

  Even now, footsteps sounded out across the tile, foretelling Dane’s warm, solid presence appearing at her side. Without even looking, she extended her free hand, and he latched on, giving her a steady anchor to hold on to when it felt like she could drift away.

  “They’re making noises about kicking me out of here soon.”

  For a second, she imagined pulling the kind of shit her parents used to like to. Hospitals were strapped for cash, and new wings were cheaper than you might think. But she didn’t need to make a scene.

  “Okay.”

  “I won’t go far.”

  One corner of her mouth tugged up. Strange, how that hadn’t even really occurred to her. She’d pushed him away so damn hard back in Barcelona while she’d been throwing her things into suitcases. Despite all his assurances, she hadn’t believed he’d really see this through with her. That he would want to. And yet now she couldn’t even imagine him taking off.

  Funny, what a plane ride across the Atlantic could do to change a girl’s mind.

  She squeezed his hand. “I know.”

  “You want to stay?”

  “Yeah.”

  She shivered, mentally putting herself in Evan’s shoes. Waking up in a strange place like this, alone, surrounded by machines. In pain.

  Yeah. She was staying.

  Leaning in, he kissed her temple. “I’ll get the cot set up.”

  She had to force herself to let go as he drifted away. True to his word, he unfolded the little makeshift bed tucked in the corner, producing a set of linens from God knew where. Relief and gratitude seeped from her pores.

  She didn’t even know what time it was. They’d flown halfway across the world today, and she’d dozed a little here and there, but the bone-deep exhaustion of international travel was starting to set in. The idea of stretching out, here, where she could make sure her brother was safe, sounded like a dream.

  When Dane came back over to her, she stood, reaching out for him wildly, voice too fervent by half. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He touched her face, his eyes all but glowing, soft and beautiful in the dim light.

  They looked like hers felt, and maybe . . . maybe . . .

  It was too much to think. She leaned in, tucking her face into his side. He ran his fingers through her hair, gently petting, and it felt so nice she could have cried.

  “I’ll go get us checked in at a hotel.”

  She nodded, still not tearing herself from his warmth. “Try to get some sleep.”

  “Maybe a little. Call me if you need anything. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  “Okay.”

  Rough fingertips at her chin urged her gaze up. Bending down, he met her mouth with his, the kiss so soft and sweet it ached.

  When he pulled away, she could all but see the words hanging on his lips.

  But in the end, all he said was, “Good night.”

  chapter TWENTY-TWO

  Lexie’s head was pounding. Groaning, she rolled over. The thin blanket she’d been huddled under slipped away, falling to the floor, the mattress beneath her creaking as badly as her spine.

  “Morning, sunshine.”

  She sat up straight at that. It took a second, but her surroundings came into focus, the peach walls and the bright lights.

  The hospital bed.

  “Jesus.” Lifting a hand to shield her eyes, she gazed over at said bed. Her heart just about beat out of her chest to see two bright blue eyes staring back at her. She hadn’t hallucinated that voice after all. As the realization soaked in, her racing pulse calmed down, at least a fraction. “Evan. You’re awake.”

  “And so are you. About time, too.”

  “Fuck you.” She rubbed at her eyes. “Do you even know how many time zones I crossed yesterday?”

  “Yeah.” His voice, rough already, cracked on the word. “I do.”

  Oh, hell. She was an ass. In her defense, she’d just woken up in a strange place on a bed that could have doubled as a medieval torture device, she had no idea what time it was, she was starving, and she was desperately undercaffeinated. But still. She’d just jumped down her brother’s throat, and he was in the fucking hospital.

  “Sorry.” She blinked the last of the sleep from her eyes, then let her gaze sweep over her brother’s form. He was lying on his back, propped at an angle the same way he’d been last night, still covered in tubes and wires and bandages. Basically, he looked like shit, but his eyes were open, and that was as much as she could ask for. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I got hit by a truck.”

  Her blinking this time was different, and her throat got tight. But she was here to be strong. Putting on her best, most disaffected tone, she said, “I heard it was barely a midsize.”

  “Well, it felt like a truck.”

  She didn’t have any witty response to that. “Really, though, you okay? Should I call a nurse, or—”

  He waved a hand, then winced, dropping it by his side. “They already came through. Can’t believe it didn’t wake you up.”

  Neither could she. She usually slept pretty lightly. Pushing the tangle of her hair back from her face, she swung her feet off the edge of the cot. Her pants bunched up, and she tugged at her top to try to keep it in place. Ugh, she hated sleeping in her clothes. Not much that could be done about that now, though. Maybe Dane would think to bring her something to change into when he stopped by.

  Ugh. Dane was going to see her like this, all rumpled and gross.

  Whatever. Focus.

  “Did they have anything new to say?”

  “Not really. I’m lucky to be alive, et cetera, et cetera.”

  Her stomach did a little flip. “Do you remember what happened?”

  “You mean with the truck?”

  She chuckled, mostly because it was all she could do to keep from crying. “Sedan.”

  He gave a bare shake of his head, and even that seemed to hurt. “One minute I was in the crosswalk. The next I was in the air, and then I was getting up close and personal with the pavement.”

  There wasn’t any keeping that edge of a sob out of her voice this time. “Fucking hell, Evan.”

  “Tell me about it.” His eyes were red, too, the irises glassy. “Never been so scared.”

  “Neither have I. Rylan, too.”

  He chuffed. “I’m sure.”

  “Don’t joke. He’s your brother. He was terrified for you. He wanted to be here, but . . .” But work. But he wasn’t sure if he’d be welcome.

  “Okay, okay.” His fingers twitched, like he’d be waving her off if it didn’t hurt so much.

  Their stare held for a long moment before he closed his eyes. Another wave of guilt moved through her. He had to be exhausted. He didn’t need to lie there answering her questions or listening to her defend their brother.

  But he was the one to break the silence. “Was nice. Not waking up alone.” His voice had gotten softer, almost slurred.

  She sniffed, but made hers go quieter, too. “I’m sure waking up to my snoring was a real delight.”

  “Y’know what I mean.”

  Yeah. She did. “I came as fast as I could.”

  “Didn’t expect you to.”

  That one hit her right between the ribs.

  There was a time in her life when maybe she wouldn’t have. Too busy with work or school. She prided herself on being the one to hold this family together, the one to stick around when the going got tough. But her priorities hadn’t always been in the right place.

  They were getting there now, though. Maybe it was this trip
with Dane—getting some fucking perspective on her life for once. Taking time off and giving in to the part of her that wanted to be soft. It had changed her. She hadn’t even blinked between hearing the news and packing her bag.

  A fierce edge broke into her tone. Pushing herself up, she crossed the room to the chair beside Evan’s bed. She reached out and took his hand. “Well, you should.”

  He should expect his family to be there for him. They hadn’t always been in the past. Mom and Dad had been emotionally—and sometimes physically—MIA for years, and he and Rylan had had their conflicts. But family was important. The people you loved, that were yours to take care of . . . they mattered. More than money or success or the share price of their stock.

  She wasn’t going to forget that.

  “You should expect your family to be there for you.”

  Evan’s eyes fluttered open. His hand clasped itself around hers, the skin still cold, but there was life in those veins. He was here, and so was she, and she wasn’t going anywhere. He could trust in that.

  Evan sucked his lips between his teeth, some sharp remark just sitting there—she could hear it in the air. But in the end, he smoothed out his mouth and just stared back at her with their mother’s eyes.

  God, she hoped that he believed.

  “Hey, little bro. You want a beer?”

  Dane was sitting at—fuck, it had to be their parents’ kitchen table from the old house in Billings. And Jake . . .

  Jake stood in front of the fridge, and he was just the way Dane remembered him. Larger than life, his smile wide and easy, and Dane had been too young for this, back then. But here he was, fully grown and dressed in his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles T-shirt, saying “Yeah, sure, why not,” and his brother was tossing him a can. He popped the top and held it up as if to say cheers, same way Dad and Jake always used to do, back . . . back . . .

  Just like that, his eyes started to sting. “Fucking miss you,” he swore, like he was drunk already, only he wasn’t, he was . . . What the hell was he?