Cook Brothers: The Whole Flipping Family

by BJ Harvey

I throw my head back and bark out a laugh. “That definitely sounds like Ax.”

  Noah chuckles. “I never thought I’d have to worry about younger boys hitting on my girl. I already want to lock her up until she’s thirty.”

  I look across at Scotty, who looks three sheets to the wind and well on his way to four. He’s making eyes at a group of women playing a game of pool. Tilting my head his way, I turn back to Noah. “Ax is the least of your worries. You want to keep her locked up to avoid guys like Scotty.”

  Noah’s eyes widen before he starts chuckling. He holds up his bottle and clinks it with mine. “I think you might be right there.”

  I look over at Marco, who lifts his chin my way. If I was ever worried about Marco being suspicious about his sister and me, I needn’t have been. Since Thanksgiving, there have been no suspicious looks or snide remarks about keeping it in my pants. Luca and Gio are still a work-in-progress, but it’s not like I’m completely innocent. Even when Skye first started, I knew I was attracted to her, and if she was anyone else’s sister, I probably wouldn’t have friend-zoned her straight off the bat like I did. But despite that, I can’t deny it’s different with her. I can’t put my finger on why, but it is.

  Maybe it’s because I respect her, or because we became friends first before things turned physical. Or maybe I’m pussy whipped, and I’m not exactly thinking straight these days. I’m just grateful that Skye and I have our promise we made to each other. It’s put a clear line in the sand for me and helps put my mind at ease when I’m tired and overthinking why it seems natural to share a bed most nights or to just want to spend time with her outside of work.

  A few hours later, I’m leaning over the pool table, lining up my shot when Skye presses her chest into my side, bringing her lips down to nip my earlobe.

  “Care to make a wager, Cass?” she croons. I’d consider it risky if Marco was still here, and I wasn’t a drink past sober.

  Thankfully he’s not. He left a while ago to drop an inebriated Scotty home and stop him from getting slapped, knocked out, or arrested—maybe all three.

  Zach, Noah, their wives, and a few of the guys are still here, but they’re fifteen feet and about ten people away from where we are.

  It’s because of this that I don’t move away. Instead, I turn my head to bring my face closer to hers. “Depends what you’re thinking,” I murmur.

  Her hand smooths over my hip and down to my thigh. “Well…” she says, slowly tracing her fingers along the inside seam of my jeans. “I’m thinking if you make the next three shots and clear the table, I might show my appreciation of your other skills with a long stick in the bathrooms.”

  My entire body goes still, Skye’s proposition making my cock go from twitching to rock hard in the blink of an eye.

  “That’s… intriguing.”

  “I think it would be hot as hell,” she whispers seductively. She runs her tongue along the rough stubble of my jaw, making my dick throb.

  “So show me how much you want me…” She cups me, a huff of breath escaping her lips.

  “Pretty sure you can feel how hard you’ve got me.”

  “Then sink your shots; otherwise, I’m going to have to go back there and take matters into my own hands, imagining what you’d be doing between my legs if you’d won the bet.” Her warm breath washes over my skin, and I’m close to saying screw it and dragging Skye by the hand to the first available cab when a throat clears behind us. I go ramrod straight and jump away from her, taking a deep breath and laying the pool cue on the felt as my dick goes limp in a preemptive self-preservation measure. Schooling my features, I turn around, still having enough clarity to brace myself for whatever—or whoever—is coming at me.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Skye leaning casually against the corner of the table.

  Standing there with his arms crossed, his narrowed gaze switching between us, is Zach, and I let out a small sigh of relief. “Skye, I think Dani wanted to ask you something,” he says, his tone flat and unreadable.

  “So you can have a go at Cass for playing pool?” she says, the sass in her tone unmistakable.

  “So I can warn a work colleague and friend about playing with fire.”

  Skye snorts and then starts giggling, even bending over with it.

  “Brat, pull it together,” I mutter, shaking my head.

  She grips my arm with her fingers. “But he said fire, and he’s a firefighter,” she squeaks.

  Zach’s lips twitch, but he quickly controls it. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?” he asks, lifting a brow.

  I tilt my body sideways to watch her lift her fingers up in the air, holding them an inch apart. “Maybe a little bit.”

  “And you?” he says, gaze pinned on me.

  Knowing humor might diffuse a potential situation, I copy Skye’s hand gesture. “A little bit?”

  Zach’s lips twitch. “You think it’s smart to flaunt whatever the hell it is that’s going on between the two of you?”

  “Nothing’s going on,” I snap.

  He doesn’t say anything, but his arched brow does. “Take it from someone who’s snuck around and got caught. Things will be a hell of a lot easier if you’re open and honest about it.”

  “But nothing’s going on,” I grind out, rapidly losing my buzz. Zach comes closer, his eyes locked with mine.

  “And I wasn’t born yesterday, Co.” He lifts his hand and runs his fingers through his hair, releasing an exasperated sigh. “Look. Just tone it down a bit. If anyone else saw the show you two are putting on, they’d know there was something there, even if you’re not ready to admit it. I thought I’d give you a heads up.” He looks to Skye. “And if you want to talk about how to navigate a big reveal to your brothers”—he switches back to me—“or yours, I’m here. Dani is here. We wrote the damn book on sneaking around and doing it for a long time. But for now…”

  “We’re going,” Skye announces. She doesn’t sound drunk anymore. She sounds sober as a judge. “Thanks, Zach.”

  “Not a problem. For what it’s worth, you two would be good together.”

  “We’re not—”

  “Co, don’t lie to me. You’re one of the best guys I know. Don’t soil that friendship by lying to my face.”

  My throat tightens, and I decide shutting up is the best course of action. There’s no point denying it.

  “Now, do you guys need a lift, or are you going to catch a cab? ’Cause any more drinks, and you’ll be mounting her on the pool table.”

  Skye snorts then dissolves into a fit of giggles.

  Zach’s lips twitch, and he tilts his head her way. “Didn’t realize you were such a lightweight, brat.”

  “Am not.”

  I snicker and look down, smirking at her. “Yeah. You are, Rossi. Lucky you’ve got me to carry you up the stairs if you crash out in the cab.”

  Zach sighs and holds his hands up in the air. “And that is my cue to leave. Definitely don’t want to know details.”

  “Plausible deniability,” I murmur, my eyes locked on Skye’s.

  “Yep.” He grabs my shoulder and gives me a gentle squeeze. “Go, ’cause Marco said he might be coming back, and if he does, you two not being here is probably for the best.”

  “Yeah, man.” I turn and meet his eyes. “Thanks.”

  “As I said, Co, one of the best. Don’t prove me wrong.”

  With a chin-lift, he spins around and disappears from sight.

  “I’m so confused. Are we sprung or not?” Skye asks, burrowing into my side without a care in the world. Zach’s right; definitely time to go.

  “We’re something, Skye. When you’re not tipsy, I’ll tell you about it.”

  “Okay, Cass,” she says before her gaze turns heated. “Take me home. I’ve got a debt to pay.”

  I meet her eyes and quirk a brow. “I didn’t take the shot.”

  She shrugs, a wry smile playing on her perfectly curved pink lips. “Maybe I want to pay anyway. Besides, the idea of
you carrying me up the stairs turns me on.”

  “Oh, it does, does it?”

  “Yeah, then again…” she says as her hand snakes around my back and dips down inside the top of my jeans. “… almost everything about you gets me hot.”

  I straighten and put some distance between us before grabbing her hand and tugging her toward the door behind me.

  Zach spotting us flirting is a concern, but not as much as if it had been anyone else who’d seen us.

  Not that there’s anything to it. It’s just sex… a lot of fucking great sex, but that’s all it is.

  Best friends who sleep together. That’s all we can be.

  Anything else would just complicate things, and I’d rather have Skye in my life than fuck this up and not have her at all.

  That’s what I have to remember and to ignore that nagging sense of foreboding deep in my gut telling me there’s more to us than just friends who are sleeping together.

  And it’s that feeling that probably scares me most of all.

  18

  Skye

  Working a twenty-four on Christmas Eve is always hit and miss. It can be a cruisy, easy shift in which time flies by. On the flipside, it can also be a hell-on-wheels roller-coaster ride which seems to go so slowly you think you might just be working forever.

  Tonight—with five hours to go—it has reached a whole new level—apocalyptic.

  It’s been call after call, travelling from one side of the city to the other, and none of them easy, quick, straightforward cases either.

  When this call comes through, I know it’s going to be a hard one. The ones with kids always are.

  We pull into a narrow street with lights and sirens, given the priority of the situation. Co pulls the bus as far right as he can across the property’s driveway and with no time to waste, I jump out and slam my door closed before grabbing our bags, defibrillator, and gurney from the back, and rushing to the open front door, an ashen-faced, panicked man standing there waiting for us.

  “She’s through here,” he says, running back down the hallway. We follow him, Cohen asking how long she’s been unconscious, about any preexisting medical conditions, and if she has any allergies or is on any medication.

  Reaching the living area, we’re confronted by the patient’s mom and a teenage girl sitting on the floor, a young girl laying limp in their arms the same size as Penelope. Oh, God.

  I push the thought away and quickly move to her side, Cohen mirroring me.

  “Let’s move her onto the gurney,” he says, calling out a one, two, three count as we lift her onto the bed. “I’m going to check her vitals.”

  ”Nut allergy?” I ask, taking an educated guess as I look directly into the stricken mother’s eyes.

  “Yes,” she cries. “I don’t know how though; we don’t even have them in the house.”

  Time is of the essence but I quickly reach out and put my hand on the mother’s arm. “We’re going to take good care of her.” She nods and cuddles with her other daughter on the couch.

  Cohen takes over. “Did you administer an EpiPen?”

  “Yes, but it didn’t work like it normally does,” the father says, standing behind us.

  The mom sobs. “We’re so careful but sometimes even the smallest of traces can make her react.”

  “What’s your daughter’s name?” I ask, not looking up from the young patient.

  “Grace. She’s Grace,” she whispers, stroking the girl’s hair.

  I soften my voice. “And your name?”

  “Stephanie.”

  “Okay, Stephanie. We’re going to be moving Grace to the ambulance in a minute, but if you can hold Grace’s hand that would be great,” I say.

  She nods and moves, engulfing her daughter’s little hand in hers.

  Cohen kneels near the girl’s head and checks her pulse again, before leaning over and turning his head, listening to the girl’s breathing and checking her mouth. He looks over at me. “We’ve got swelling and stridor so we’re not going to fuck around with this. I don’t want to have to cric her. So, fluids open. Epinephrine, then intubate because I’m not risking her airway for anything,” he says, all business. “Then we’re off. Okay?”

  I nod and get to work, cutting the girl’s t-shirt straight up the middle and placing the pads onto her chest, hooking up the heart monitor.

  While this is happening, Cohen makes quick work of placing the IV and attaching the bag of saline, holding it out to me. As I’m squeezing the fluids into the girl, he grabs the Epinephrine, draws the correct dose into a syringe and pushes it into the IV line.

  Co moves to the girl’s head while I quickly grab the equipment he needs. Taking the laryngoscope from my outstretched palm, before very carefully and expertly inserting the breathing tube on his first try.

  I lock eyes with Cohen, handing over the BVM and ambu bag, watching him connect them to the tube. We swap around, me squeezing the bag gently while Cohen pulls his stethoscope to his ears and places the diaphragm on Grace’s chest to check the position of the tube. We lock eyes and he nods confirmation.

  “Let’s go.”

  Forty minutes later, we hand off the four-year-old Grace to the ER staff, leaving her with her parents and sister waiting outside, and return to the rig. I’m shaken to the core, something that has happened whenever we respond to a call involving a child.

  I’m lost in thought and operating on autopilot when Cohen starts the engine and pulls out of the ambulance bay.

  He reaches over and places his hand on my arm. “You okay?”

  I stamp my unease down, putting it in a box and closing the lid, knowing I can process it all once the shift is over in a couple of hours when I’m at home and alone.

  I nod, my chest tight. Grace coded once on the way to the hospital, and for a moment there, with her mother’s loud cries filling the back of the bus, I almost lost hope of saving her. What kind of Christmas would that family have if we hadn’t been able to revive her?

  “It’s okay not to be okay, Skye. You know that, right?”

  I swallow down the lump in my throat to answer him. “Yeah.”

  “And I’m here to talk it through. Cases with kids are always hard.”

  I stare out the window, watching as the dark streets pass by. “Yeah.”

  It’s all I can say. My head is totally not in the game, and the reassuring squeeze of my partner’s fingers tells me he knows it too.

  Pulling his hand back, he reaches over and grabs the radio, calling in and informing them we’re headed back to the station.

  “I’m going to ask the captain to call us off early.”

  My head snaps his way. “I’m fine. I’m just—”

  “Rattled? Lost in your head? Totally not fine, Skye, and as the senior on shift, I’m making an executive decision to call off early so we can get home, and you can work through it.”

  I don’t know why I do it, but I speak without thinking. “Let me guess—you’re going to screw it away?”

  He jerks back. “No, and you saying that proves I’ve made the right call. It also means you’ve forgotten that even if we weren’t sleeping together, I’d make the same decision.”

  I sigh, wishing I could compartmentalize better when on the job. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that. It’s just…” I shake my head.

  “You want to tell me why this case has hit you harder than others?” he asks. “We’ve attended a lot of call-outs together, and I haven’t seen you close to going into shock like you are now.”

  I take a long, deep breath and slowly exhale, mulling over how to answer. I glance his way and find him gritting his teeth, that small muscle in his jaw twitching like mad. I brace myself, expecting him to push for an answer. But he doesn’t. Which makes my decision for me.

  “I’ve never had a patient that could’ve so easily been Penelope. Same age, same hair color—it hit me like a ton of bricks, but we had a job to do, and there was no way I was going to lose it without having the patient
stable and in the right place. What use am I to anyone if I can’t keep hold of my emotions on the job?”

  “You’re human,” he says softly, his eyes gentle as they fix on me. I know then I made the right decision, not just in opening up a little bit, but also in trusting the man beside me to do right by me, as my work partner and friend.

  “Okay, then let’s get back to the station. I’ll talk to Cap, and we’ll go home. If you want to be alone, I won’t like it, but I’ll respect it. Doesn’t mean I won’t make sure your family knows you had a tough night, and they might need to step in. Okay?”

  I nod because he’s being so sweet, and it’s exactly how I need him to be right now. “Thanks, Co. I’m sor—”

  “Don’t apologize for being human. Just let me take care of you and make both of us feel better.”

  “But it’s Christmas Day. Your family…”

  “Let me worry about that. Right now, you are most important. The rest will fall into place.”

  I turn my head, leaning my cheek against the headrest and looking over at him. “You’re going to make a girl really happy one day.”

  His eyes flash, but he doesn’t reply.

  Then again, I don’t think he has to. His expression says it all.

  After doing all our paperwork, we don’t end up leaving the firehouse until close to six a.m. anyway.

  I’m still dazed when Cohen leads me into his apartment, closing the door behind us.

  Fingers laced with mine, he walks me through to his bedroom, dropping our bags to the floor then turning toward me.

  I tilt my chin as he sweeps my hair off my face and cradles my head in his hands. Grabbing hold of his hips, I melt into him as his soft gaze searches mine.

  “You doing okay, brat?” he asks.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “I know you will be because I’m staying to make sure you are.”

  My eyes sting, and I try to look away but don’t get far.

  “Nuh-uh. No hiding. We’re close enough for you to let me in.”

  I swallow down the growing lump in my throat. “But we don’t have this.”