"Yeah, but—" At the top of the stairs already, Liam rushed down the hall toward the guest bedroom where he'd been staying for the past week. "There's neatness and then there's really-big-mess," he called back on his way.
Chuckling, Brennan slowed down to give Liam time to do whatever he thought he had to do before they saw the bedroom. He could hear Erica deciding to follow. Without looking, he could sense her wariness and resentment.
She was not what Brennan had imagined based on what little Richard had told him about his second-born, the daughter. She was small for the track star her father claimed she'd been, though not tiny. She was slender and pretty, with a boyish cut to her light brown hair. Brennan had not imagined pretty.
In the spare bedroom, Brennan found Liam standing in the middle of the floor and looking around him at what was not, in fact, that big of a mess. As was the case so often recently, he looked completely lost.
"Where's that duffel bag we used before?" Brennan asked. "Oh, here." He bent to snag the old canvas bag out from under the bed. "I'll throw your clothes in while you get your computer stuff together."
Liam's gaze went to the laptop and assorted electronic boxes of indeterminate employment that were sitting on the desk. "Okay." Once given direction, he was able to get moving, closing the laptop and unplugging wires.
If Erica hadn't shown up, Brennan would have let the kid simply keep everything where it was...forever. Over the four years he'd known the family, Brennan had come to consider Liam a younger brother. And Richard was definitely a second father.
"Is the stuff in the drawers yours, too?" Erica asked, moving toward the bureau.
"What? Oh, yeah." Liam was under the desk, unplugging equipment from the wall.
"Here." Erica lifted a pile of shirts and brought it to the duffel bag Brennan held.
Her nearness gave him a hit of her feminine presence, the quantity of physical energy lying just under the surface. He had to admit she had a certain animal appeal. A lot of it. Brennan leaned in the opposite direction to grab a sweater from the bed.
It probably wasn't fair that her appeal increased his negative opinion of her.
Once Liam's clothes had been thrown into the duffel bag and, between Liam and Erica, they'd collected all his electronics and his school backpack, the three of them tramped down the stairs, out the door and across the two driveways over to the Carmichael residence.
A few lights were on in the house, set on a timer by Brennan to make it look like the place wasn't deserted. But to Brennan it looked that way anyhow. This time Richard was not coming back.
"My keys," Liam muttered, swinging his backpack down onto the porch. "Where'd I put my keys?" He opened four zippers before he found them.
Despite the emotional chaos of his father's illness, Liam had gotten straight A's on his fall report card two months ago, but the simple things in life seemed to overwhelm him.
After a certain amount of fumbling, Liam got the key in the door and opened it. "There," he breathed in obvious relief. Grabbing up his backpack, he went in eagerly.
Brennan was set to follow Erica, who was holding the miscellaneous electronic boxes, but she abruptly stopped on the other side of the threshold. Brennan saw her look around her, her body language showing shock.
He didn't think there was anything particularly shocking about the checkerboard wallpaper, the polished brass wall sconce, or the Indian rug over the parquet wood floor—but he had a sudden insight regarding the source of her astonishment. During the time Brennan had known Richard, the older man had taken pride in his house and yard, spending hours trimming the lawn, fixing the handcrafted fence, or putting up new light fixtures.
He'd probably not been much of a handyman during the years he'd spent drunker than a skunk, when Erica had lived here.
"Let's put my stuff in my room upstairs," Liam told Erica. "Then you can choose whichever of the other rooms you want. They're all clean—the maid was here a week ago."
"Okay." Erica was staring at the fancy chandelier that hung over the front stair.
A dollop of sympathy dropped into Brennan's negative judgment. From what Richard had admitted to him, Brennan knew her childhood had not been easy, far from it. She no doubt had good reason to own a prickly personality. She probably had some cause to behave with ill nature under the current circumstances.
Perhaps some of his irritation with her was actually directed toward himself. She made him look at his own past with eyes he'd rather not use.
With a slow shake of her head, Erica finally started after Liam up the stairs.
In Liam's bedroom, Brennan, entering after the other two, lowered the duffel bag onto the bed.
Liam was already reconnecting his computer equipment.
"What about your things?" Brennan asked Erica, who was now staring at the braided floor rug.
"Hm?" She blinked and looked up.
"Can I help you unload your things from your car?"
"Oh, no. That's okay, I can—" She abruptly stopped, perhaps catching the expression Brennan wore. Correctly, she read he would consider it weakness on her part to spurn such a benign offer. Straightening, she said. "Sure. The car's parked right out front. I'll go open it up."
She wasn't stupid. Brennan was glad of that as he followed her back down the stairs. He wasn't quite as pleased with the additional hit of male interest he felt as he watched her descend the stairs, her movements spare and controlled. Probably the balance of his irritation with her came from her attractiveness. He didn't want to feel attracted.
At the curb sat a gently aged mini-SUV. She clicked the locks open and reached into the back for a medium-sized suitcase.
Their eyes met as she handed it to him. The size of the suitcase said she hadn't planned to stay long.
Her chin lifted in a defensive gesture.
The gesture made Brennan feel slightly guilty. Who was he to judge or dislike her? He could understand why she hadn't come home since she'd left. He could even understand why she'd only packed for a short visit, just long enough to bid her father the briefest possible goodbye.
Clearing his throat, he took her suitcase. "I doubt there's any food in the house. I'm happy to run you and Liam to the market."
"Thank you, but I remember where the grocery store is. Anyway, I'll probably simply get takeout tonight."
The brush-off was clear. I don't need you. But then, as he was turning away, he felt a touch on his arm.
A small shock went through him, as though he'd connected with a wool blanket on a dry day. Disguising the odd sensation, he turned back to give her a questioning look.
She quickly retracted her hand. In the light from the front porch, Brennan could see her prickly mask go transparent. Beneath it showed her fear and vulnerability. She bit her lower lip. "I don't know if you could tell me— But do you think we should go to the hospital right away? I have no idea...how bad things are."
Something melted in his chest. Maybe this was the real woman, someone who admitted she had feelings and cared. "I think you have time. Liam and I were there earlier, before I brought him home for a break and to get some homework done. Matters seemed fairly stable. I think you can settle in and have dinner first."
"Oh, okay. Thanks." She released her hold on her lower lip and frowned. "So, you really are friends with my father?"
Her obvious disbelief melted his moment of softness. Surely she was aware that Richard hadn't touched a drink in twelve years. Surely she could guess he might be a decent human being when alcohol wasn't drowning his brain. As a matter of fact, meeting Richard was what had decided Brennan to make a go of becoming branch manager here at Livestrength Sports equipment, who'd encouraged him to buy the branch and create his own brand, Diehard, two years ago. He'd helped Brennan restart his own life and succeed.
"We're good friends," he now told Erica and heard the huskiness in his voice. Tilting his head, he decided to simply say it. "He isn't the same person you knew."
Her nostrils flared. "
You think I don't know what he's like when he's sober?" She sounded bitter. "But I also know what it's like when he falls off the wagon. And I don't ever want to be around again when that happens."
Twelve years of sobriety, treated like a fluke. All the upstanding, decent things Richard had done during that time— Brennan narrowed his eyes. "One way or another, you're unlikely to see that happen."
Clearly brought up short, she stared at him with widened eyes.
He saw he might as well have kicked her. He felt as if he had. That had been a low blow, even if it felt like it had been warranted. Which it probably hadn't been. Richard himself had never blamed either of his two oldest children for writing him off.
But Brennan didn't seem able to stay honest with himself when she castigated her father. He couldn't seem to help taking it personally.
"Here, I'll take the suitcase." She easily wrested it from his grasp. Walking swiftly, she left him behind and stalked toward the house.
Feeling a mixture of anger and embarrassment, Brennan followed in her wake. The woman was entitled to whatever feelings she had; he hadn't needed to try throwing guilt into the mix. Also, she had a superior claim for authority over Liam. At the very least, he should have played his cards better.
She pushed open the unlocked door. Brennan was sure she intended to go inside and then close it in his face. That would not be ideal. He wasn't yet sure Liam would be okay in this new situation.
Just as Erica was on the inside of the door, on the point of turning around to close it, the telephone inside the house rang.
Her eyes rose and hit Brennan's.
"Hello?"
They both heard Liam answer the phone. They both waited, silent, until the boy came up to the front door with the kitchen handset to his ear.
Liam's face was pale. "It's the hospital. They think we should come now."
Call it Love Page 35