Accidentally Family

by Sasha Summers

  She perked up. “Me too, what? Don’t tell me Filly made a move? I’m so proud of her. I mean, I sort of mentioned what I was thinking but I didn’t think she had it in her—”

  “No moves have or will be made.” They’d talked about him? Was Felicity interested? What would he have said if she had? He pressed his eyes shut. Get a grip. What was wrong with him? He was forty, not some knobby-kneed high school kid. He shut down that line of thinking before it took root. “I’m not interested in dating. No matter what you, Diana, or Widow Rainey think.”

  Charity groaned. “Oh. Who did she sic on you?”

  “Some assistant principal.” He shook his head. He was not going to discuss this with her—she was his patient now. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Her brows rose. “It does if the woman’s going to give my sister competition.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “If you’re going to be my patient, we need to lay down some ground rules.”

  She crossed her arms and stared back. “I’m not good at rules, Graham.”

  He ignored her. “When you’re here, you are my patient. Meaning we’re not going to discuss things that aren’t related to your pregnancy.”

  She frowned at him. “But when I’m not sitting on paper, wearing some naked-backed robe thing we can still be friends?”

  He wasn’t sure how to answer that. “It might be best for you to see Dr. Luna, Charity. Because of the…the family connection.”

  She stared at him, her legs swinging rapidly. “You mean connection between you and my sister.”

  “This isn’t going to work.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. Six o’clock couldn’t get here soon enough. Maybe an hour at the gym would ease some of the kinks out of his neck and back. But if that were true, the last year of near-daily hour-long workouts would have his stress under control. Clearly, that wasn’t the case.

  “Fine. Fine. I’ll stop. I don’t want to see Dr. Luna.” She sighed. “I’m scared, Graham, okay? Freaking out. Don’t pawn me off on some strange dude.”

  “Dr. Veronica Luna,” he interrupted.

  “Right, still. I’d rather see you. So, I’m determined to get you and my sister hooked up—but at least I’m up front about it.”

  He stared at her. Hooked up? She sounded like Diana. Uncensored and unapologetic. Still, the idea wasn’t bothering him the way Romi Takahashi’s phone call had. No, something told him he would have reacted very differently if Felicity Otto-Buchanan had called him. And he wasn’t sure that was a good thing. “If you can act like a patient, I will be your doctor. Agreed?”

  “Yes, totally. Agreed.” She nodded. “But outside your office, all bets are off.”

  …

  Nick ran his hands through his sweat-slicked hair, heart hammering in his chest as he ran along the near-dry creek bed. No one hovering around, acting like he was going to explode. If one more person asked if he was okay, or gave him that look, or said they were sorry, he was going to lose his shit.

  But that would give everyone in this pathetic town something else to say about his family. And that was the last thing his mom—any of them—needed.

  Diana said she had something that could help. Why he was listening to someone who was even more screwed up than he was, he wasn’t sure. But now he was running the dry creek bed at two in the morning to meet her where all the potheads hung out to get high. He was that fricking desperate. Because his dad was an asshole.

  Dead now. A dead asshole. And the fact that his asshole dad’s death hurt this bad pissed him off.

  He couldn’t shake it. The anger. His phone kept blowing up with texts to hang out, go see a movie, or game online, but Nick ignored them—ignored the phone calls and tweets and snapchats, too. They didn’t get it. He couldn’t hang out and act like everything was normal. Unlike his friends, he knew the truth: life sucked. It was cruel and pointless and believing anything different would get your heart stomped and your dreams trashed.

  Over and over again.

  “You came.” Diana was sitting at the edge of the pipe, her skinny white legs all but glowing in the dark.

  “Yeah,” he said, gasping for breath. He pulled at the hem of his shirt, sweat gluing the fabric to his chest.

  “Jesus, Nick.” She pushed off the ground. “You ran here? You are crazy. Come meet everybody.”

  Everybody was three people. Some vaguely familiar overweight girl named Beth, with bloodshot eyes and a see-through shirt. A guy Diana called Whack, who had acne scars and a chip on his shoulder.

  And Lane. Lane Aisley. Lane was a major prick—everyone at school knew that. The asshat lived to piss people off.

  This was further proof that life wasn’t fair. If it were, this waste of a kid would have died, and his father would still be here to piss him off and ignore him.

  Breathing in hurt. Something jagged lodged in his throat.

  Lane had a joint in one hand and a half-empty bottle of whiskey in the other—as if Nick needed more proof that the guy was a complete tool. But something about Lane’s face, his cocky smile, made Nick’s hands clench. Planting his fists into Lane’s face, again and again and again… Stopping would be the problem.

  He pulled at the hem on his shirt again and rolled his neck.

  “Chill. Here,” Diana said, holding out the lit joint. “I promise, this will help.”

  Getting high wasn’t going to do a damn thing—except get him high. But screw it, he needed a break before he did something really stupid. The sweet cloud of smoke flooded his lungs and then he breathed out slowly—through his nose.

  “Feel anything?” Diana asked, watching him.

  The full moon overhead cast shadows over everything. Diana’s smudged dark liner made her eyes look like holes in her pale face.

  “No,” he murmured, his tongue thick in his mouth. Anything? Try everything. Too frigging much. He was sick and tired of choking on all the things he didn’t say. Wound tight with all the things he ached to do but didn’t.

  Diana smiled. “Sure.” She took a long drag off the joint. “You can cut the crap, okay? It’s me.”

  Maybe that’s why he was here. With Diana, he didn’t have to try. He didn’t know why she was pissed at the world, but they had that much in common. Considering she was a total nut job, that wasn’t exactly comforting.

  He stared beyond her at the others. Lane was watching them, that smug smile creasing his face. His fist, on that face—he could almost feel the force of the blow, see the way Lane’s head would pop back. He’d fall, down, down… And Nick would be the one smiling.

  The images stretched and twisted, throwing off his equilibrium. The world slanted, the corners softening and blurred.

  “I get it.” Her smile was hard. “I so get it.”

  Wait, what? She got it? “No. You don’t,” he pushed back. She had no idea what he was going through.

  She ran a hand through her hacked-off black hair, scratching her too-thin forearms with black-tipped nails. “Whatever.” She took another hit. “If you’re going to be an ass, you don’t get to share my weed.”

  He sighed and stood, staring up at the star-laden sky overhead. The sky was dropping, pushing down on him and swallowing the air. If this was her idea of relaxing, she was more messed up than he’d realized. This sucked. Stars were moving. Or was he moving?

  “You think your dad is up there?” Diana asked, swaying slightly and holding out the joint.

  He took another hit, breathed in deep before eventually answering. “Nope.” His legs were giving out so he sat at the edge of the pipe, the sky slowly descending until he couldn’t move. Was his dad there? Close now, close enough to touch—if he could reach out. He didn’t. “No way.”

  She sat down, hard, beside him. “My mom is.”

  He nodded. The ground was moving. “Your mom was awesome. Her peanut butter cookies. The b
est.” He wanted one. No, he wanted a plate of them. All the memories he had of Mrs. Murphy were good. She was up there in the stars. Stars that were falling, leaving big white streaks in the sky. “Think she can see us?”

  Diana leaned back, resting on her elbows. “I sure as hell hope not.”

  “Diana,” Lane Aisley called out. “Come here.”

  Diana sat up. “The boyfriend calls.”

  Diana had self-destructive tendencies, but… That tool was her boyfriend? Maybe she didn’t know he was all about hooking up and sharing the details with anyone who would listen. The guy was a douche. She needed to know that. He should have beaten the crap out of the loser when he had the chance. “Bad idea,” was the only warning he managed. Everything was heavy. It was hard to focus on anything.

  “I’m all about the bad ideas, Nick.” She was blurry and wavering, but she was staring at him. “We both know being good is a dead-end street.” She sighed. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

  Weed? No. Never. But he didn’t make a sound.

  “You gonna be okay?” she asked, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

  Those words again. Why did people ask when no one wanted an answer? No. He wasn’t okay. No frigging way. But no one wanted to hear him scream or see him punch the wall of this concrete pipe until his knuckles were shredded and breathing was possible again. Right now, the world was spinning too much for him to do either. All he could do was hold on to the edge of the concrete tube, hold on or fall.

  “Here,” Diana said, nudging him enough to throw him off-balance. “Shit, Nick… Lean against the wall.”

  Somehow, he made it to the side of the pipe. Head back, eyes closed, he held the cigarette she’d pressed into his hand but didn’t take another drag. Through the fog, the same shit was waiting for him. His father, Jack, his mom and sister, his inability to make things better or get away from everything. And sadness. He wanted to run, to keep running until he couldn’t think or run anymore. But movement, now, was an impossibility. And it scared the shit out of him. He was too high to leave, too high to drag Diana home, too high to stop the hot, angry tears from spilling down his cheeks.

  …

  Honor rolled over and looked at her phone. It was almost five a.m., and Owen Nelson was calling her? “Are you kidding me?” she groaned. Did he not get the whole silent treatment thing? Fine. If he needed her to say the words outright, she would. “Hello?”

  “Good morning, sunshine. I found something that belongs to you.” He was whispering.

  “Are you drunk?” she asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  He chuckled. “I’m not. But your brother is. Wanna let me in before that old lady next door calls the cops on us?”

  “What?” Honor sat up and covered her other ear. “Nick?” she whispered, pushing her tangled red hair from her face. “He’s been drinking? With you?”

  “Yes, to the first one. No, to the second. I found him when I was out running.” He paused. “We’re outside and he’s heavy.”

  “Back door,” she heard Nick add, voice slurred and thick.

  “Coming.” She was already hurrying across the landing, down the stairs, dodging Pecan and Praline as they leaped up hoping for breakfast, and through the living room to the french doors at the back of the house. Outside was Nick, his arm draped around Owen’s neck, bleary-eyed and looking like hell.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, opening the door. “Nickie, are you okay?”

  Nick glared at her. “Seriously?” he growled.

  “He’s stoned. Whiskey, too—I can smell,” Owen said, practically dragging her brother inside. “Threw up a few times on the way.”

  “Sorry, man,” Nick mumbled.

  “My shirt.” Owen glanced down. “And my shoes. But he’s doing better since he downed my water bottle.”

  Honor adored her little brother. But this… On top of everything else? Fury kicked in, hard and fast. “I can’t believe you…” But her voice was rising so she broke off and clapped her mouth shut. When there wasn’t the fear of their mother discovering them, she was so going to lay into him.

  “Honor,” Nick groaned. “I know I screwed up, okay? Not gonna happen again. I need to sleep it off.”

  “Shut up,” she hissed. “You are not going to wake up Mom, you hear me? She has enough to deal with right now. So be quiet before I…I lose my cool.” Hands fisted, she glanced at Owen. “Why are you smiling?”

  He shook his head, but his smile never wavered.

  “This way,” she hissed, sliding across the floor in her fuzzy socks. “Fifth step squeaks,” she said, pointing at the step as she led them to Nick’s room.

  She glanced back, angry and worried and completely clueless about what to do next. Was Nick okay? He looked terrible. All gray. His lips were white. And he was covered in sweat. Did he need a doctor? Sleep? A kick in the ass?

  “He’ll be okay,” Owen said.

  She frowned. How did he know? Did he have a vast knowledge of being stoned and the aftereffects? And why was he smiling at her like that?

  “In here,” she said, pushing open Nick’s door.

  Owen helped her brother to his bed. “Going down,” he said, lowering her brother slowly to the mattress.

  Nick lay back, both hands pressed to his head. “This sucks.”

  Good. Serves you right. But she couldn’t very well yell it at him the way she wanted to.

  “Thanks, man.” Nick clasped Owen’s hand in that weird angled handshake thing guys did to look cool.

  “No prob.” Owen put his hands on his hips. “That shit’s bad for you.”

  “Yeah,” Nick groaned.

  “I get you’re wound up, though. So, starting tomorrow, you’re going to the gym with me.” Honor’s anger was temporarily derailed by Owen’s offer. He did have the body of a professional athlete—all muscle. And he moved like one, too. Not that she’d spent a lot of time noticing. She hadn’t. Everything about Owen Nelson made her squirm. He was too pretty, too popular, and too…too confident. He’d always loved being the center of attention. And people loved making him the center of attention, so this newfound selflessness didn’t make sense.

  “Okay?” he asked, still waiting for some sign from her brother.

  Nick gave a thumbs-up.

  “Good.” Owen waited until Nick nodded before leaving. “You owe me shoes.”

  Nick’s chuckle ended in a groan.

  “Shh,” Honor reminded them.

  Owen held his hands up and headed her way, lingering in the door—beside her. Way, way too close to her.

  She stepped back and whacked her head against the doorframe.

  “Careful,” he whispered, his hand sliding between her head and the doorframe. “Don’t want to have to carry you to your bedroom.”

  Tingles covered every inch of skin. He was close. And big. And staring down at her with a totally different smile on his face. She didn’t know what it meant but the hot, tight burn in her belly was delightfully foreign and totally unsettling.

  “He’s going to be okay?” she murmured. “No doctor or anything?”

  “No,” Nick groaned. “Sleep. Lemme sleep.”

  She glared at her brother.

  “Sleep should do it,” Owen whispered, his gaze never leaving her face.

  Which was good because she was wearing a massive T-shirt, zebra-striped socks, and had crazy bed head.

  “I should go.” When he wasn’t trying so hard, he wasn’t nearly as obnoxious.

  “Yes.” She nodded, leading him back down the stairs. It was only when she was pushing open the french doors that she realized he could have shown himself out.

  He paused in the doorway. “You’re avoiding me?”

  There was just enough rumble to his voice to make her toes curl in her fuzzy socks. Against her better judgment
, she looked up at him and held her breath.

  “I’m leaving for boot camp in a few weeks. After that, you’ll miss me.”

  He’d been a thorn in her side since the day he’d moved here. Freshman year. English class. He’d been assigned the seat in front of her. From there she’d seen what sort of guy he was. From his constant flirting with every girl in school to the way he relentlessly teased her, Owen Nelson became her nemesis. Everything about him pushed her buttons. She was pretty sure he knew that—and liked it.

  Now he was leaving. Miss him? Her lungs felt heavy. Why would she miss him? “I doubt it.” Her voice wavered.

  “Ouch.” He pressed a hand over a bulging pectoral.

  She swallowed, too aware of him. “But tonight, this morning, I mean… Thank you for this.”

  His fingers brushed a curl from her cheek. “That hurt to say, didn’t it?”

  She was smiling at him. Why was she smiling at him?

  Owen’s hazel eyes swept over her face, the hint of real emotion surfacing on his model-worthy face. “I knew you’d be worried about him.”

  Meaning he’d done this for her? No. That wasn’t at all what he meant. Was it?

  “I’ll whip him into shape before I leave. I need someone to work out with anyway. If you’re okay with that?”

  She nodded, doing her best to stop smiling at him.

  He drew in an unsteady breath. “We need to go out.” It was the softest whisper.

  Say no. Say it now. And tell him to stop asking. She swallowed. “Why?”

  He grinned. It was a heart-stopping sort of grin. “Because I’d like to spend time with you. A lot.”

  He did? “Why?” She repeated, not nearly as resistant to the idea as she should be.

  “Shh,” he reminded her, but his grin grew. “Why not?” His gaze held hers. “Good memories to take with me when I leave.”

  He was leaving. Joining the Marines, like her uncle Zach. Meaning she wouldn’t see him again for a long, long time. Like Uncle Zach.

  “Please,” he added. The word was soft and husky.

  “Owen.” A little voice inside shouted yes.

  “Honor.” He cocked his head, stepping closer. “Why is it so hard to say yes?”