“You don’t even know them.”
“I don’t have to and it’s probably better that I don’t,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “You’re coming to my house for dinner tonight. I’ll order something,” he chuckles. “But this isn’t up for negotiation, Dani. You’re coming. End of story.”
I don’t even fight it. I don’t want to. “I’ll be there.”
Lincoln
“HEY, G.” I STRIP THE sheets off my bed and toss them to the floor. Balancing the phone against my bare shoulder, I find a clean white set in the hall closet and begin remaking the bed. “What’s up?”
“Two things. One, are you coming home for Thanksgiving?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I have some papers for you to sign for the security company. I didn’t know whether to mail them or wait for you to come home.”
“Nah, I’ll be there. What’s number two?”
“In a hurry?” he chuckles.
“Kind of.” I start shoving pillows into new pillowcases.
“What are you doing?”
“Making my bed.”
“Okay, you’re scaring me now. Where’s Rita?”
I plop the final pillow against the headboard. “She’s not here today. You had two things to talk about?”
“I suddenly don’t remember what the second thing was.”
An irritated sigh slides out of my mouth. “So we good to go then?”
Graham doesn’t respond for a moment. Finally, as I’m walking into the kitchen and wondering if the cake should’ve gone into the refrigerator, he speaks. “What’s wrong, Linc?”
Deciding the cake is fine having sat out, I slump against the counter. “I have a lot on my mind. That’s all.” My hand squeezes my forehead, the headache that creeped in on the way home from therapy intensifying. If I could stop clenching my jaw, I’m sure it would help. I glance at the clock.
“Is it your shoulder?” he asks.
“Nah. I had therapy earlier today. My range of motion is about 60% better than it was.”
“That’s good . . .” He gives me an opportunity to respond, but I don’t. “Seriously, all joking aside, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. This isn’t about me.” I scratch my chin. There’s more stubble dotting my face than I usually let add up. “I don’t think it’s about me, anyway.”
My brother blows out a breath. “If you don’t want to discuss it, that’s fine.”
“You know what it is?” I say, shoving off the cabinet. “I’m fucking pissed off.”
I can hear it in my tone, the sharpness that’s been needling my gut since leaving Dani’s office. Graham hears it too because he doesn’t push me. He gives me a minute to get my thoughts together.
“I swing by Dani’s office after therapy and she’s all tore up.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s crying, G. I can’t deal with her crying, man.”
Her beautiful face, stained with tears, slays me again. The feeling of her back heaving as she tried to hold back the hurt makes my fingers itch to find her and pull her to me again.