Lift You Up (Rivers Brothers 1)

"It is not my fault that humans are not meant to walk on sticks!" I objected, shaking my head at myself.

The rest of the day went much that way - light, easy. We ate Chinese. We picked on Nixon when he showed up with groceries. We watched movies that made us laugh, not wanting to watch anything harsh, violent. I'd had enough for that in real life to last a lifetime.

Maybe that made me sound cowardly. But, well, that was okay with me. I wasn't a badass. That wasn't how I was wired. I didn't stare danger in the face and think, 'Come and get me, bitch.' I would very much prefer it that danger and I avoided eye-contact if crossing each other on the street.

A nice, quiet, easy life was what I wanted. Where the biggest problem was how to get hair off clothing that wouldn't come off even after a wash and dry cycle, how to keep the house from being covered in muddy paw prints, exactly what was the right ratio of liver treats a day to give an ever-growing pack of dogs.

I wasn't naive about it, though. I understood that if my future involved Kingston - and I was sincerely hoping it did - then I would never be completely protected from dangerous things. His world came with a certain amount of risk. There would be nights when I would sit up, a knot tied tightly in my belly, wondering if he was okay, if he was going to come home to me.

It was a small price to pay though, I decided, as he climbed in bed that night, curling into me because I couldn't curl into him, running his fingers over me like he needed to remind himself that I was there, that I was okay, that I wasn't going to disappear on him.--"What's this about?" Atlas asked the next morning, having shown up with a hot take-away coffee when I was still wiping sleep out of my eyes.

All the Rivers brothers looked alike. Tall, strong, dark-haired, dark-eyed. But there was a boyish - or playboyish, to be more accurate - charm to Atlas, a lightness that made his features seem more approachable, yet completely unattainable somehow at the same time.

Quick to smile, quick to laugh, quick to disappear in the middle of the night after giving some girl the orgasm of her life. That was what Atlas was about.

It was practically an honor that he was there at my bedside when he could be charming some girl out of her clothes.

"What's what about?" I asked, slow blinking at him as I cradled my too-hot coffee between my hands.

"The sock," he clarified, sitting down next to my casted leg, propped up high on four pillows.

"My foot was cold," I lied. Badly. My voice crackled in the middle and everything. "Fine. My toes are fat," I told him.

"Babe, it's pretty clear you two have hit the sheets. I'm sure King has seen your fat toes... and loved them."

"My toes are not normally fat!" I objected, voice getting high. "They're swollen," I clarified, voice calmer as his lips curled, revealing a deep set dimple to one side. Just one. He only had one. Which kept him from looking too boyish. "And my polish is all chipped."

"Alright, let's see what you have going on," he started, peeling the sock down.

"No!"

"Oh, stop," he said with an eye roll. "You don't want to fuck me, so what do you care about what I think of your fat toes?" And, well, he had a point there. So I let him pull it off the rest of the way. "The swelling isn't that bad, considering. Must be how high King has your leg propped. I didn't think he even had this many pillows."

He didn't.

He had called Rush first thing this morning when I woke up in a lot of pain to bring over a bunch of pillows so we could get the ankle above my heart, so the fluid would drain.

"Alright. You want me to deal with the polish?"

"If I wanted polish all over my feet, I could call one of the kids over to paint them," I told him, tone light, teasing.

"If you tell my brothers this, I will find some way to make you suffer, but Scotti used to make me paint her toenails when she was little. She'd throw this epic fit, screaming and stomping and threatening to tell Mom if I didn't. So I did. Got good at it. Just gotta pop out for polish."

Had you told me a month ago that soon I would be living with one Rivers brother while another delivered groceries to me and yet another painted my toenails, I would have suggested you maybe go seek some mental health treatment because you were clearly deranged.