Crashed (Mason Brothers 2)

“Jesus.” I swigged orange juice. “Yes, he did. Everything’s fine.”

“Donna is supposed to come tomorrow.”

I winced. Donna was a “wellness therapist”—that was what she called herself, probably because she wasn’t any kind of legit doctor. She’d been hired by my mother.

Two years ago, when my parents divorced, my mother had decided to come back into my life. Nick’s, too. She’d apologized for abandoning us after the accident and she’d tried hard to make amends. Part of those amends, in my mother’s mind, was hiring Donna to give me her wellness therapy.

Overall, I was good with having my mother back. It sure as hell beat the years when I thought she didn’t give a shit about me. But Donna and her wellness therapy were a pain in the ass.

“Aren’t you in Hawaii?” I asked my brother. “Why are you fussing about my schedule?”

“Just making sure you’re following it,” Nick said. “And yes, I’m in fucking Hawaii. It’s nice here. You should come sometime.”

“What color is the sky in your world?” I swigged more juice. “Kiss Evie for me. Then again, don’t, because you’ll only remind her that she married the wrong guy.”

This was a common line of ribbing with Nick and me. I didn’t actually have a thing for Evie, even though she was a hot, curvy redhead, definitely the best-looking woman who had ever been inside my house. Nick and Evie were made for each other. And I didn’t have a thing for any woman, because it wasn’t going to happen.

I thought of Tessa Hartigan, then pushed the thought away.

There was a muffled female voice on the other end of the phone. Then Nick saying, “No, I’m not telling him that.” Then more talking.

“I’m getting old here,” I reminded my brother.

Nick sighed. “Evie wants me to say that she loves you.”

I put my glass down. For a second I couldn’t breathe. Fucking Evie. Neither of us deserved her.

“Well of course she does,” I said through the lump in my throat, making my voice sound casual. “Everyone knows I’m the better brother.” I cleared my throat. “With the bigger dick.”

“I’m not telling her that.”

In the beat of silence, my doorbell rang.

“What the fuck was that?” Nick said.

I was frozen in surprise. I wasn’t expecting anyone; I had no appointments, no deliveries. No one was supposed to be at my door.

“Andrew?” Nick said.

“It would seem to be my doorbell,” I said, wheeling myself over to my monitor and tapping it awake. “Probably just kids.” I looked at the front door feed and went very still.

“Well?” Nick said after a minute.

“It’s nothing,” I managed. “I’ll call you later.” I hung up.

And looked at the front door feed again.

Tessa Hartigan was standing on my front porch. She was still wearing the spaghetti-strap top and short shorts from before. Her sunglasses were perched on top of her head. She had noticed the camera and had centered herself in front of it, waving.

She carried a white square cake, which she tilted toward the camera. There was one word iced onto the cake:

Hi.

Six

Tessa

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