Page 37 of From the Start
“Stop staring at my muscles and open the door, Slugger.”
“I wasn’t…” I clear my throat before I can finish the lie.
Of course, I was staring at his muscles. His biceps are bulging from his efforts, and his t-shirt is straining over his chest. When did little Kai – the brat who was always trying to sneak intoRumrunnerbefore he was of age – grow those muscles?
I hurry to the front door and unlock it. Kai wheels Dad inside.
“I got this.” I nudge Kai out of the way and push Dad the rest of the way to his bedroom.
“I’m not a baby. I don’t need a nap.”
I wish I had time for a nap. But no one’s asking me.
“The doctor said you’d be tired from the pain meds.”
“I’m not…” A yawn cuts him off.
I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Fine. I’m tired. But it’s because of the pain meds. Not because I’m a baby.”
“Of course not.”
I help him into bed. “You good?”
His response? A snore. I guess he’s good.
I pause at the door to study him. In his sleep, he appears peaceful. Unlike when he’s awake and fighting me on every-damn-thing.
I shut the door behind me and tiptoe down the hallway. Dad’s usually a light sleeper. I never could get away with sneaking into the house late when I was a teenager.
I skid to a halt at the opening to the living room. Kai is sitting on the couch.
“What are you still doing here?”
“Waiting for you.”
“Waiting for me? Kai.” I sigh. “I can’t deal with any lame pick-up lines right now.”
He clutches his chest. “My pick-up lines are lame? Harsh.”
I roll my eyes. “What do you want?”
“I want to check how you’re doing.”
“Me?” I tap my chest. “I’m fine. I’m not the one who wrenched my shoulder out of the socket and broke my only useable arm.”
“I know you’re fine physically.” His gaze rakes over me and I lock my limbs before I squirm under his scrutiny. “But what about mentally? You have a lot going on.”
“Tell me about it,” I mutter.
“Come. Sit down.” He motions me forward. “I made you coffee.”
“You made me coffee?” He offers me a mug but I shake my head.
“It won’t bite you.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Unlike me.”
I grunt. “There’s Mr. Lame Pick-up Line.”
