Page 62 of Beach Cottage Kisses
“I know.”
His slight nod was acknowledgment to himself. Not meant for her. He’d drifted off. Her coming in with the dogs…they’d obviously been on a different trip outside. He was too late for the offense route. “What time is it?”
“Two.”
“Two? In the afternoon?” He was putting a clock in the spare bedroom. And needed his phone and smartwatch back on and glued to him nonstop. As was his norm.
“Mmm-hmm. Joel called to say PT was cancelled for today.” She sat in the damned chair-morphed-into-bedroom that she’d ruined for life. He was going to have to donate the thing and get another. Shame, too. It had been his father’s.
She’d ruined his father’s chair. Was changing Scott into some sort of emotional being he didn’t recognize. She had to go.
And was sitting there watching him as though she hadn’t a care in the world. Sage had called her. She knew he’d called in his twin card, preying on his connection with Sage to get her to feel how important it was that she change her stipulation to remain on her honeymoon. In an attempt to get her to take down her threat to return home, he’d offered to agree to hired help for injury-related physical items, but he could not have anyone staying in his house with him.
Of course,anyonemeant Iris. Which Sage had immediately pointed out. By suggesting that maybe he ask Dale.Or Harper. Or any number of other casual friends he had in his life.
He was pretty sure he’d hung up with Sage pointing out that Iris was the only one he could even halfway tolerate.
That she was better than anyone else.
His twin knew he wouldn’t tolerate anyone else. If push came to absolute shove, he’d put up with Iris.
Sage probably also figured that no one else would put up with him.
She’d gotten the best of him.
Which only proved her point that he shouldn’t be staying alone. Something the doctor had apparently reiterated when Sage, who had his medical power of attorney, had called after Iris had texted about the night’s drama.
The whole thing was making him tired. Irritable.
Slowing down his ability to process as efficiently as possible.
He suddenly remembered what he’d come out of his room to say. “Sage is missing one key piece of information,” he told her. “The one that would convince her that I’m thinking clearly. And am right.”
Iris didn’t grin, but she sure looked to him as though she was holding one back.
Spurred on by a healthy dose of irritation-laced frustration, he said, “I haven’t told her that we had sex. That if you stay, one of us is bound to get hurt and she’ll come home to a hole in the family she left behind.”
He was standing before the judge unprepared. But had won cases with spitballing, too. Because he was that good at what he did.
Morgan, finished with her treat, came bounding toward him. Scott jerked his leg away instinctively. And winced as he bent his damned left knee and then twisted it in his attempt to ease the pain,all while watching Morgan ready to launch and preparing himself to catch her.
Preparing for the next wrench of pain.
But before the girl landed, Iris was there, catching Morgan, crooning to her, calming her and then placing her on Scott’s lap.
She’d seen him shy away from his own dog. How humiliating was that?
And how in the hell was he ever going to succeed at getting them back on an even keel if she didn’t get the hell out?
“She ripped your stitches, didn’t she?” Sage’s voice reached him, even though he was refusing to look in her direction. Giving his attention, instead, to the faithful friend who only had expectations he could meet.
Even if it meant a couple of extra stitches.
“She doesn’t sleep on the bed,” he said, hearing his sullen tone and not giving a damn. Or trying not to. “But I’m out of whack. Our house is out of whack. She was whining. I lifted her up. She was nervous, wanted back down. I put her on my stomach. Fell asleep. And the next thing I knew, I was waking up on my side and she was launching herself off the bed, pushing off from my bandage. I jerked away so hard, I tore the stitches.”
There. Apparently, he couldn’t even be trusted to sleep without supervision.
“I’m guessing she wasn’t trying to get off the bed, but get at your wound,” Iris said softly. “Her instinct would be to lick it. To heal you.”
