Page 39 of Fourth Wheel
He clears his throat and perks up two seconds later, all the somberness of his confession dispelled like it never happened.
“Ya know,Iwas almost a doctor. We would have made a pretty awesome power couple.”
I roll my eyes and pick up the trash from the bandages and gauze. “You mean you were almost agentlemandoctor?”
He barks out a laugh that makes me feel lighter. His laugh is louder than Dempsey’s. More jovial and free. But they have the same cadence. I wonder if Dempsey ever laughs that hard.
Speaking of…
I feel his eyes on me without looking up to confirm he’s there. He lights up my insides in a totally different way. All he has to do is enter a room, and it’s like the 5G maxes out with five bars of service in every limb of my body.
As much as he wants to deny it, he and I just work. He feels easy. Inevitable. I know he feels it. I think he hates it. But there’s no denying the energy that courses between us every time we’re in the same room.
I catch Dempsey’s gaze through the bathroom mirror, then smile softly to reassure him that I’m okay. Thatwe’reokay.
“He’s all patched up,” I declare as I turn around and throw away the little bits of trash. I take in a sharp breath when I put too much weight on my ankle. Thankfully, the throbbing stopped on the way home, so I know it’s just a sprain. It’s an inconsequential injury compared to the bruised and battered wounds all over Fielding’s body.
“Hedidtry to convince me he needed someone to check the bruising on his balls, so you might want to have him strip and lie down spread eagle for you before you tuck him in,” I quip.
Both sets of eyes go wide: Fielding’s in shocked amusement, and Dempsey’s in outrage.
“Kidding,” I snort.
Fielding shakes his head and grins, but Dempsey’s expression stays sullen. He’s got that stern brunch daddy vibe going on that would be doing naughty things to my lady bits if I didn’t feel so disgusting right now.
“Um, so, I was hoping I could get a shower?” I try, looking between the boys as Fielding smirks and Dempsey still looks huffy.
Dem’s expression softens. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry you had to wait so long.”
He reaches out one arm and grazes the small of my back as I come to stand beside him.
“This girl’s good trouble, Dumpy. We should keep her around.”
I stiffen at the compliment, searching Dempsey’s face to gauge how he’ll react to Fielding’s off-handed comment. He just keeps scowling at his twin before he spits out a warning.
“She’s sleeping in my wing. Stay in your room, brother. I’ll be down to check on you throughout the night.”
His words are a threat intended to put Fielding in his place. I try to offer him a smile, but Dempsey ushers me out of the room before Fielding even looks my way.
Once we’re in the hall, his steps overcome mine, and soon he’s leading me back through the kitchen, then up a set of stairs I hadn’t noticed before.
“You’ll be staying in one of the guest rooms in my part of the house.”
I nod mindlessly, like it isn’t weird at all to live in a house so big each brother has his own wing on a separate floor. “There’s a bathroom next to your room. It’s fully stocked with everything you should need, and I set out clean towels for you.”
As we make our way up the stairs, I have to grip the handrail tighter than normal to lessen the pressure I put on my left foot. When Dempsey reaches the landing, he stops and turns, probably looking at me for the first time since we left Fielding’s bathroom.
“Shit… here.” He reaches out his hand and supports me the last few steps, then wraps one of my arms around his neck as we slowly walk down a long, dark hallway.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, peeling my arm off his body and opening a bedroom door, then flicking on the light so we can see inside.
The room is airy, with lavender walls and crisp, white bedding. There’s a queen-size bed on one side, and a little sitting area across the way. My attention is immediately drawn to the French doors on the far end of the room that open onto a balcony. Even in the dark and from across the room, the view is spectacular.
“I’ll get you some clean clothes,” Dempsey says, back to business like I’m just another item on his to-do list. I’m honestly too exhausted to tease him about it.
If my head is spinning, he must be drowning in the stress of it all.
“I’ll drive you home in the morning,” he continues. “It’ll have to be early… ideally before anyone else is up. Is that okay?”
