Page 120 of Really Truly Yours

I visually track a dribble of pebbled mud on the carpet. But it isn’t worth a fight. This carpet was shot by 2001. “Not much.”

“Skipping church again?”

Leave it to a brother—and a nonbelieving one at that. Yes, I missed a lot when I was sick, and getting back in the groove has been harder than it should be. What little connection I had to the place and the people waned during the separation.

I know. Excuses.

“To what do I owe this lovely surprise?” I smile to soften the sarcasm.

He smells like soap, but his hair could use a brush. Skinny red veins spider around the whites of his eyes. Another late night on the town? How I wish he’d break free of that lifestyle before it breaks him. He’s a Carson. He’s playing with fire.

“Stopped by to bring you—”

I follow his gaze where it’s landed on Gray’s black phone resting happily alongside my white one. He snaps around. “Whose is that?”

He picks today to be observant?

A sneaky, snarky grin messes with his mouth. He tilts sideways as if to look down the hall. “You hiding a baseball player in your bedroom, Neenee?”

I slap his arm. “Don’t even, Sam.”

“Don’t what? Accuse you of having a life? I say, take it and run, sis.”

Him not getting me is nothing new.

Leftover grease under his nails, he plants his fingers on what there is of his waist. “It is Smith’s phone, isn’t it? He was here again, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, Grayson stopped by. You know, Donny—”

Sam’s snort could bust my eardrums. “He wasn’t here because of the old man, and both of us know it. Did he stay over?”

I fist my hands in the pockets of my sweater. “You know me better than that.”

He clucks his tongue. “Might be good for you, Nee.”

I dart past him to the sofa. We are not having this conversation. He’s frowning when I glance again. “What’s the matter now?”

“I’m reconsidering.”

“Good.”

His lips turn. “Not necessarily. I don’t know if I like the idea of some hotshot sniffing around here. You know what they’re like, those pro athletes.”

I fight a laugh. “Do tell.”

His finger spikes up. “They’re only after one thing, Nee, and—”

“Stop!” So sorry I encouraged him. “You don’t have to worry. Trust me.” It’s not like I kissed him last night or anything.

He flattens his palms on the top of the floral wingback I picked up at an estate sale. “I am worried now. Maybe I should have a talk with him. A guy like that expects things, especially after he shells out—”

Too far. I freeze my smile. “Little late for the protective brother routine, isn’t it, Sam?”

His bony shoulders square. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I wave him off. There’s no point.

He cocks a knee, his face tight. “It’s always back to that with you, isn’t it?”

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