“I’m doing well. My brother’s—”
DB interrupts us, striding over to stand in front of her. “What the hell are you still doing here? You were supposed to leave an hour ago. I don’t want your monster of a husband coming after me because I kept his knocked-up broad here late on a Saturday.”
Caliste and Rodney were on one of DB’s covert teams in Iraq, but I’m not supposed to know that. She’s maybe five-foot-two, and he’s six-four and built like an anvil. Believe me when I say that, of the two, her husband is the soft and squishy one. She definitely has more kills. DB originally offered her a spot on the Guardians team, but she and Rodney didn’t want to do wet work while trying to start a family.
Her eye roll is epic. “I can promise you he has about as much say in my schedule as you do.”
“Whatever. Check the order again. Theydidpay up front. Because I’m not stupid enough to ignore you a second time.”
She narrows her eyes and pulls her phone out of the pocket of her dress, fumbling it. She goes to pick it up from the floor and DB holds up his hand. “Don’t you dare.”
He grips his cane, grimacing as he tries to bend his fucked-up knee. My brother and I go to a gym for combat vets, many of whom have injuries just like DB’s. There’s a delicate balance between letting people find their edge and helping someone out. DB clearly doesn’t give a shit about the edge.
“DeShaun, stop. Please,” I beg. “You’re hurting your knee.”
He goes still at my words, then straightens up, leaning heavily on his cane.
Cal swoops down and picks up her phone, shaking her head. “He’s been a shambling mess these last few weeks.” Pinning him with a glare, she continues, “I wish you’d go to a doctor, you stubborn goat.”
He grimaces. Whether it’s from pain or frustration, I can’t tell. “I’m done with doctors. They either want to replace the knee again or take the leg. And I’m not letting them do either.”
Cal and I glance at each other, then fix our gazes on him.
“So you’re just gonna walk around in pain for the rest of your life?” she asks, her voice soft with concern.
DB tightens his jaw, looking between the two of us. He’s never liked it when others can see him struggling. “As long as I can still go to the gym, I’m fine. And I appreciate your concern, but it’s none of your business what I do.”
Reason isn’t going to work with him, so I resort to the underhanded. “DB, swear to god, if you don’t go see my brother, I’m going to tell him.”
His response is as comical as it is predictable. “Jesus, donottell that lunatic anything. He’s already on my case. If you say something, his happy ass’ll show up with all manner of needles and a surgical kit to replace the damn knee right here in my office.”
He’s not wrong.
Cal and I stare him down until he raises his hands in surrender. “Okay. Fine. I’ll look into it.”
“No,book somethin’.” Cal’s pregnant with only her first kid, but she’s already got the mom-voice down solid.
Gesturing at her belly, he responds, “Okay, but only if you agree to go home now. Also, no more weekend work, and I want you home by six p.m. until it’s time for your maternity leave.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
I let out a breath, grateful we could browbeat him into seeing someone. Cal’s still glaring at him though.
I chuckle, stepping between the rock and the hard place. “Not to interrupt your little staring contest, but now that I’ve sufficiently threatened DB with my brother’s presence, I’ve got to tackle this electrical closet and then get back on the road.”
Cal gifts me with another big hug before sticking her finger in DB’s face and giving him the hairy eyeball as a warning. Dude better not try to get out of calling the doctor; she’ll straight-up kick his ass.
Once everyone’s done posturing, I turn off the electricity to the building while DB goes down to the local coffee shop to continue working. Re-wiring the electrical closet is weirdly soothing, and it doesn’t take long to get his office up and running again.
DB walks back in as I’m finishing up and my skin prickles at the sound of tennis shoes on industrial carpet. He crowds against my back, peering over my shoulder.
“Oh, that looks way better than what the other guy did. This is like the Pinterest-version of an electrical closet.”
His skin is still warm from his walk to the coffee shop.
“And, bonus, you won’t die in a fire,” I say, managing something of a smile while looking over my shoulder.
