“Oh shit,” I hear him mumble.
Then another male voice says, “She’s going to be pissed you answered her phone. You know how she is. Who is it anyways?”
“Her older brother,” the Chase guy tells him, making the second guy laugh.
What the hell is going on? Clearly I need to talk to her even more than I have in the last few weeks.
Finally, after what feels like a month but is just a few seconds, Summer answers the phone as if none of this is weird.
“Hey, Liam,” she says casually.
“Summer, who are tho—” I start.
“Levi’s friends. They live next door to me, and just helped me bring in some groceries,” she cuts me off nervously. She’s lying. We might not be the closest siblings, but I know when all of my siblings are lying, and she is definitely hiding something. But she’s a grown-ass woman and can have all the secrets she wants. God knows I haven’t told Ronan I’m fucking his sister at every available opportunity.
“Sure,” I say, not believing a single word that left her mouth. “Anyway, I need your help. I want to make Sloane dinner again, but I don’t know what to make. What do you suggest?”
I can hear her release a breath on the other side of the phone in relief that I’m not pushing the topic of whothose two men are. “Are you celebrating anything, or just because?” she asks.
“I guess you could say celebrating. I’m officially walking on my own—no more cane,” I tell her.
“Oh my God! That’s amazing, Liam! I knew you’d get there! That’s so exciting! Does that mean you guys are gonna come visit me soon?” she asks a mile a minute. I had promised her that when we had some time we’d come to Calgary to spend time with her, Levi, and Hannah. I haven’t met Hannah’s new boyfriend Ian, yet. I talked to him real quick on video, but that’s it. Even through the phone I could tell he was a better guy than her ex-husband, Lucas.
“If you tell me what I can make Sloane for dinner, yes,” I tease her.
“Well, you’ve already made her lasagna and she made you mac and cheese . . . how about just a basic chicken with roasted potatoes and a salad. If she’s had a long day that’s always a nice meal. Plus, it’ll make the house smell good,” she suggests.
“Yeah, that could work,” I agree.
“Then do that. Listen, I gotta go, but we need to make actual plans for you to come visit, okay?”
“Yeah. I’ll talk to Sloane,” I tell her.
“Perfect. Love you, bye!” she quickly says before hanging up. Oh yeah, there’s definitely something going on with her and one of those guys. It’s just like Summer to be somewhere for two months and already stirring up something. I pity the guy that she chooses. He’s in for one hell of an interesting life.
Shaking my head and smiling at the trouble I know Summer can create, I grab my phone and place an order for dinner.
By the time Sloane gets home at six, dinner is ready to be served and I even washed the sheets, knowing she loves nothing more than clean sheets after a long day.
She’s all smiles when she walks through the door, coming right up to me to wrap her arms around my neck and plant a kiss on my mouth. “Hey! Smells good in here,” she says softly, still holding on to me.
“Dinner is ready,” I whisper right back, wrapping both arms around her and dropping my head to give her another kiss. “How was work?” I ask, pulling away slightly, bringing my hands to her waist and giving her a squeeze.
She pulls back from me so there’s easily a foot of space between us, but her arms are still on my shoulders and mine on her hips. “Wait, where’s your cane? Did you drop it? Are you okay?” she asks, quickly looking around to spot it.
“It’s in the closet of the room I used to use,” I inform her with a big smile.
“What do you mean?” she asks, frowning. Well that’s not the reaction I thought I was going to get from her once I told her I was a free man—no more cane. She must have had a long day; I hope that’s all it is.
“Will thinks I’m ready to walk on my own, and I think he’s right. Can I walk very far? No. But with time and walking little by little I should be easily walking a kilometer or almost a kilometer by mid summer!” I tell her excitedly.
“So, you’re done?” she asks, turning away from me to pick up the bags she dropped by the front door when she walked in.
“Done?” I ask, confused.
“Physio, rehab,” she clarifies.
“Oh, no, not yet. I have about two weeks left, maybe three depending on how I do without a cane. Will thinks I might be good, but he really wants to make sure I don’t pick up any weird walking habits before he passes me onto another less-trauma-based physiotherapist,” I happily explain to her.
