“Maverick Hansen,shame on you. I’ll have you know we called a truce until he recovers.”
“Do you think you could go on for longer than that? It’s getting a little silly, isn’t it?” I said, piling more supplies on her kitchen counter. A treat container fell over, and Malibu lifted her head at the noise. Her hearing was perfect, even from across the bar and into the living room.
“Nope. The way we left things before his operation, he had the one-up on me.”
“Ah, and you definitely can’t leave things like that.”
“Exactly. I knew you were my favorite for a reason. Now, back to these supplies. Mark brought over food, water bowls, and the like two days ago, and he and Jenna are bringing the puppies within the next half hour.”
“You only agreed to take two, right?”
“Yes. Only two. But your faith in my abilities is astonishing.” Her voice was clipped, but her eyes twinkled behind her glasses.
“You know that’s not the case at all, Mom. It’s just Mark and Jenna have the baby, and now a litter of puppies, while Magnum and Brooke are away on their honeymoon. Miller and Emma are in that ridiculous phase where they’re joined at the hip.”
“And?”
I narrowed my eyes, trying to think of a reasonable explanation that wouldn’t make her roll hers. “It means I’ll be picking up the slack at the office, which isfine,but might also mean I’m not over as often to help with the puppies.”
“Your life is your own and should not revolve around me. Now, enough about whatever guilt you’re harboring about only stopping by three days a week instead of five. Go wash your hands, then take the cinnamon rolls next door. There’s more in the oven for you and your brother, so I can’t leave.”
I grunted, shaking my head and walking toward the bathroom closest to the front hall. With the door closed and the lock engaged, I closed my eyes and braced my arms on either side ofthe sink. Not even the thought of her homemade cinnamon rolls with gooey cream cheese icing could dig me out of this funk.
Mom always had a borderline second-sight when it came to my bouts of guilt. She said it was because I was the most like my dad, but I knew she just paid extraordinary attention to detail and could read my mood better than most, probably because I was here so often.
Perhaps I should renew my hunting license for the season or finally take my buddy up on his offer of kayaking.
I washed my hands and stared at my reflection, then ran my fingers through the streaks of gray in my hair. I’d noticed the first few strands in my mid-twenties, so the rest shouldn’t have been a surprise. But when you combined them with the deep crease between my brows, they made me look older than I was—older than I felt.
Guilt.What I felt went beyond that and well into territory best not thought about, but at least I could wallow in peace after I delivered those blasted rolls.
Opening the bathroom door, I stared at my youngest brother as he casually leaned against the door frame, acting like he’d found the cure for cancer. He blew on his nails and then wiped them on his shirt, giving me a half-cocked grin.
“Mom says you’re extra moody today.”
“Did she now?” I answered, glaring at Mark, who casually crossed one black work boot over the other and adjusted the handcuffs clipped to his police belt.
“She wants me to talk to you about survivor’s guilt and all that rot.”
“Does she now?”
Did he think I didn’t know that word? I didn’t havesurvivor’s guilt.
I paused and gritted my teeth, turning the water back on, cupping the cold stream from the tap, and splashing it on my face.
I didn’t only have survivor’s guilt.Not that I’d ever admit it to anyone. And fuck if my family hadn’t tried to get me to open up over the years.
Mom would come over with some baked deliciousness, ask me an innocent question, and hope it would turn into a gigglingsession about my feelings.
It didn’t.
Miller and Magnum tried a different tactic. Taunting me until I snapped and hoping some kernel of truth would slither out between the insults.
Nope.
Mark fared no better. I could see his smug grin fading as I grabbed the hand towel and dried my face. He’d fill the silence with phrases likeI’m here for you, please talk to me, andthis isn’t healthybefore landing his coup-de-grâce:Dad wouldn’t want to see you this unhappy.He’d pry, hoping to crack my armor.
That he always stooped so low was enough to make me give him a truly awful answer, reminding him that our father couldn’t have an opinion because he had died years ago.
