He stopped with his hand on the door handle. Our eyes met in the mirror.
“I was happy to help. Seriously.”
A single, solemn nod was all I received.
“Let me help you get him inside.”
“No!”
The answer came so quickly and with so much vehemence, I froze.
“I’ve got him. You’ve done enough.”
The words expressed gratitude, but his jerky movements and pissed-off tone were unsettling.
“How are you—” Alex grabbed his brother under the arms and hauled him out of the car. Then, in a move that had my jaw dropping, he squatted down and hoisted Kenny over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
His brother groaned. Dangling upside down with the blood rushing to his head couldn’t feel good with his injuries, but it would get him in the house with the least fuss unless Alex collapsed under his weight.
I pushed my door open and stepped one foot out. “Alex, this is silly. Let me help.”
He held up the hand not wrapped around his brother’s legs. “I got it, Ryder. Really. You’ve done enough.” He’d softened his tone some, but it still left no doubt as to whether he wanted my continued assistance or not. “It’s late as fuck. Go home and get some sleep, and I’ll see you at work tomorrow. Thank you again.” With that, he walked toward his house with his brother slung over his shoulder like he weighed no more than a sack of feathers.
I couldn’t help but gawk at the way his sweatpants stretched over his ass as his muscles worked harder than usual to carry the load. Sure, I knew Alex was strong. One look at the guy’s size and shape, and anyone could see he had an impressive set of muscles, but damn, I didn’t realize he was carry-a-grown-man-with-ease strong.
I waited until he and Kenny disappeared into the house. He clearly didn’t want me inside his space. Despite the hour, a restlessness coursed through me. I didn’t want to go home alone and sleep.
But what did I want?
With a sigh, I glanced at the seat Alex had occupied before we picked up his brother.
I frowned as my gaze landed on something black and rectangular.
“Shit. His phone.” I shifted the car back into park and grabbed the cell.
No one could function without a phone these days. If I waited to return it at work tomorrow, he’d spend the day stressing about losing it and could end up in a lurch, especially if he needed to Uber somewhere since his car crapped out.
“Dammit,” I muttered as I exited the car. “He’s not gonna like this.” For whatever reason, he hadn’t wanted me inside his house. Whether ashamed of where he lived or pissed at me for an unknown offense, he’d be grateful I returned the missing device.
Right?
I jogged up to the door, which he’d left cracked open, probably because his arms had been full of a passed-out man.
“Alex?” I called through the crack as I pushed the door open. “You left your phone in my…” The door swung open to reveal Alex kneeling in front of an electric wheelchair housing a woman probably in her late forties. He’d been in the process of dressing a gnarly wound on her massively swollen foot. Kenny lay on his side on a threadbare couch a few feet away with a trash can on the ground by his head. “Car.”
Alex leaped to his feet with fire shooting from his eyes. He wore gloves on his hands and held a thick wad of gauze. “What the fuck are you doing in here?” he screamed. “I didn’t invite you in. Get the hell out of my house!”
“Alex…” the woman admonished, eyes wide.
“I… I’m so sorry.” The entire scene had my brain shutting down. Alex had a mother with a severe disability. Was he her caregiver in addition to attending school, working, and managing an out-of-control brother?
How did he do it? How did I not know?
“Get the hell out,” he shouted again, making me jerk as though he’d hit me instead of merely yelling. The hatred in his voice jolted through me like a lightning strike.
“Sorry,” I said again. “You… your phone.” I held it up, then glanced around for somewhere to leave it. There wasn’t any place by the door, so I set it on the floor before me. “I’m sorry.”
Then I turned and fled the house back to my fancy car, where I drove to my luxury apartment, replaying the loathing in Alex’s gaze and the murder in his voice while recalling how many times I called him a freeloader.
