“You forgot?” I prop my hands on my hips and look to the ceiling.
She whirls, the towel opening just enough that my eyes are sucked in, waiting for even a glimpse, but seeing nothing. “Yes. I forgot. The last few days have been eventful.”
“Eventful,” I deadpan. “And before that?”
“Before that, William.” She damn near makes my name four syllables for as long as she strings it out, marching my way. “We were neighbors being polite-ish. I neither owed you my whereabouts, nor any explanation for them.” She faces off to me, head held high.
I reach forward and with all the caution I have left, I curl one finger around the towel at her breasts and tug her until she’s flush to me. “And now?”
She swallows. I can see the fight in her to stand her ground and hold my gaze. “Now, I’m telling you I can’t go to Jackson Hole. It’s my brother’s birthday.”
My chest is heaving. “And you all travel for each other’s birthdays?”
Piss-and-vinegar Lorien is my kryptonite. I’m fighting with every weapon in my arsenal to distract myself and still my dick wants to reach out and greet her personally.
“No.” She shakes her head, looking down, but only managing to put her forehead to my chest. “It’s his fortieth and he wasn’t expected to make it to forty.”
The dilemma is there—step back or pull her closer. My will is shot, so I wrap my arms around her, half praying the towel stays pinned.
“Tell me.” My tone is firm but quiet.
“My brother’s immune system attacks itself.” She speaks into my chest. “You’ve heard of Celiac, Lupus, or arthritis? The body attacks a system it assumes is foreign, the same way it would if it were a virus. The system is adaptive and mounts a response, but the response isn’t needed. In Strider’s case, his body cycles through believing his blood is foreign, attacking his red bloodcells, so oxygenation is at play. In his case, he also loses platelets, and his white blood cell count skyrockets. It’s a terrible cycle.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, fuck.” The word on her lips is wrong and, in this case, even more so.
“When he’s symptomatic, he’s prone to infections. He tires easily. And the platelet issue means he doesn’t clot. So any trip or fall could have him bleeding out like a hemophiliac. The alternative is steroids, but long-term side effects are detrimental, not to mention the fact they’re immunosuppressants, so if he were to catch something, it would be harder to fight. Forty is big. He wasn’t expected to make it to forty, with his condition and…”
Using my thumb, I tip her face to mine. “And?”
“And Acute Myeloid Leukemia typically presents in the late thirties to early forties if it doesn’t in childhood, so his body repeatedly attacking his red blood cells and platelets means we’re always watching, even if his risk isn’t statistically higher.” Her words are thick. “We need to celebrate forty.”
“And your work?”
“Focuses on genetic sequencing in these kinds of conditions, specifically whether modification to DNA could work as treatment so pharmaceutical intervention isn’t required.”
She’s trying to save her brother. And other people’s brothers and sisters and parents and kids. Lorien Anderson is a puzzle whose pieces are coming together.
I kiss the top of her head.
Fuck me. I did not mean to do that.
She looks up at me, those crystalline eyes searching. She’s close. She’s warm, and if I don’t take a step back, she’s definitely going to feel what’s coming up between us.
32
sex possessively
Lorien
Without a word, he turns on a booted heel and leaves the room. He’s down the hall, and if I’m not mistaken, out the back door.
I laid my heart bare, and he vanished.
I should be angry. I could be angry, but mostly I’m drained.
I love my brother. I can’t wait to see him and hug him. But talking about his condition and the what-ifs drains me. At least at home.
