Reese glares at me circumspectly, as if he doesn’t know what to make of me. It’s a little unnerving. And frankly, rude.
“What happened exactly?” Dev asks.
“We were stopped at a red light. A drunk driver just barreled into him from behind. He went flying into some oncoming traffic and slammed into a car. He flew over the hood, but I didn’t see him land.” I reiterate exactly what I saw, leaving out the engine fornication moments before.
“Wow. You’re lucky, bro. I swear, it’s like a four-leaf clover is shoved up your ass with all the crashes you’ve lived through.” Dev crosses his arms and shakes his head incredulously.
“Yeah, real lucky.” Reese drops his head on the pillow and stares up at the ceiling.
“Can I have some alone time with my brother?” Dev asks.
“Absolutely.” I immediately start to walk backward. I can imagine the emotional trauma Reese is probably experiencing right now. It has to be disconcerting to wake up in a hospital bed with a cast halfway up your thigh and have absolutely no recollection how or why you got there.
“See you tomorrow,” I tell Dev. “Feel better,” I throw out at Reese. They both reply with the same answering head gesture, and my tailbone tingles unexpectedly.
Holy shit.Not one Devlin Dane, but two.
Have. Mercy.
2
Dev
Iwatch Kayla hurry out of the room. She’s still wearing her pink scrubs from earlier with my brother’s blood smeared all over the front. I’m glad it was her. The girl is smart as a whip and knows what she’s doing. It’s probably why she stays the hell away from me.
“Got a crush or something?” Reese asks snidely.
I turn to face him. “She’s a colleague.”
“And that’s stopping you why?” he grunts.
I shake off the idiot remark. Who I want to fuck is irrelevant at the moment.
“How do you feel?” I redirect.
“Like I just got hit by a car.”
I peer down at my snarky brother.
“Seriously.” I pin him with a stern glare.
“A little bit of pain,” he discloses.
“Where?”
“My leg and shoulder.”
“What about your chest?” I narrow my eyes.
“No, none there,” he grumbles.
“Perfect. Just what I want to hear.”
“Where’s my stuff?” Reese asks tensely, possessively.
“Relax, your precious backpack made it through the accident unscathed.” The fucking thing is like his security blanket. “I can’t say the same for your clothes, though.”
“I don’t give two shits about my clothes. My backpack is all that matters.” He settles down a bit. “How long am I down for?” he cuts to the chase.
