“I really shouldn’t.”
“It might be an emergency.”
“It’s not an emergency. It’s my brother.”
“Then it might be important.”
He sighed against her temple and pulled out his phone. He showed her the screen. RENO STEELE, CALL #4.
“Answer it.”
He swiped. “What.”
She heard Reno’s voice, tinny and indignant, through the speaker and stifled a giggle. Dillon held the phone out so she could listen, his other hand still at the small of her back.
“—been calling you for an hour. Are you dead? Are you in a ditch? Did Tessa finally throw you off her porch with a frying pan?”
“I’m on her porch right now.”
“Oh.” A pause. “Well. Carry on, then. I’ll text later.”
“You called. I answered. Talk.”
“It can wait.”
“I’m not answering your call again.”
“Fine. Surgery’s Thursday morning. Doc says the meniscus is shredded, and there’s a little ligament damage, and he needs to clean it up before it gets any worse. Six to eight weeks of recovery, and apparently, the first two weeks I’m going to be a houseplant.”
“So you’re coming to my place Thursday afternoon?”
“If the offer of your guest room still stands.”
“It stands.”
“Good. Because I’ve been telling everyone in this office you’re my favorite brother, and Hank’s going to be furious when he hears.”
“Hank is going to be the one driving you back from the hospital.”
“That,” Reno said with great dignity, “is an irrelevant detail.”
Dillon glanced down at Tessa. She was grinning up at him.
“Reno.”
“Yeah?”
“Tessa says hi. She’s here with me.”
“Tessa, hi. I’m sorry I’m about to move into your boyfriend’s spare room for two months. He’ll need a lot of help. He’s emotionally very fragile. Please be patient with him.”
“I will,” she said into the phone. “Dillon, your brother is delightful.”
“My brother is a menace.”
“Both states of existence can be true,” Reno replied loftily. “See you Thursday.”
The line went dead.
