“Emergency, so yeah, it gets pretty wild. It’s never boring though. How about you? What brings you to San Diego?”
“I’m a marine biologist, visiting from Monterey. There’s a conference at Scripps next week, but I came down early to spend time with Becca.” She takes a sip of wine, her eyes bright with interest. “I study kelp forest ecosystems. It’s also never boring.”
“That’s actually really cool. I did a rotation in hyperbaric medicine during school and got kind of fascinated by the whole underwater thing.”
We fall into easy conversation about diving and ocean conservation. George is talking to Trevor about their plans of coming back to work after the honeymoon, his deep voice carrying across the room, and I find myself tracking their conversation even while maintaining my own.
“Alright!” Becca claps her hands together, standing up. “Charades time. Lance and Kim versus me and Trevor. George, you’re sitting this round out because of your hand, but you’re judging for fairness.”
George grunts, settling deeper into the couch.
“You’re definitely taking our side,” Trevor argues. “Family loyalty.”
“I’m only a stepbrother. Doesn’t count,” George says.
“It bloody counts. You’re a Macklin.”
Becca pulls out her phone and sets up the app, explaining the rules even though we’ve all played this a hundred times. “Standard charades rules. One minute per turn. No talking, no props, and no pointing at actual objects in the room. George is our official timer and judge.”
We start the game and fall into fierce competition almost immediately. Kim and I crush the first round because she’s quick and I’m good at reading people, which turns out to be a dangerous combination. When I act out “zombie attack” by charging stiff-legged around the living room making feral faces, she gets it in one second flat.
“You’re really good at this,” she says, high-fiving me as we sit back down.
“I’m good under pressure.” I wink at her, and she laughs, the sound warm and genuine.
“I bet you are.”
I catch George watching us from the couch, his expression neutral but his eyes tracking every movement. When our eyes meet he looks away, taking a long drink from his beer, and I feel the shift land square in my chest.
Thinking about this way too much makes me feel concerned. Do I want George to be jealous of me flirting with Kim? Why would I want that? Would he even feel anything of the sort?
Trevor stands up, glances at the phrase, and goes all in. He starts charging around the living room, arms flailing, making aggressive stomping movements that are honestly impressive in their commitment to the bit.
“Bull!” Becca yells. “Bull something! Bull in a china shop!”
Trevor relaxes out of the pose, turns too fast, and clips the side table with his leg, sending it sliding straight into George’s legs.
The corner of the table catches George right on his injuredthigh, and I watch his face go white. He tries to hide it, jaw clenching as he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, but I see it.
I’m across the room before I consciously decide to move.
“G, you okay?” I’m kneeling at his side, hands already reaching for his leg. “Wait, don’t move.”
“Fine.” But his voice comes out strained, and that’s all the confirmation I need.
“I’m going to have a look,” I say, my authoritative nurse voice surfacing on its own.
“Shit, George, so sorry.” Trevor’s hovering nearby, looking badly stricken.
“It’s fine,” George says, smiling and shaking his head, but I can feel the tension in his leg under my hands.
Everyone else in the room disappears. “I need to check it, just making sure everything’s holding up nicely.”
Becca’s moved closer, concern written all over her face. “Should we get ice?”
“I’ll have a look first and see if we need any.” I stand up, pulling George up with me by his good arm. “Bathroom. Come on.”
“It’s really not necessary.” George mutters, resisting, probably embarrassed by the fuss I’m making, but I don’t care.
