Page 14 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Brother’s Best Friend

He flips me off, and we get back to work. For a while, neither of us says much. We’ve spent enough years working on cars, houses, and other shit that needed fixing that silence comes easy. I secure another board in place. Logan measures and pencil marks more for the circular saw. We take a short beer break a little after noon.

“Lynn’s back,” he says.

My swallow of beer goes down hard. “Yeah.”

“She called.” Logan turns the beer bottle, picking at the soggy label. “Said thanks for the new tires. Swore she’d pay me back.”

I glance at him, and he’s staring right back at me.

“I was a little surprised she called you instead of me.” He lets out a quiet laugh. “Considering your history of bickering and all.”

“She didn’t,” I say, slumping onto the ice chest. “She was calling Briar, but that damn relic of a phone she’s carrying around...”

I trail off and take another swig of beer.

“She was swearing under her breath, gravel dinging off the car.” I shake my head. “She wouldn’t answer me. I thought she’d run off the road. Grabbed my keys and started driving. Highway patrol happened on her, and I figured out the location.”

“So, you took care of it.” Logan watches me for another second. “Had it towed and got new tires.”

I blow out a breath. No point in denying it. “Yeah. Figured I’d try something radical and make her and everyone else on the road safe. Every damn tire... bald. Hell, she can’t even afford a damn phone from this decade.”

His mouth twitches. Of all people, I know Logan understands the frustration of watching Lynn’s wrecking ball life.

“Thinking you did it is probably for the best.” I shake my head and let out an irritated huff. “If she found out I did it, she’d loosen the lug nuts and set the damn tires on fire. That car would be sitting on cinder blocks until she scraped together enough money to buy another set.”

Logan laughs under his breath. “You’re not wrong.”

“I know I’m not.” I practically spit the words.

Why can’t she just accept a little help?

“You know she’s trying, right?” He grabs the tape measure and pulls the metal strip out a few inches before letting it snap back into the case.

“She’s always trying, Logan,” I say, exasperated. “What’s it going to be tomorrow or next week?”

“She didn’t blow a tire or trade in her smart phone to piss anyone off.” He fiddles with the tape measure. “She said she spends too much time looking at what everyone else is doing instead of figuring out what she wants. Deleted her social media, got rid of the apps, all of it.”

I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to think.

“She’s trying to be more present,” he says, his tone more serious now. “She’s trying to figure shit out.”

“It’s about damn time.” I pull off my ball cap and run my fingers through my hair before replacing it.

“So how long are you going to keep doing this?” He cocks his head, and that thinking wrinkle he gets when he’s dead serious springs into shape between his eyes.

“Doing what?” I squint, caught off guard.

“Wait for her,” he says, serious as hell.

“Thought that’s what you wanted,” I say. I thought we had an understanding. Unspoken until now, but an agreement that I’d stay the hell away from Lynn in any kind of... possessive way.

“It was.” Logan stands, every bit of his six foot frame a silent warning. “She needed time to grow up. Figure out what the hell she wants.”

“You think I’d hold her back?”

He looks at me like I’m an idiot. “No. I think you’d follow her to the ends of the earth and back.”

I stare at him. “And...”