work out.”
Stan didn’t ask or say anything after the call ended. He was glad for the silence. It gave him a chance to think.
Limping from the truck into the hotel lobby and onto the elevator took the last of his strength. Grateful for the elevator handrail, he steadied himself and looked at Stan.
“Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything.” Stan’s eyes twinkled with far too much merriment for Arnie’s comfort.
Would now be the time to tell his brother that on rare occasions he could practically hear Stan’s thoughts?
In the hallway on the way to their rooms, Arnie tried to ignore his slow, heavy-footed gait. In his head, he cursed Izzy for being too damn good at her job. He briefly wondered if she’d packed the suit with extra weight just to fuck with him. She’d do it too and laugh about his struggle till the end of time.
“This is you,” Stan muttered. He pointed at the door and then catty-corner across the hall. “And that’s me. Do you need help with anything before we go our separate ways?”
“No. I’m good.” He gave a half grimace and looked at his watch. “It’s still early. What are you gonna do?”
“There’s a meeting nearby. In about an hour. I think I’ll sit in.”
A meeting? Well, crap. Some big brother he was being. Stan’s sobriety required a steady hand and plenty of diligence. He felt like shit for making everything about his problems and pushing Stan’s to the back of the line.
“Are you okay? I mean, is there cause for concern?”
Stan took the card key out of Arnie’s hand and took care of unlocking the door. He handed back the card and gave a shrug of concession.
“No concern, bro. It’s cool. Being conscientious about meetings is a part of the gig. And besides,” he added with a chuckle, “there’s usually loads of coffee and cookies. If I’m lucky, someone will bring brownies.” He winked.
They shared a passion for good fudgy brownies. One summer, when they were still lads, Arnie challenged his little brother to a brownie-eating competition. It was a tie, and they both paid for the sibling contest with upset stomachs. Walking the extra mile for a brownie made sense even if an AA meeting represented the extra mile.
Arnie just nodded. His energy totally sapped, he felt as if someone pulled his plug.
It took the better part of an hour to shed his disguise. Worried about his nonexistent energy, he almost passed on showering until he saw a teak wood bath chair in the corner of the large open shower.
He liked sitting hunched over under the showerhead. The powerful spray felt as good as a massage. “I gotta get one of these,” he muttered while the hot water pounded his back and the enclosure filled with steam.
Imagining the nonstop ribbing of his NIGHTWIND cohorts should they discover the shower assist, he stuck his head into the stream of water and saw the humor in the situation.
It took the shower sponge touching his side and sliding over his injured hip for him to remember exactly why he hurt all over. It wasn’t from the bodysuit.
Contorting to get a better look at the contusion on his hip, he scowled and muttered a couple of pithy curses. He was going to end up with one hell of a black and blue mark.
Maybe you shouldn’t have been balancing on a tool chest, ya dumbass.
When he’d had enough Arnie toweled off, and then quickly donned sweats, and a T-shirt. Hotel room heat drove him insane. So did wearing clothes to sleep.
Throwing himself on the bed, he spent five minutes rearranging pillows until the padding was right, and he could relax. As he was uninterested in television or the on-demand selections, and barely lukewarm about amusing himself with his phone, the decision about how to pass time was easy. He reached for his wallet on the nightstand, took out the picture of Summer and their baby, and placed it on the pillow beside him.
Seventy-two hours, tops. He was willing to give this scheme seventy-two hours, and then he was going to kick in her door if he needed to and claim what was his.
Tossing and turning wasn’t Summer’s idea of restful sleep. Something was keeping her up, and she didn’t appreciate it—not one bit.
There were things in the air, but she couldn’t name anything specific, and it bothered her immensely. She was on edge, but not. The opposing emotions created a swirl of tension in her belly.
Rolling to her side and