Still the One Read online

  A pause, and then a gruff, “Nothing.”

  Darcy’s and Xander’s eyes met. Nothing her ass. He needed something—money, a ride, whatever—and he didn’t want to ask for it in front of her because he knew she hated how he used Xander.

  “There’s cash in my wallet in the right-hand drawer of my desk in the office,” Xander said.

  He got no response, no thank-you, nothing, just the sound of Tyson’s wheelchair squeaking as he rolled off.

  “Dammit, Xander,” she whispered. “He’s—”

  “My brother,” Xander said firmly.

  “You’re his enabler.”

  Xander pulled back, his face closed off, which she knew was to mask his hurt and worry about Tyson. The two of them were all each other had.

  Darcy got that and softened. “I’m sorry,” she said, reaching for his hand. “Ignore me, I shouldn’t talk. After all, I drained both my brother and sister dry all year.”

  “Love is love,” he said, and she knew he absolutely believed that.

  What she didn’t know was if believing it made it true.

  Four

  Early the next morning, AJ was at the gym with Wyatt at his side, both of them lifting weights.

  “You ask Darcy about this weekend?” Wyatt asked, setting his weights down. “Let her know you needed her?”

  “I told her, yeah.”

  Wyatt choked out a laugh and rolled his eyes, for a beat looking very much like his ’tude-ridden sister.

  “What?” he asked.

  “What, are you an amateur? You can’t tell a woman what to do. You have to finesse it. You ask. You cajole or coax, or whatever you’ve got to do. And if all that fails, you have to make them think that whatever it is you need them to do is their idea.”

  AJ laughed. “That’s … ridiculous. Not to mention manipulative.”

  “It works,” Wyatt said. “You need to trust me on this, as I’m the only one of the two of us currently sharing a pillow with a female. And a bathroom. And since we’re going there, why is it that guys get the bad bathroom rap when women use all the counter space? I mean, what do they need twenty-five different lotions for? How much skin do they have anyway?”

  “You share a pillow?” AJ asked.

  “You’re missing my point,” Wyatt said.

  “That’s because you have too damn many of them.” AJ paused. “But for the record, I did ask Darcy.” He paused. “I’m pretty sure.”

  “And … ?”

  “And she’s thinking about it.”

  “She’ll do it,” Wyatt said, sounding certain.

  “Yeah? What makes you think so? We all know she’s not exactly crazy about me.”

  Wyatt dismissed this. “You can’t take that personally.”

  It felt pretty fucking personal.

  “She’s not crazy about anyone right now,” Wyatt said. “But going with you is right and she knows it. Like I said, she just needs it to be her idea.”

  “And what makes you the leading expert on women?” AJ asked.

  “Are you kidding? I’ve been through three generations of women—my grandma, my mother, two sisters, and now a live-in girlfriend.” He looked smug. “I should teach a crash course in female. I’d make a fortune.”

  AJ didn’t have sisters. Or a mother. Or a grandmother, at least not anymore. And though he’d had plenty of women in his life, none had been live-in.

  “Think of it this way,” Wyatt said. “I’m paving the way for you. My knowledge is your knowledge.”

  “Thanks,” AJ said dryly. “And does this knowledge extend to how to coax your sister into behaving this weekend if she comes with me?”

  “Negative. No one’s knowledge extends that far.”

  Terrific.

  Darcy woke up to laughter. Someone was having good times without her. Several someones, by the sound of things. Zoe and … a man.

  This was pretty unusual because Zoe wasn’t on the man train right now. She had her reasons and no one had been able to talk her out of her male moratorium.

  Darcy spent a few moments in her usual morning fog, staring at her ceiling trying to wake up.

  She was not successful.

  “Woof!”

  The joyous bark shocked her into near cardiac arrest and was accompanied by two big paws hitting her bed. Turning her head, Darcy found herself greeted by a very slobbery tongue that licked her from chin to forehead.

  It smelled like Pup-Peroni treats.

  “We talked about this,” Darcy told Oreo, Zoe’s dog. “No kissing until we brush our teeth. And by our, I mean your.”

  Oreo sat back on his haunches, smiling wide. He was huge, as in Bernese mountain dog huge.

  Darcy supposed if she couldn’t wake up next to a really hot guy, Oreo would do.

  He’d been recently rescued from a dog-fighting ring—by Emily, Wyatt’s girlfriend. Zoe had taken one look at Oreo and it had been love at first sight. And he was a good dog, though he still needed some rehabbing. After being neglected and abused for so long, he wasn’t the biggest fan of men. Just the other day the mailman had come to the door and Oreo had broken Zoe’s bed trying to get under it to hide. He tolerated Wyatt okay but that was probably because every animal on the planet tolerated—and genuinely loved—her veterinarian brother. He was like Dr. Doolittle or something.

  “Woof.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m getting up.” She sat and winced.

  She was sore as hell, but this had become her new norm, being stiff and achy as an eighty-year-old in the mornings. Getting out of bed was an Olympic sport, but she managed. Straightening slowly, breathing deeply, she glanced at herself in the mirror. Yikes, her hair looked like she’d stuck her finger in a light socket. Turning her back to the mirror, she lifted up her cami and contorted herself to see the perfect, beautifully rendered tattoo running alongside her scar.

  More laughter drifted up from downstairs. Thanks to the questionable insulation in the walls, one could hear every creak and groan the place made. One could also hear every move made—a bummer on the many nights she’d attempted to sneak out of there without being caught by a nosy sister or brother.

  She and her siblings had inherited the hundred-year-old Victorian from their grandparents after they’d both gone to the big Bingo game in the sky. Since Darcy’s accident, she’d shared it with both Zoe and Wyatt, but over the past month Wyatt had been sleeping mostly with Emily at her house a few miles away. This left Darcy and Zoe, neither of whom knew the first thing about geriatric-house upkeep, though they did their best.

  Okay, so Zoe did her best. Darcy, not so much.

  But she did love it here, in the first real home base she’d ever had, even if you couldn’t use the toaster or a blowdryer without blowing a fuse. And forget charging your phone and tablet at the same time. In fact, forget having enough bandwidth out here in the boondocks to even warrant having multiple electronic devices, because it wasn’t like you could use more than one at a time, especially with the myriad of pot growers in the area using up all the watts and bandwidth.

  She didn’t care, she was happy here. Surprisingly so. She’d never have guessed that she liked having her siblings so close, that they could all get along. Or that it would mean so much to Darcy that they did. The way they’d been there for her after her accident had meant everything to her. Everything. They were a real family, which never failed to nail Darcy in the gut. In a good way. In the very best way.

  Oreo whined at her, wanting her to go with him downstairs to join in the fun he felt he was missing out on.

  Darcy knew if anyone in the kitchen was using water there’d be no hot water for a shower, so she didn’t even attempt it. She simply followed her nose—bacon!—downstairs with great hope.

  Not one to lead, Oreo trailed after her, his nails click, click, clicking on the ancient, battered old wood floors, occasionally goosing Darcy in the back of the thighs with a cold, wet nose to hurry her along when she stopped to stretch her leg.

  Zoe