Page 8 of Spring Rains

Chris

It always annoyedme when my family treated me like I was made of glass and fussed over me, and it always would. It wasn’t comforting for someone to walk alongside me with their hand out in case I fell—it was frustrating and infuriating. Add in Scott flying into the diner worrying about me, and I was about done with him today. I could sense his gaze, his protective instinct in overdrive, but I wasn’t dependent on other people, and I hadn’t been for a long time. Only, Scott was hovering.

Yep, no other word for it. He hovered like an insane helicopter, and when I limped, he’d touched my arm.

“Stop fucking touching me!” I snapped and shoved his hand away. Ever since the well incident, all I could see was everyone being weird around me, awkward, and I knew what they saw—an incapable invalid who needed care and comfort. Or maybe it was me who was weird and awkward around them, not quite able yet to reconcile what I hadn’t been able to do.

All I knew was that it was exasperating as hell.

“No, but?—”

I rounded on Scott, my right knee crunching and scraping, and I had to hold back the yelp as I slipped on the snow a little. I’d overdone it, and I bet the stump on my left would be sore, and possibly inflamed, which was just the fucking icing on the fucking cake. Cue a visit to the hospital, or to my other brother, Daniel, a doctor who could help, which was one vicious circle given that, then, he’d worry about me and…

Yeah. It was shit.

“There is no but,” I snapped. “You flew in that diner like some wannabe Batman.”

“I…” He paused, and his lips twitched because, yeah, it was partly funny, and yes, he had flown in, stopping in some freaked-out superhero pose.

“You’re an ass,” I muttered, but the flash of anger had passed, and I yanked open my car door.

“You think I’m Batman?” Scott blinked, as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

“Only if Batman is an idiot realtor who is also an asshole of a little brother.”

Scott pressed a hand to his chest, dramatic, his eyes wide. “Batman is so misunderstood,” he finished. I caught the flick of his gaze down to my knee. “Chris?” In that single word were so many questions—why did I go into the diner, where was I driving from, or to? Shouldn’t I be covering my scars more in the icy cold? But mostly—was I in pain?

“Go away,” I muttered, “I need coffee.” Frustrated, I grabbed my crutches from the car, only contemplating the wheelchair for an instant, then bypassed myhoveringbrother and headed to JJ’s instead. The smell of coffee was a balm to my frazzled nerves, and Scott didn’t follow me, which meant I got to sit and be miserable on my own. Abby, the owner, and today’s server, greeted me with her usual warmth, already moving to create my favorite coffee, extra shot, lots of cream.

“Saw you parked outside the diner,” she said, and I took a stool at the counter as I waited for her to expand on all the things she’d noticed. Abby always had the inside scoop on the neighborhood gossip, and there was a lot I needed to know about Noah and his son, Fox.

Like everything.

“I saw movement inside, thought someone had broken in,” I admitted and waited for her to tell me I was fucking stupid putting myself in danger. She didn’t;, instead, she rolled her eyes at me as she placed my coffee in front of me. I handed over the money, then took a sip—it was heaven—and it wasn’t until I was done with that first taste, that she went straight in with questions.

“,I saw the new owner earlier. Noah Bennett? Did you meet him?”

“Yep.”

“He has a son, Fox, fourteen. Lois said that Noah is divorced, quite high profile, so she told me.” Lois—Abby’s best friend—was the owner of the local beauty parlor and had her finger on the pulse as much as Abby. There’s a reason I get my hair cut in Collier Springs with how easily Lois could get information out of her victims, or as she calls them, clients.

Divorced. Prickly. Defensive. And when my phone’s light had rested on Noah’s face, I’d seen his eyes were blue—beautifulblue-gray eyes. Dark hair that peeked out of his hat. I imagined carding my hands through his hair, just to feel how soft it was, and daydreaming didn’t go down so well, Abby snapping her fingers in my face.

“Earth to Chris?”

“Sorry, you were saying?” I needed to ignore all the thoughts about pretty eyes, so I sipped more coffee, licked the cream from my lips, and listened while she carried on explaining.

“So, Lily’s will was solid as a rock. Everything was left to her great-nephew, bypassing the Oliver family over in Collier Springs, who are Noah’s semi-cousins, or something. Do you remember Craig Oliver? He’s around your brother’s age? Scott, I mean.”

You’d better believe I recalled Craig—a bully who never quite understood that Scott had two big brothers who would always have his back.

“Yeah, I know Craig.”

“Well, he and his wife contested it, so the legal stuff was delayed, but turns out it was airtight.” She waited for me to be as shocked or happy as whatever expression she had going on, then, as soon as I nodded, she forged ahead. “So, I guess he’s here to tidy up the place to sell.”

I was surprised that the things Noah had told me and Scott about staying and reopening the diner hadn’t made it over here already—I swear any and all walls have ears in this town.

“Nope. Says he’s reopening the diner. He and his son are living in the apartment above,” I said.

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