Page 70 of Angel In Armani

Lucas didn’t think the wince was entirely due to his knee. “Sara hasn’t mentioned a brother.”

“He died.”

Ah. “I’m very sorry to hear that, sir,” he said. “That’s a hard thing.”

Sean nodded, hand rubbing at his thigh. “He was a good kid.” His jaw clenched.

Time to talk about something else. It wasn’t going to win him any brownie points to poke at the man’s emotional wounds. No, he should try to stick to the ones he might actually be able to do something about.

“Sara told me about your crash,” he said as he took a seat in the other recliner. “Does your leg still bother you?”

“Sometimes,” Sean said. “My physical therapist said it will get better.”

“Do you mind if I ask what the injury was?”

Sean’s eyes went narrow. “Sara ask you to talk to me about this?”

“No, sir,” Lucas lied blandly. “Call it professional interest.”

“Right, you’re a bone doctor, aren’t you? Well, the technical term was something like compound fracture of the tibia and a shattered patella.”

“That’s an impressive way to screw up your leg,” Lucas said.

“You try being thrown from a helicopter and see how well you do,” Sean said.

“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. That’s a nasty injury. I’m guessing there’s quite a bit of hardware in there.”

“Enough to annoy the metal detectors at airports, that’s for sure,” Sean said.

“And you still get pain?”

Sean grimaced and made a dismissive gesture. “There’s a fridge in that cabinet beneath the TV. That’s where the beer is.”

Lucas rose and found two beers and a bottle opener. He passed one to Sean and sat back down. Sean took a swallow or two then sighed gratefully.

“You were going to tell me about the pain?” Lucas prompted.

“Was I?” He shook his head. “I’m guessing if I don’t tell you, Sara’s just going to keep sending you at me until I give in? She’s like a dog with a bone, that one. Doesn’t give up easily. Yes, my damned leg hurts.” He drank more beer.

Lucas sipped his more slowly. “Patellas can be difficult when it’s a bad fracture. Is it your thigh that hurts?”

“Thigh, knee, lower leg. My damned left hip.”

“That’s from the limping,” Lucas said.

“So my physical therapist tells me.” Sean swallowed more beer.

Lucas eyed the level in the bottle. It was going down fast. Beer might be better than narcotics but it would do almost as much damage in the end. Sara didn’t need a dad who was drinking too much. Not too mention Sean was likely to fall and just screw his knee up even more badly if he spent his days half drunk.

“Do you mind if I take a look?” Lucas said.

Sean eyed him. “Son, you might have charmed my daughter out of her pants but I’m not there yet.”

Lucas almost choked on his beer.

Sean laughed. “So you are sleeping with Sara.”

“I think that’s between Sara and me, sir,” Lucas said.

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