Page 9 of What's Left of Us

I set my beer down. “Not unless you invited somebody I don’t know about. Why?”

Mom butts in, appearing behind Hannah with some burger toppings she must have cut up in the kitchen. “I thought an extra plate might be necessary just in case we get any unexpected visitors.”

Unexpected visitors. “And who may that be, Ma?”

Hannah grins. “Unless it’s you who suddenly wears expensive perfume, it’s not far off to assume that Georgia—”

“She’s not coming,” I inform them through my teeth.

My little sister has always liked my ex-wife. I used to be glad they got along. These days, not so much. Because there’s a lot myfamily doesn’t know about the cunning woman who showed up at my house late last night, crawled into my bed, and told me she couldn’t sleep.

It’d been weakness letting her slip her hand inside my boxers, but I didn’t stop her. I let her strip me, put me in her mouth, and climb on top of me until we both chased relief.

Mom shrugs. “Well, you never know…”

Hannah laughs, Dad shakes his head, and I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Let’s eat.” I plop into the closest spot and start serving myself to drop the subject.

Before Mom can bring up my ex or my late partner and do some sort of feelings check-in, I look at my sister. “Hannah Banana, why don’t you tell Mom about that speeding ticket you got the other day?”

She gapes at me in betrayal. “You ass! You said you wouldn’t say anything to her about it.”

Mom turns to her daughter with her hands perched on her hips and a scolding expression shadowing her feminine features. “You gotanotherticket? I swear to all that’s holy, Hannah Marie. We told you if you got another one that we were going to take away your—”

I hide my grin behind the food I shovel into my mouth, glad the spotlight is off of me.

*

There’s no doubtin my mind that the good doctor catches the subtle wince as I drop onto the couch. I try my best not to move or roll my shoulder, no matter how much the ache has settled in today. It always hurts when it’s raining out, which is almost every day at this point. This time of year is rough in Middle Pointbecause of the rainfall, but it’s going to be a bigger bitch when winter hits and the temperature drops.

Should have moved down south when Georgia suggested it,I think to myself, unable to stop the soft chuckle from escaping me.

“What’s so funny?” the good doctor asks, crossing one of those lean legs over the other and settling into her usual armchair.

She’s in pants today, which is unfortunate. If I’m going to sit in silence, I at least want something nice to look at. I’ve always been an equal opportunist when it comes to the female form—I’m not just about the ass, tits, or legs. I like it all. And since her outfits always cover her chest, her legs are about all I can get a good glimpse of.

I entertain her question rather than stare at how her shirt tucked into her pants shows off her tapered waist. “I was thinking that my ex-wife was right,” I muse, a half-smirk curling my lips. It’s been a long time since I’ve said that aloud, and I bet her ears are ringing. “She always said we’d be happier down south where her family is from. She told me I should look into jobs somewhere warmer because the sunshine would put me in a better mood.”

“But you didn’t want to.” It’s not a question.

“New York pays better,” I answer. My job with the state ensured that she could get every new book that came out from her favorite authors and each special edition that released with sprayed edges I could easily do myself. I made sure she had whatever she wanted because I thought it would make her happy—thought it would be enough.

Turns out, it wasn’t.

“It’s also a lot more hours and a hell of a lot more stress,” I add. “And my family is here. So is most of hers.”Unfortunately.

She nods in understanding. “I know many couples who’ve struggled to find balance when careers blow up.”

All I do is make a thoughtful noise.

“Are you hurting?” is her next question, her eyes going to the spot in between my collarbone and heart. She’s read my file. She knows what’s under my shirt without me exposing the damaged, marred flesh.

“I’m always in a perpetual level of hurt,” I answer dryly. “Isn’t that why I’m here?”

Her lips move into a ghost of a smile again. Subtle and gone before I can blink. That’s the third time I’ve gotten her to lift those otherwise unreadable lips. “I suppose so. Are you on any medication for the pain?”

“I was given some when I was released from the hospital, but I stopped taking it.”

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