Page 67 of Protecting What's Mine
“Hi! I’m Christa. This is Jillian. We’re Linc’s sisters.”
Uh-oh.
Sunshine greeted them and generously accepted their pets and compliments.
“Hi, I’m Gwiffin.” A very small Asian kid poked his head between the women. He was missing a front tooth. “This is my brother Mikey. He’s not supposed to be here ’cause he’s usually in school. But Mom said we couldn’t leave him at home.”
Mikey was a few years older than Griffin—unless it really was Gwiffin. He was a little Latino studmuffin with thick curly hair, a fake tattoo on his skinny bicep, and brown eyes that looked like they might be able to charm anyone into anything. Except today they were painfully bloodshot.
He sneezed three times in rapid succession.
“It’s allergies. I swear. Not anything infectious,” Christa, the slightly taller of the two, insisted. “Now, let’s see where I can set this up.” She patted the large folding table leaning against her leg.
“What’s happening?” Mack asked, stepping back as the party entered.
“Well, Chris here is a chiropractor. We heard you took a pretty good tumble, so you’re probably pretty jacked up,” Jillian said, surveying the living room. “Meanwhile, I have no special skills. So while you’re being adjusted, I’m going to fix you lunch and do whatever else needs doing. Laundry? I’m great at laundry. And I’ll grill you on what the hell to do with Mr. Sneezy Pants over there. His seasonal allergies are getting worse every year.”
Mack opened her mouth, but no one was listening. Christa set up the table, a fancy portable chiropractic thing in the middle of the living room. “Bag, nephew,” she said, snapping her fingers at Griffin.
With a grunt, the kid hefted a big black bag into his aunt’s hand. “Good work. Now, turn on Dr. Mack’s TV and go find your brother a box of tissues.”
On cue, Mikey wiped his nose on the back of his hand.
“Hop up here, Dr. Mack. You can tell me all about your intentions with my brother while I see what we’re working with.”
Groggy from the nap. Not her sharpest thanks to the pain. Mack thought about arguing and then gave up. She flopped face down on the table and prayed for it all to be over and everyone to be gone.
“Whew,” Christa said. “I thought you might be one of those doctors who calls chiropractic hippie woo-woo garbage.”
Mack gave a weak laugh. “Not saying I am. But at this point, I can’t feel any worse. So have at it.”
She heard Jillian washing dishes in the kitchen, heard the kids squabble over what show to watch. The tip-tap of Sunshine’s toenails on the hardwood.
Christa’s hands pressed down on her low back, and Mack groaned.
“My brother seems to be smitten with you,” she said, moving her hands methodically over Mack’s back and hips.
“Smitten?” Jillian called from the kitchen. “Is that a new interrogation technique? Old-ladying up your language?”
“Shut up, Jillybean.”
“Mom! Aunt Chris said shut up,” Griffin yelled.
“I heard. Bad Aunt Chris!”
“Back to the interrogation,” Christa insisted. “Deep breath in.”
Mack barely had a chance to draw a breath when Linc’s sister pressed her hipbones firmly into the table.
She felt the resistance, was convinced she was going to snap in half, and then breathed a huge sigh of relief when something gave way with an audible pop.
“Better?”
“Yeah,” Mack whimpered. “Much.”
“Good.” Christa worked her way up the spine. “Linc is one-of-a-kind, you know. He’s got a reputation.”
“I don’t mind a reputation,” Mack admitted. “I’m just not looking for any—”Crack. “—thing right now,” she gasped.
