Page 12 of The Wrong Brother

“You got Thai?” The delicious scent of basil and curry hits my nose.

“Green curry, spring rolls, pad kee mao, and extra jasmine rice.”

“Those are my favorites!”

“I know.” He starts opening the containers, oblivious to my surprise. “I hope you don’t mind me sharing. I haven’t eaten either.”

“Of course not—thank you for grabbing dinner.”

“Can you wait on the first aid stuff or should we do it now.”

“Oh no,” I say around a hot bite of crispy spring roll, “food first.”

Rafferty leaves me stretched out across the couch and sits on the floor next to me, handing me an opened packet of hot mustard for my spring roll before I can even ask if there is any. He scoots the coffee table closer, to be more easily reached and even goes as far as holding a container up for me to eat out of.

“This is a little ridiculous. I’m not an invalid, I can hold my own food, Rafferty.” I roll my eyes at him, quirking my lips on one side.

“I know, but this way I can eat out of the container too, and we’re not dirtying up extra dishes.” I shake my head but keep eating out of the container of pad kee mao he’s holding.

“You win but it still feels silly.” I take another bite, enjoying the spicy noodles and bites of beef. “I forgot, there’s beer in the fridge.”

“I’ve got it.” He jumps up, handing me the container and comes back with drinks for both of us. I keep the pad kee mao and he grabs the green curry. “You want me to pour this over the rice?”

“Yes, please, that smells yummy.”

He moves back to sit below me and we go back and forth, taking bites from each container. We’re focused on eating, not talking at all, but I’m completely comfortable. I take another bite of the green curry and groan. “I’m so full. I couldn’t eat another bite but I’m tempted because it was so delicious!”

“Let me put the leftovers away, then we can look at your leg.” He cleans everything up, not letting me move from the couch, and comes back with a small bag from the drugstore and some envelopes. He sits everything on the coffee table and stands, looking down at me.

“Everything alright?” I ask him. He’s so still, staring at me, and I’m fighting the urge to squirm under his gaze.

“Yeah. I was considering the best way to go about this. Is everything on your left side?”

“Yes. My right shoe got stuck in the mud and I lost my balance and fell backward, sliding down the hill on my left side.”

“You should roll onto your right side then. If that’s ok. I didn’t mean to tell you what to do.”

I do as he suggested and he removes a tube of antibiotic cream from the paper sack.

“I’ll do my best to be gentle. I’m sorry in advance if I hurt you.”

I’m suddenly feeling very exposed and self-conscious. “Um, Rafferty? I’m in my underwear.”

“And you’ve seen me naked. Seems like we’re still not quite even.” He raises a blond brow at me and goes back to studying my scrapes. “Is it only your leg?” I show him my arm and he takes care of it first.

Rafferty kneels next to me, close enough for me to feel the warmth of his body. I watch his hands, long graceful fingers with short, neat nails. He starts at my knee, gently smoothing the ointment across the rough, abraded skin. It’s a strange sensation, the goosebumps from his soft touch radiating across sore muscles and shallow cuts. It hurts but it’s also nice. He moves up my thigh, tipping me forward, ever so slightly. He doesn’t speak and his breathing is deep and even. My breathing is…less so. He uses his free hand to slide my panties up, extending the ointment up over my hip bone.

“That’s a nasty bump. It’s probably going to be bruised for a while.” I nod once, unable to say anything. He slides his hand back, pushing my panties up higher. I breathe in sharply. “Shit. Did I hurt you?” I shake my head. There is no way I’m explaining that reaction. “You’re cut back here too.” I bite my lip as his warm hand caresses my tender left butt cheek. He carefully adjusts my clothes to cover me again.

I insist he should go take a shower since he’s here and use the time alone to get myself under control. He affects me so damn much. He comes back in, long hair hanging in wet waves, and sits on the other end of the couch, puts my legs across his lap, and hands me a stack of envelopes.

“I forgot—I checked your mail on my way up.”

I shuffle through the envelopes and he digs into my arch. “Ooooh, that feels good. You’ve already done too much for me, Rafferty.” He doesn’t respond, continuing to massage my feet. I separate the junk mail and the bills into two piles. At the bottom is a thick, cream-colored envelope with fancy calligraphy. For a moment I worry it’s another letter, but they’re always in legal envelopes. I frown and open it, pulling out the heavy cardstock. I can feel my brow furrowing, like a crotchety old man watching kids getting near his yard.

“Fuck, she wasn’t kidding.” Rafferty stops massaging and looks at me. “I mean…fuck.” I whisper to myself.

“Catherine?” I try to sit up but end up falling back against the pillows, the quick movement unexpectedly painful. “Lie back. What’s the card for?”

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