“Why can’t her family give you an update?”
“Well, that’s the other problem. Camille is kind of well-known in Chicago, and so is Alessandra. Together, we got a lot of attention. So there’s been some…speculation.”
He wasn’t going to like this part. He could already tell.
“What kind of speculation?”
“Do a search for Alessandra Ballard online, and you’ll find a few dozen articles hinting that maybe I was driving. That maybe I had too much to drink at the gallery and that maybe the accident was my fault. That maybe I put my friend in the hospital.”
Brick swore under his breath. He wanted to get on a plane, fly to Chicago and purposely knock the teeth out of every blogger and journalist who dared write lies about her.
“I swear. It isn’t true. I didn’t cause the accident.”
“You think I don’t fucking know that?” He reeled it back in. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that.”
Her eyebrows were high on her forehead. “How did you mean to say it?”
“You take your lumps. When you screw up or get caught, you apologize and take your punishment. If you had been driving, you would have already apologized publicly and privately about a hundred times.”
She heaved a sigh, her fingers tightening their grip on his. “I wish someone would tell her family that. They’re inclined to believe the gossip. When I tried to visit her, they had security escort me out of the hospital.”
“What about the police report? It would prove Camille was behind the wheel.”
“It would say that, if I hadn’t pulled her out before they got there. The car was sliding, and I thought we were about to plummet off the side of a cliff.” She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s just my word against a bunch of people speculating about a sexier story.”
“So you came home.”
“Yeah. I came home. I figured it might be nice to be Remi Ford again.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she immediately looked away. “I just wish I knew if she were okay. The news just keeps saying the same thing. Condition unknown. And no one will give me any answers. So I just sit here waiting for her to call, to say she’s okay.”
He couldn’t stand it anymore. Brick pulled her against his chest and held on tight. The muffled sob that escaped damn near broke his heart.
He didn’t tell her that everything was okay. Because it sure as hell wasn’t. But he’d find a way to make it okay. He’d find a way to reassure her.
“You know another stupid thing?” she asked, sniffling against his chest.
“What, baby?”
“I haven’t painted since the accident.”
“You broke your arm,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, that should just mean I can’t paint well. But there’s this block. Every time I pick up a brush, I just relive it over and over again. The impact. The horrific sound of metal scraping. And then the drop.” She shivered against him. “It’s like there’s no room for music in my head anymore.”
“You’re healing. Cut yourself some slack. You went through a trauma. You can’t just bounce back from it physically or emotionally.”
“What if I never bounce back? What if I never paint again? Or what if I do paint again, and it’s terrible?”
He cupped her face in his hands, hating the tears he saw there. “You’re Remington Honeysuckle Ford—you will fucking bounce back.”
Her laugh was half-hearted. “Is that an order?”
“You’re damn right. And here’s another one. Stay here. Don’t try to sneak out and go home tonight. I’ll sleep better if I know you’re here.”
“Just a couple of siblings having a sleepover?” She sniffled, and he handed her a paper towel from the roll he’d put next to the mason jars.
“Remington, sometimes men say stupid things. Not because it’s the truth, but because they wish it was.”
“That’s Brick speak for either you wish I was your sister or you wish you thought of me as a sister,” she said, those green eyes sweeping him from head to toe. He felt the heat of her curious perusal like it was a caress.
“I’m not answering that. But you are staying tonight so I don’t have to worry about you.”
“Fine,” she said, noisily blowing her nose. “But only because I know you hid my boots somewhere and I’m too tired to tear your house apart looking for them.”
“Good girl. Now let’s go draw a marker mustache on Spence,” he said, plucking her off the table.
She grinned up at him and then froze. “Hey. Did I say anything about butt bongos the other night?”
“Yes. Yes, you did.”
“Damn it. I was afraid of that.”
He watched her take one last look around the room before she headed up the ramp into the house. He had a lot of complicated feelings. One of them stood out more than the others. She’d told him the truth. But he was damn sure there was more to the story than she’d shared.
17
The power kicked back on just after nine a.m., waking Brick on his own living room floor. He was on his side, facing the couch. His right arm was stretched above him, hand holding on to something warm and smooth. Bleary-eyed he raised his head and realized he was gripping Remi’s milky white thigh where it jutted out from the blanket.
Jesus. Even in his sleep he was a possessive bastard over the woman who would never be his. Her skin was so warm and soft.
Her full lips gently curved as if something in her sleep amused her. Her lashes were long and delicate. Skin a translucent shade of pale. She still had that scattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose and cheeks.
He wanted mornings like this. Craved them with a hunger that hollowed him out. He wanted to wake up in this house to watch her sleep. He wanted Remi’s face to be the last thing he saw at night before he shut his eyes, the first thing he saw when he opened them. He wanted her laughter echoing throughout the house.
But he couldn’t have that. Couldn’t have her. He wished fiercely that knowing that would make the want, the need finally go away.
A twist of red hair fell over her forehead, causing her to frown. In her sleep, she batted it back and mumbled something he couldn’t quite make out.
Even asleep she didn’t remain peaceful.
She gave another little jolt, jerking her broken arm. Her fingers found his hand on her leg and squeezed.
The intimacy of the moment, of watching her be completely vulnerable and still gravitate toward him, took his breath away.
At least until his brother’s snore startled him out of his reverie. Spencer was sprawled in the recliner, sleeping soundly. Brick wondered if his brother had ever met anyone in his life who’d caused insomnia. They were close, but they tended not to talk about serious things.
Sports? Yes. Hot wings? Absolutely. Relationships? That was a hard no.
His brother had seemed almost stunned when Brick told him he was engaged to Audrey.
“I didn’t even know you two were dating,” he’d said.
Granted, it had been a fast courtship. But still, what did it say about him as a brother that he hadn’t even told Spencer he was dating his old high school friend? He needed to be a better brother. Needed to make more of an effort with Spence the man. Just because he was an adult now didn’t mean Brick should allow their relationship to just fizzle. They were all they had in terms of family. That alone was worth preserving.