Sympathy for the Devil (International Bad Boys Book 4) (11 page)

“I gather you didn’t manage to clear the air with the two older boys.”

“Nope. I made a mess and then I left and now I’m calming down.” Her phone rang from inside her shoulder bag, and then fell silent.

Her father eyed the bag. “You going to get that?”

“No. I’m going to ignore it.”

Her father’s eyes crinkled. “Get the phone, Breanna.”

Sparing a dark glance for her father, she did. Willpower of a lemming.

It was Zoey Jackson and the message was short and almost encouraging.
We didn’t finish our business meeting. Lunch at Geo’s at twelve tomorrow?

Geo’s was an Italian restaurant in town that catered to both lunch and dinner crowds. Geo’s was a good call. And surely Zoey wouldn’t be thinking of lunch if one of her brothers-in-law was dying.
Can do
, she typed back.
Thanks for rescheduling
. Bree hesitated, her fingers hovering over the phone screen, before finally committing her question to text.
How’s Caleb?

“Who was it?” her father asked as she put the phone on the counter.

“Zoey.”

Her phone beeped again.

“You want me to order you to pick it up again?”

“No,” she grumbled. “I’ve got it.”

There were words.

And a picture.

Me and Eli are taking over dive boat duties today. Cutter’s busy putting a boat engine back together and planning your and Caleb’s first date. Caleb might even be listening. Or not. He’s three elephant-dose painkillers down and still winces every time he moves. Be gentle with him. He’s had a hard morning.

The picture showed Cutter half-way up the slipway working on a boat engine that was still attached to the boat. Caleb was stretched out, flat on his back in the boat, on the seating next to the engine, a box of parts within reach and a bag of ice tucked up tight against his side. He had his shirt off and his eyes closed and wasn’t that a pretty picture, even if the presence of the ice-pack made her frown.

“How is he?”

Silently, Bree showed her father the picture.

“You want me to drop by and take a look at him?” First and foremost, her father was a physician. Healing people, taking care of them—that was his thing.

“Would you? Are you well enough?”

“I’m not dead yet.”

Bree felt the fierce need to hug her father tight, and gave into the notion moments later. “I hate cancer. What would I ever do without you?”

“Live well and love without fear,” he offered gently. “Will you do that for me?”

“Yes,” she murmured, holding him tighter. “What else?”

“Just that. Trust me, it’s not always easy.”

*     *     *

“You need to
see a doctor,” Cutter told him for the fiftieth time in half-an-hour. Caleb disagreed but threw his brother a bone.

“Maybe later.”

“
Before,
I die of guilt.”

“Pretty sure nothing’s broken.” He’d cracked ribs before—it wasn’t a rib. “All a doctor’s going to do is tell me to rest—which I’m doing. I’m all for skipping the middle man.”

“Did someone mention doctor?”

The voice wasn’t unknown, though it took Caleb a while to place it. Cutter was faster, probably because he’d actually turned around to see who it was.

“Hey, Doc Tucker,” Cutter said a little too enthusiastically. “What brings you here?”

“My daughter.”

“Ah.”

Caleb groaned and made a concerted effort to sit up. It took him a while, but he did it without passing out. Progress. “Hey, Doc.”

“Boys.” He had a father’s way of saying that particular word, heavy on the unspoken warning not to mess with him. “Mind if I take a look at the patient?”

“I’m fine.”

“He’s not fine.”

“Fists will do that,” offered the doc and Cutter shot Caleb a look of abject apology.

“That look is getting old fast,” he told his brother. “All I did was forget to brace—but seeing as no one actually believes that I’m fine, feel free to examine the goods.” The doc looked frailer than Caleb felt, and that was saying something. “I’ll be right down.”

“Or I can come up.”

“No need.” If a dying man could pay him a house call, Caleb could damn well make the effort to meet him on the ground. He swung his legs over the stern of the boat and pushed himself off. Cutter was there to break his fall before it got ugly.

The movement was already enough to make Caleb’s vision swim with pain.

“And I thought Eli was stubborn,” his brother muttered.

“Bitch. Bitch.” Caleb straightened and looked for Bree’s father, who stood by silently watching the exchange. “I’m just bruised.”

The doc motioned him forward. “How about you let me be the judge of that?”

Caleb let the older man poke and prod and ask questions that involved levels of pain and a scale of one to ten. The doc asked about painkillers and then warned against top-ups and the addition of alcohol.

“Bree says you’re not all that well yourself these days.” It was Caleb’s turn to ask a few questions, but the blue eyes that studied him spoke of a few rounds left yet.

“Prostate cancer.”

“So . . . worst case scenario?”

“Four to six weeks.”

“And best?”

“I live.”

“Ever been Marlin fishing?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“You want to?”

Old man Tucker laughed. “Does that invitation include my daughter?”

“The invitation’s because of your daughter,” Caleb admitted. “Doesn’t have to include her. Bring anyone you want.”

“And the cost?”

“About the same as a house-call. Let us know numbers the day before. We do the rest.”

“Catch and keep?” The doc was examining Caleb’s head now, firm fingers moving across his scalp looking for bumps that weren’t there.

“Tag and release.”

“You coughing up blood?” Now the doc was turning Caleb’s head this way and that, his gaze intent on Caleb’s eyes.

“No.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“None.”

The doc started examining his teeth. “There’s blood in your mouth.”

“There’s a cut in my cheek.” His words came out a little garbled, courtesy of the doc pushing his jaw around, but the older man nodded as if he understood.

“You’re fine. Good teeth.” The good doc let go of him with an extremely firm pat to his non-injured cheek. “I hear you’re interested in courting my daughter. “Yes.” Caleb eyed the other man warily. In his experience, fathers weren’t often thrilled by this notion. Go figure.

“She’s worried about you. Fretting over the damage she might have caused between you and your brother over there.”

“It’s under control. I’ll talk to her.”

“You do that.” The old man just kept right on studying him. “You liked my daughter so much back then, why didn’t you ever stay in touch with her? Follow through?”

“Bree had a dream and she followed it. I didn’t fit. I was eighteen.”

“And now?”

“She came back. I know what I want now and hopefully, so does she.” Caleb’s smile probably didn’t reach his eyes. “And I’m not eighteen.”

*     *     *

When Caleb wanted
a woman’s attention he got it. Not ego. Fact. Which made his inability to pin Bree down to any kind of dinner plans later that day frustrating in the extreme. It didn’t exactly help that he had Cutter’s dating suggestions ringing in one ear and Zoey’s laughter ringing in the other as he threw out one suggestion after the other.

Geo’s? She’d been there for lunch. Upscale brasserie at the pub? Her parents would be in that particular bar tonight. Byron Bay? Yes, but only if they could call in and see Zoey’s sister on the way, because Bree wanted to know what he and Zoey’s sister would look like together. For the photos, she’d said.

“Houseboat,” Cutter said. “Feed her there. Take food from here. She’ll like it. Trust me.”

Caleb covered the phone in his hand and eyed his brother narrowly. “That because you know her of old?”

And suddenly, the tension was back between him and his brother, thick and twisted.

“You are my flesh and blood, my business partner and you are my friend,” Cutter offered. “You asked me today to forgive you for an old, old betrayal, and I’m trying, I really am. But if you
ever
pull the jealously routine when it comes to
my
old relationship with
my
old girlfriend I will not be forgiving at all. It’s history. Get over it. For all of our sakes.”

It was good advice. Caleb ran a hand over his face and lifted the phone to his ear once again. “Cutter’s suggesting that you and I go to the houseboat for dinner,” he offered gruffly. “We have one upriver. I can feed you there. We can drive out separately or together—it’s your call.”

“Okay,” she said after too long a pause. “Sounds good. Does this mean you don’t want me at Friday drinks beforehand anymore? Will you be there?”

“I will. And I want you there too.”

“Will Cutter be there?”

“Yes.”

“Because I need to apologize to him for this morning.”

“No you don’t.”

“I also need to apologize to him for doing what I did all those years ago. You’ve made your peace with him, Caleb. I need to make mine.” She sounded flat. “I was kind of hoping to do it without a captive Friday afternoon audience, but I guess I’ll take my chances.”

He could spare her that. “Do it now. I’ll put him on.”

Caleb held out the phone to his brother. Cutter scowled at him and shook his head.

“She wants to apologize.”

“She doesn’t have to.”

“Apparently she needs to.”

Cutter cursed beneath his breath and took the phone. “Yeah, so, hey Bree. It’s all good. I really don’t want your apology.” There was a brief pause. “No? Okay, apology accepted.”

More silence and an ever more uncomfortable Cutter. “You’re right. You and I were always better friends than we were the other.” He caught Caleb’s eye. “There was very little other. Ever.”

More silence.

“You don’t have to do that. No one here needs any more time to work things out. It’s done. Sorted. Everything’s peachy. Yep, drinks around four-thirty.”

The next thing Caleb knew, his brother had hung up on her.

“What the hell was that?” Caleb demanded.

“What? You wanted to embarrass yourself even
more
with your rusty attempts at date making?” His brother knew exactly how to wind him up. “Everything’s organized. She’ll be here.”

B
ree dressed carefully
for afternoon drinks at the marina, rocking a little red party dress that she knew full well looked good on her. She walked down the boat ramp and up the stairs that led to the boardwalk. Eli and Zoey had their apartment on the second floor of the boat shed, right at the end, she knew the layout better now, and the party had gathered on the boardwalk below it where the walkway fanned out wider. There were bar-stools and high tables and people aplenty, and she slipped off her shoes and, squaring her shoulders, she started towards them. High-heeled shoes often got caught in the gaps in the boardwalk, she knew that of old. If she was going to cart old, unwanted history around with her, she may as well dredge up the practical stuff as well.