Page 87 of Filthy Twisted Devil

“I never said I wanted one!” Ryan says defensively. “I just wanted to know if it was possible.”

“I appreciate his curiosity,” Dr. Rashid says politely.

Ryan’s eyes light up. “Okay, what about Wolverine claws? I know adamantium isn’t real, but science must be getting close, right?”

“A little whiskey for your coffee, Dr. Rashid?” Beau offers, holding up a bottle. “If Ryan’s getting into X-Men, you could probably use a pick-me-up.”

“Better not.” Dr. Rashid chuckles. “I’m on call.”

Beau turns to the anesthesiologist, a skinny redhead in glasses. “How about you, Dr. O’Connell?”

“Thanks fer askin’,” Dr. O’Connell replies in a heavy Irish brogue. “Better stick to coffee, though.”

“I’ll go brew some more,” I say, heading to the coffeepot. Between the doctors and the coterie of worried friends, the coffee I made half an hour ago has already vanished, and I know I’m going to get requests for more sooner than later.

Unfortunately, after I make the coffee for Dr. O'Connell, I'm immediately met with requests for espresso and specialty coffees. Since I'm the only one who knows how to work the ridiculous top-of-the-line coffee machine I bought myself, I’m put on drink duty. I spend a good twenty minutes taking requests until everyone who wants to be is caffeinated.

Once I’m done, my eyes automatically scan the room for Eden. I find her sitting next to two older nurses who are working on a crossword together. Eden looks at the floor, looking lost in thought. I know immediately that something's wrong. Eden can be quiet sometimes, but she’s always tapped into the conversations around her, listening and taking stock. She’s deliberately sat herself away from any of her friends, and I have a feeling I know why.

Across the room, Brinley’s seated between Beau and Maura, chatting animatedly with them. If I weren't her brother, I'd assume there was nothing wrong. But I've known Brinley since she was born. Her brow is furrowed just like it always is when she's angry but pretending not to be.

Shit. I’m not sure exactly where the tension came from, but I’d bet a fiscal year of Twisted Devil’s profits that it has to do with me.

I fill a coffee mug for Eden and bring it over to her. She accepts it with a quiet “thanks,” but doesn’t say anything else. Her eyes stay on the floor. Cool dread creeps into my stomach. Something’s up. Normally, she’d greet me with that small, warm smile.

“Are you okay?” I ask, reaching out to put a reassuring hand on her arm. She shrugs away from the touch, sending blaring alarm bells off in my head.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she says. “Cat’s having her baby. It’s exciting.”

“You don’t look excited.” I lean down close. “Did something happen with you and Brinley?”

“Of course not.” She sips her coffee and turns her back to me, focusing on the nurses. “I think I know twenty-eight down.”

Okay, so she doesn't want to talk. Looks like I’ll have to ask the other half of the equation. I spot Brinley headed down the hallway toward the guest bathroom. Perfect. If she’s avoiding me, then I’ll corner her. She’s in my house, after all. She owes me at least a conversation.

I follow her down the hallway and wait just outside the door. I hear running water—she’s washing her hands. I lean against the wall, hoping to look casual while also blocking her way back into the kitchen. When she emerges a second later, she jumps and shrieks.

“Luke! What the fuck?” She holds her hand to her chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry, Brin. Didn’t mean to.”

“Likely story,” she mutters.

“So…I saw you and Eden come up together.”

Brinley’s eyes narrow. “Yeah.”

“And, uh, what did you two chat about?” Pathetically transparent. I’m the world’s worst interrogator—unsubtle and unthreatening at the same time.

My sister crosses her arms and scowls. “What do you want, Luke?”

I want to know if there’s any, miniscule, teeny-tiny chance that you’d approve of me dating your best friend.

“I’m just curious,” I say instead. “I’m sure you and Eden talk about me, and I wonder what kind of stuff you say.”

Brinley’s eyes flash, and I know instantly that she has no intentions of playing nice. “If you’re worried I’ll tell her you’re a world class, untrustworthy asshole, you can stop. I already did tell her, and apparently, that still hasn’t stopped you.”

I wince. I haven’t always been the best brother to Brinley, and I don’t blame her for not having the best opinion of me. Things are different now, though, and I feel the urge to defend myself.