Page 113 of Big Dill

“You’re taking my room. You’re exhausted, and you have an early class tomorrow. Plus we have practice in the afternoon and you have evening childcare.”

Hearing all that exhausts me even more, but in a weird way also invigorates me, gives me purpose.

“You won’t get any sleep on the couch.”

“But I thought it was comfortable. Jaxon said he and the couch were bros.”

He casts me a look that suggests I might be dense, and I guess I am. Jaxon took the couch to accommodate me. It’s not comfortable. Honestly, I have the best big brother a girl could ever ask for, and how do I repay him for all he’s doing…

Deceit.

Sneaking around with his best friend.

That’s how.

Maybe I never should have come here—a place that is really growing on me, a place that is truly beginning to feel like home.

As my stomach knots, I open my mouth to argue, knowing it’s pointless, but he cuts in. “I’ll talk to Mr. Cheeseman tomorrow. See if he can light a fire under housing and get you into your apartment sooner rather than later.”

“I don’t… I’m not…” My words trail off, because the truth is I am staying longer than planned, now that Jaxon needs me to take his place on the team, and I want to showcase my designs at the tournament. “That’s probably a good idea,” I finally say. “I’m tired of smelling stinky pickleball socks and shoes by the front door.”

I try to make a joke of it, but something twists in my chest. A strange, unwelcome feeling, like I’m being edged out. Like maybe whatever this thing is between Brody and me is starting to burn out.

Or maybe it’s just memory rearing its ugly head. The way things ended with Tristan. The way he pushed me out of my own business—my own home—while quietly planning a life with someone else.

Brody isn’t Tristan.

He’s probably just trying to do what’s best for everyone.

I tell myself that, and try to believe it.

Brody pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine.

“Home sweet home,” Jaxon mumbles as he opens the door.

I swallow. Because somehow, those words make my chest tighten. Because once again I’m reminded how easily home can be taken away—how I won’t be living in this one much longer either.

Why am I dredging up memories that still hurt?

I must just be tired.

I follow Jaxon out of the truck. “Careful, it’s icy.”

“Don’t I know it,” he jokes, and I hurry ahead to open the door. Brody stays with him, making sure he’s steady. Once inside, Jaxon yawns. The painkillers are taking their toll.

“Bologna sandwich?” Brody asks, and Jaxon laughs.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Brody gestures with a nod to the stairs. “Why don’t you go up, get settled, and I’ll bring it to you.”

“Thanks, bud.”

“Just let me grab my things first,” I blurt, hurrying ahead. The man would be scarred for life if he discovered the toy I’ve stashed in his nightstand—a toy I never even needed. Not with the real thing sneaking into my bed. But there will be no more sneaking now, because I won’t be living here much longer.

I rush to my brother’s room, quickly gather my few things, and dump them on Brody’s bed. Jaxon crutches up the stairs, each step banging against the wood. I follow him into the bedroom as pots and pans clatter downstairs.

I pull the bedding back for him and lean his crutches on the nightstand. He grunts as he settles into bed, the coils creaking.