4. Bjorn

4

Bjorn

Erik throws my Range Rover into park and jumps out. Gunnar was supposed to pick me up at the hospital, but he had some last-minute thing he needed to take care of and sent Erik instead. I’m disappointed, but not surprised. Although he’s been much better lately, Gunnar always was a bit unreliable.

Erik hurries around the front end of the Rover to help me out like I’m an old man. He means well, and I probably should let him, but I’m a bit out of sorts, and so damned tired of the whole being injured thing. I want my independence back. And I can manage to get out of the car on my own, thank you. I reach for the door handle, but Erik puts one palm against the glass, holding it shut, waving me off with the other. “Wait.”

Getting grumpier by the minute, I’m about to tell him what he can do with his mother henning when the front door opens and Pita comes barreling out of the house. He jumps into Erik’s arms, licking him all over. Then Pita catches sight of me, and my heart breaks. My baby whines and scrambles to get out of the arms he just vaulted into, desperate to reach me. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I slowly push the door open. “Hey bud. It’s okay.” If Pita had seen me first instead of Erik, I’d be on the ground, most likely with torn stitches and in massive pain. We’re going to need to work harder on eliminating that behavior. Pita pushes up onto his hind legs, front paws on the seat, and leans into my leg, trying to lick any part of me he can reach. Scratching behind his ears, I meet Erik’s eyes. “Thanks. That could have been bad.”

“No problem.” His self-congratulatory smirk is warranted, so I let it slide without comment.

I’m about to ask for help moving Pita out of the way when Jules comes out of the house, and just like that, Pita races over to plaster himself against his favorite person. Erik laughs and nudges me gently. “You’ve been replaced.”

“I can see that. Geeze. I spend a few days in the hospital after being stabbed , and this is my payback.” I’m only slightly serious. Pita’s reaction stings a bit, but I’m glad Jules has the support he needs. “You know, I still can’t get over how protective Pita is of Jules. I mean, it’s great, and I don’t mind at all. But it’s not what he’s being trained for. Maybe he has a problem with paw-thority.”

Erik ignores my joke and continues to watch my dog love on his fiancé. “Not all dogs have the temperament for police work. Maybe you ought to rethink his training goals.”

Huh. “Maybe I should.” I wave Erik closer. “Here, help me down. Who the fuck let me buy a vehicle so far off the ground?” He chuckles and slips my right arm over his shoulder, letting me lean on him as much as I need to. Which is more than I’d like but not as much as I feared. With minimal effort, I slide out of the Rover and onto my feet, waiting for the pain to flare, but there’s only a twinge. Once I’m positive I have my legs under me, I pull my arm back, leaving my hand on his shoulder, and we stroll to the front door.

“Hey Bjorn. Welcome home.” Jules grins as he strokes Pita’s head, like he knows he’s stolen my dog’s affections and isn’t the least bit sorry.

I mock-glare at Pita. “Traitor.” Then I wink at Jules. “Thanks. It’s good to be home. You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to lying on the couch, playing video games, and sleeping in my own bed.”

When I walk inside, the tight band of stress that’s been constricting my chest eases, and I take a deep breath for the first time in a week. Then I gird myself and peer into the living room, fully expecting to find pizza boxes and empty beer bottles after a week of a heartbroken Gunnar living here by himself. But the place is spotless. “Did you guys clean?”

Jules shakes his head. “Nope. The cleaning service came through last week, and Gunnar kept things pretty neat afterward.” He looks around. “Speaking of, where is Gunnar?”

“Right here.” The front door swings wide, and my youngest brother steps in, hauling a duffle over his shoulder. “Had to swing by the house and get some clean clothes.” He tosses a set of keys to Erik. “Thanks for letting me use your truck.”

“No problem. You know, if you want, I can call Joce and get your car—”

“No.” Gunnar cuts him off with a firm shake of his head. “Just… leave it. It’s fine.”

Erik frowns. “What if the weather—”

“I said leave it.” Gunnar tightens his jaw, blinking rapidly, and Erik backs off, hands held up. After one shaky breath, Gunnar relaxes. “Thanks, though. I appreciate the offer.”

“No problem.” He throws his arm over Jules’ shoulders and kisses the top of his head, both of them finding comfort in each other, and missing Gunnar’s small wince.

I shuffle into the middle of them, breaking the tension as I gesture to Gunnar’s very full bag. “You staying?”

With a thud, Gunnar dumps the duffle on the floor. “Yeah. I’ve been keeping an eye on things while you were in the hospital, and I figured someone’s got to take care of your sorry ass while you recover.”

Guilt momentarily overwhelms me. Gunnar didn’t pick me up from the hospital because he went back home to get clean clothes so he can stay with me. Fuck. Once again I jumped to the worst conclusions about him. Dammit, I need to do better.

“It’s a given that you’ll do shit you shouldn’t, if no one’s here to tell you to sit the fuck down.”

From the corner of my eye, I can see Erik nodding. “Truth.” They fist bump, and my heart squeezes. If it takes ganging up on me to get these two cooperating, then I’m here for it. Though I won’t be mentioning that.

“Fuck you both.” There’s no heat to my words, and they chuckle as we all head into the living room. I ease myself onto the couch with a groan, sinking into the heavenly comfort of the cushions. “This is so much better than a hospital bed.” Pita weaves himself between the couch and coffee table and lays across my feet. “Good boy. I’d pet you but I’m too comfy to move.” He thumps his tail on the carpet like he understands and lets out a sigh, snuggling against my legs.

Erik steps up behind me, dropping his hands onto my shoulders before giving them a squeeze. “Can we do anything for you before we take off?”

I tilt my head so I can see his face. “You guys leaving already?”

“Yup. Office day. Paperwork’s been piling up, and I can’t ignore it anymore.” He jangles his keys at Gunnar. “You want to borrow the truck until you get your car?”

Before Gunnar answers, I do. “He can drive the Rover if he needs it. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

Gunnar gawps at me. “You’re gonna lend me your Range Rover?”

I carefully shrug. “Sure.”

He grins like I’ve promised him a pony. “I don’t care if you’re high on pain meds and don’t remember this later. Everyone here heard it.”

I point at him. “Drive responsibly. Fill the tank when you’re done.”

“Yes, Dad.” His tone is sarcastic, but his grin doesn’t dim, and I’m glad I can give him something to smile about. Erik drops a kiss on the top of my head, and Jules leans over to give me a slightly awkward reverse hug. “I’ll see you guys on Sunday, right?”

“You sure you’re gonna be up for that?” Without looking, I know Erik’s frowning. I can hear it in his voice.

Gunnar leans forward and grabs the TV remote and a game controller. “I’ll cook.”

“You will not.” I groan as I attempt to reach the other controller on the coffee table. “ I’ll cook.” Thankfully, Gunnar saves me from having to get up, swiping the second controller and tossing it next to me on the couch.

“How about if we all cook.” It’s not really a question, and Erik’s tone leaves no room for argument. Or maybe I’m just too tired to try. “Jules and I will be over early to help.”

Gingerly, I sit back. “Sounds good.” I glance at him over my shoulder. “And thanks for taking care of Pita.” Then I look at Gunnar. “Thanks for taking care of everything here. I appreciate it.”

Gunnar blinks a few times, his expression vulnerable and open before he locks his eyes on the TV. “No problem. Happy to do it.” Most likely, it gave him something to occupy his mind and keep it off Jocelin. “Now, do you want me to kick your ass at Far Cry or Borderlands?”

“Okay, that’s our cue.” Erik loops his arm around Jules’ shoulders and kisses his temple. “See you guys on Sunday.”

“Later guys.” They head out, and I settle into the cushions with a small grunt as my side twinges. Breathing through the pain, I turn my attention to Gunnar. “You do realize those games are supposed to be cooperative play? We’re on the same team.”

Gunnar snorts. “Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna rack up more kills than you.”

There’s no way I can let that challenge pass. “Oh, it’s on.”

Grinning, Gunnar settles into the cushions. “Till the break of dawn.”

He proceeds to roll through scene after scene, killing everything that moves, throwing his character in front of mine to take out an opponent, and it’s so ridiculously over the top that I eventually toss my controller onto the couch and watch him decimate the enemy, my side hurting from laughing so much. I think Gunnar feels lighter, too. “Hey, you want some lunch?”

He sets his controller next to mine. “It’d be a late lunch, but I could eat. You want me to make something, or should we order in?”

I squint at him warily. “Who grocery shopped?”

He frowns at me, clearly confused. “What difference does that make?”

“Because if Erik shopped, then the kitchen is loaded with lots of fruits and vegetables, and if we’re lucky, there’s some cheese. If you shopped, then it’s going to be a random mix of whatever you were hungry for at the time.”

His mouth drops open in shock, but then he considers. “Okay, fair. What if Astrid shopped?”

“It’ll be mostly healthy food, because she’s responsible like that. But I can guarantee she caved and bought me Pop-Tarts.” Just thinking about the sweet, cinnamony snack makes my stomach growl.

Gunnar shakes his head. “Nope. She did the shopping, and true to her word, there aren’t any Pop-Tarts. I know. I looked. But I promised you I’d get them, and pudding, so I’ll run out in a bit and grab them.”

I debate my next move, weighing the need to find a new hiding place against the literal pain of getting up and getting them myself. “Oh, they’re there. Top shelf of the pantry in the oatmeal canister.”

I’ve barely finished speaking before Gunnar vaults over the back of the couch and into the kitchen. I hear the pantry door open and things being shuffled. “You’re a dick!”

“You better bring them here and share.”

“And what if I don’t?” His voice gets closer, so he isn’t serious. Moments later he drops onto the sofa and pries open the box top. “I can’t believe Astrid buys you Pop-Tarts, and hides them for you. And didn’t she threaten to only buy healthy food?”

I grab the silvery packet of goodness from his outstretched hand and tear into it, inhaling the scent of spices and pastry. “Like you’re one to talk. Who waltzes in here with butter cookies from Mrs. Clark and then hands them to Astrid to hide from the rest of us?”

He shrugs. “Okay, you got me there.”

I tear open the foil wrapper and gaze into its heavenly depths. “Do you think we could bring the toaster in here?”

Gunnar pauses mid-chew, considering. “Probably not a good idea with all the electronics. We could short something out, and then we couldn’t play video games.”

“Good point.” I slide one of the Pop-Tarts out of the package and bite it in half, groaning as the sugar hits my tongue. “God, why are these so good?”

Gunnar examines his pastry like he’s never seen one before. “I mean, they’re no butter cookies, but they’ll do in a pinch.” He takes another bite. “Is this lunch?”

I shake my head. “No. It’s pre-lunch snack. If I don’t eat healthy, Astrid won’t buy me snacks.”

Gunnar stares at me. “How do you even know that?”

“She said as much in her text this morning.” I shrug. “It’s Astrid. I take her at her word.”

He nods. “Good point. She can be scary.”

“Okay, so lunch. What are my options? As good as these are, Pop-Tarts aren’t going to hold me for long.”

I shove the last bite into my mouth and chew while Gunnar considers. “Well, we could order in, but that would take too long. I’m hungry now.” I nod in agreement. “So, I saw some tomato soup in the pantry. And there’s a loaf of bread on the counter. I’m betting you still have some American cheese from the burgers a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, I’m liking where this is going.” My stomach growls loudly in agreement.

Gunnar stands. “Grilled cheese and tomato soup, coming up.”

“Make the soup with milk and butter.”

He snorts. “Like there’s any other way to make it. You want crushed potato chips in the grilled cheese?”

I consider this culinary deviation from our childhood meal. “Maybe?”

“It’s great. Trust me.”

Waving for him to go ahead, I settle into the cushions, closing my eyes for a moment. A tap against my thigh jolts me awake. “Ouch! Fuck.” I wince and curl around my injured side.

“Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I blink up at Gunnar. “It’s fine. I forgot and moved too fast.” Slowly, the scent of butter, cheese, and tangy tomato tickles my nose, and my stomach growls again. “Smells great. Here.” I hold out my hand, and Gunnar takes it, helping me to sit up. “This whole injury bullshit sucks.”

“Agreed.” He sits down, and we both dig in, not talking until we’re each on our second grilled cheese and most of our soup is gone. It’s then that I realize we’ve been hanging out, laughing, playing video games, and conspicuously not fighting. I don’t think either of us is particularly trying to be on our best behavior, and maybe that’s where we’ve been screwing up. We’re trying too hard not to fight, which has put us on edge, causing us to fight.

“Hey, Gunnar?” He looks up from his soup. “Thanks for everything.”

Eyes wide and eyebrows raised, he nods. “It’s just grilled cheese and soup. But you’re welcome.”

It would be easy to let it go and pretend that’s what I meant. But it wouldn’t be right. “Yeah, thanks for that, too. But I meant for taking care of the house and for sticking around this week.” I meet his eyes and try to convey my sincerity. “It means a lot.”

“You’re welcome.” It’s said a bit warily, like he’s not sure what to make of it.

“Look, not to ruin a good mood or anything, but if you want to talk about what’s going on with you and Jocelin, I’m here. I promise I’ll just listen. Lord knows I’m in no position to offer advice on relationships.”

That earns me a snort of agreement. “That’s the truth.” His hand comes up to stave off any comment I might make. “Sorry. I’m also in no position to say that.” He stares at the last few bites of his sandwich and tosses it onto the plate. “The wound is still too raw. I’m not ready to talk about it.” He turns to meet my gaze. “But thanks. Seriously. I mean it. And if I need to talk, I’ll let you know. I promise.”

“Fair enough. I’m here if and when you are.”