Turn It Up (18 page)

“I don’t know, I guess it depends on what you do with those leftovers.”

A heaviness formed in her gut. Leftovers. Her mother made soup with leftovers. Chicken soup. Comfortable, bland but filling chicken soup.

“Boo, wake up.”

Caz blinked his eyes and groaned before rolling over. “Go away.”

“Come on. I need your help a minute.” Bastian grabbed the blanket and yanked it off with a sharp snap. He got an eyeful of back tattoos and bare ass.
Whoa, way too early for that much nudity
. He dropped the sheet back over Caz’s butt.

“What time is it?” Mumbled into the mattress, the words were hard to understand.

“Almost six.”

Caz pushed himself up on his arms to squint at his brother then collapsed back down. “I just went to bed an hour ago, leave me alone.”

“Come on or I’ll be late for work. Put some clothes on, too.” He exited the room and waited in the hall until Caz joined him, stretching and scratching his bare stomach. He’d donned low-slung sweat shorts that threatened to fall off his hips. Tangled and knotted, his long hair obscured most of the left side of his face as a jaw-popping yawn showed his back molars.

“All right, I’m awake. What?”

“Attic.” Bastian already had the landing door open and was climbing the stairs.

“Attic? Jesus, Bastian, there are spiders and shit up there.”

“Get up here.”

He heard the low muttering long before his brother joined him. Face twisted in a grimace, Caz looked around the neatly stacked room and shuddered. “One spider, man, and I am outta here. I don’t do arachnids.”

Bastian pointed to the huge steamer trunk sitting on top of several footlockers. “I need to get in my old footlocker and I can’t move the steamer by myself. So grab a handle and quit bitching.”

“What the shit do you need in there for?” Caz looped a hand around the strap and tugged but was jerked back. He eyed the heavy trunk with furrowed brows. “What the hell’s in there, a dead body?”

“A dead body would weigh next to nothing as long as this thing’s been up here.”

“Not if it was Aunt Clarice. She was huge.”

Bastian shot his brother a hard stare. Whisking the hair from his face, Caz shoved at the trunk with a grunt. It didn’t budge. “Wonder what it is?”

“I have no idea. Mom packed this stuff up years ago.”

“Mom weighed maybe a hundred and twenty pounds. No way she moved this thing.”

“She probably packed it once it was on top.”

“So let’s unpack it and then move it.”

“It’s locked and if there’s a key, it’s long gone.”

Caz glanced around, spied an aluminum baseball bat and went to grab it.

Bastian stilled his reach with a fast hand. “It’s an antique, Boo. You’re not breaking into it. Just grab that side, okay?”

The chest barely moved under their tugging. They locked eyes and nodded, tightened their holds and counted. On three, they pulled and the straps came off both sides.

“Shit,” Bastian spat, dropping the wrecked handle.

“Oh well, broken now. Stand back.”

Bastian had just enough time to flinch away as the bat smashed into the lock. It clanked to the floor with a dull bang. Lifting the damaged lid, Caz laughed.

“Hey, found your old weight bench, all of it. And who bowled?” Four brightly colored bowling balls rested on a bed of huge metal discs and poles.

Bastian raised his brows. “Granddad. Why would she box all this stuff up?”

“With Mom, who knows?” Caz shrugged and started unloading weights. In minutes, the trunk was light enough to be moved to the floor. Bastian swung the blue footlocker around as Caz reached for the black one. The faint scent of cedar flooded the room from almost identical boxes holding vastly different treasures.

“What are you looking for?”

“Some things for Charlie’s surprise.” Palming a small object, he showed his brother.

Long blond hair rippled with a head shake. “You’re delusional but whatever. Hey, look. Remember this?” Holding up a Magic 8 Ball, Caz grinned and shook it with a watery swish.

Bastian looked up from his keepsakes and snickered. “You loved that damned thing. I used to tell you it was possessed by gypsies.”

“I threw it at your head more than once. I’m surprised it never cracked.” Caz laid it aside and dug further into his box. Rolled posters and magazines shifted with loud scrapes. A small intake of air sounded and he pulled out a cigar box.

A tremor started in Bastian’s gut as his brother cautiously pried the long-dried tape off the box and lifted the lid. Caz’s bare shoulders stiffened. A long minute passed. A twitch developed over his lip. The lid snapped shut and he handed the box over.

“Get rid of that, will you?”

Bastian cracked the lid. Two small bags of dried, shredded leaves were tightly bound by stained rubber bands, a leftover stash of pot from long ago. Their mother would never have thought to invade her youngest’s privacy by opening the box. Bastian slammed the lid shut and nodded. “No problem.”

“Wasn’t my drug of choice anyway, but it’s better not to have it around. Probably stale, right?”

There was no way Bastian could have missed his brother’s eyes trained on the box or the bouncing of his left leg against the floor. He tightened his hold on the faded cardboard.
No, I’m not letting you slide back down. Stay strong. You’ve come too far.

“Stale, right, probably. Anything else you need me to get rid of?” Stillness reigned for a moment. Bastian held his breath. Caz blew through his mouth in rhythmic bursts. Recognizing the exercise, Bastian waited until the fixated gaze dropped and tensions ebbed.

“No, that’s it. I didn’t hit the hard shit ’til I moved out. Probably why it’s still here. Didn’t need training wheels anymore, went straight to the Harley and crashed.” His voice rasped with strain.

“You all right?”

“Yeah.” Caz sniffed, looked at the box under Bastian’s arm again and plastered one hand to his chest. His thumb swooped over the name
Grace.
Whoever the woman was, simply her name gave Caz strength. Calm washed in and Caz nodded before rummaging back inside the footlocker. “Yeah, I’m good. Leave it alone.”

Bastian repacked most of the items in his trunk, snapped the lid down and dusted his hands. Grabbing the few selected things and the cigar box, he stood. Sheets of penciled music notes had stopped his brother’s digging.

“You know, some of these aren’t half-bad. I’d forgotten about them,” Caz murmured, papers clutched in a shaky hand.

“I’ve got to get to work. Turn the light off when you leave.”

Before descending the stairs, he looked back. Caz hadn’t moved. Engrossed in the scores, he sat tapping rhythms on his knee, head bopping to unheard melodies. He chased his demons with song while Bastian flushed dried temptation away.

Chapter Eight

“You’re always trying to get me to take my clothes off.”

Charlie frowned at him. “Shut up and take this ugly thing off.”

Behind the nurses’ station, Bastian shrugged out of his white coat as she unfurled the measuring tape. Jennifer, the charge nurse, grinned and whistled. He shook his head and sighed. “Hurry up.”

“Then cooperate.” Pulling his arm out, Charlie stuck the measuring tape in his armpit and skimmed it down to his wrist. Noting the number, she scribbled it on her forearm and started with his other arm.

“I assume this is for the costumes?”

“Yep.”

“What are we going as?”

“I don’t know yet. It depends on what’s available. I want to be there when they open this morning.” She leveled his outstretched arms before wrapping the yellow tape around his chest. “Don’t breathe a minute.”

A ponytailed nurse wearing a scrub top with bright yellow bears rounded the station and leaned on the counter, watching in fascination. “Hey, Charlie, fitting him for a harness?”

“Oh, hi, Suzanne. You never know what I’m going to find in the Costume Corral.”

“It better have pants,” Bastian grunted.

“Oh, stop whining or I will put you in a loincloth, Tarzan.”

“And you’ll take pictures and distribute them to the nursing staff.” Jennifer laughed.

“No, she won’t. Don’t you ladies have something to do?” He dropped his arms but Charlie thrust them upward again and wrapped the tape measure around his waist.

“Oh, we can spare a few minutes,” Suzanne teased.

“Wonderful.” His low growl tickled Charlie’s ears, and she smiled before penning another number on her wrist. “Hurry up,” he whispered, looking over her head to the nurses.

“I don’t do fast. Now, spread your legs.”

He did her bidding and she dropped to her knees. He jumped when she tucked the metal tabbed end into his crotch. “Charlie!”

“Stand still or this is going to take all day.”

“I need my camera. Be right back.” Jennifer chuckled and headed toward the staff lounge. Bastian moaned and dropped his head.

“I think you should put him in tights and a cape,” Suzanne offered, a laugh not well-hidden in her words.

“No tights,” he snapped. “I did that already, never again.”

“No, not a superhero, she should look for a Cupid costume,” Jennifer yelled from the break room.

“Oh God. No wings either, Charlie.”

She snickered. “I thought maybe we could be a hooker and a pimp.”

“Fine, at least then I could wear pants.”

“Who said
I
was going to be the hooker?” she asked, rising from her crouch. She pointed to the ground and he squatted in front of her. When she wrapped the yellow ribbon around his head, he tried to look up, but she put her hand on his crown. Jennifer snapped her camera phone with a loud click.

“All right, enough.” He stood, reaching for his coat.

“You’re disgusting.” Frowning over the numbers on her arm, Charlie glared at him. “Your waist measurements haven’t changed one damn millimeter in an entire year.”

“I don’t get off on ice cream and s’morgasms like other people I could name.” He smirked.

“You’re not normal. Eat a Twinkie or something, will you?”

“How about wedding cake?”

“Sure. Go crash a wedding and pig out. Let me know what flavor it was.” Charlie scowled at her handwriting. “Do you have one leg longer than the other?”

“Not that I’m aware.”

“Then I messed up. Let me redo it.”

Back on her knees, Charlie held the edge of the tape tightly into the vee of his crotch and ran the yellow tape down to his left ankle. The firmer she pressed, the more he wiggled. “Uh, Charlie, I know my pant length and I’d really prefer you get your fingers away from there soon.”

“So you’ve said before. I need to make sure. Hold still.” She smiled up at him. “What? Are you afraid to have me touch you in front of the nursing staff?”

“I just don’t want—” the click of the phone sounded again, “—Jennifer to take a picture of you kneeling in front of me with your hands in my crotch.” He glared at the charge nurse.

“You’re leaving, Dr. T. Consider it preserved for posterity.” She walked behind him and snapped another picture. “And for posterior.”

“Okay, that’s it. Show’s over, get up now.”

From her kneeling position, she grinned up. “I’m holding a tape measure to your crotch. Don’t give me orders or I’ll sell the numbers.” Red-faced, he bit his lip, breathing through his nose. She rose and gave him a brief kiss. “All done. Go back to work, grouchy.”

Bastian shrugged into his coat. “Why don’t you just say yes and we can go as a bride and groom?”

“Why don’t you say yes and we can go as a submissive and dominatrix?”

“I don’t do submissive.”

“Hey, I’ll be the sub if you want to spank me. Just get naked to do it. I’ll even loan you my crop.”

His grumbles echoed down the empty hall before he disappeared into an exam room.

“He’s so easy to tease. You’re a lucky lady, Charlie. You should snag him while he’s available,” Jennifer advised.

“Hell, no,” Suzanne disagreed. “Make him work for it like a pack mule. I love to see a tortured doctor. Proves there’s some justice in the world.”

“And he calls me evil.” Charlie picked up her tapestry bag from the floor. “Keep him in line, ladies. I’m off to find something he’ll thoroughly hate wearing. I wonder if I can get away with making him into a biker? Bastian in leather’d be interesting, wouldn’t it?”

“Leather chaps,” Suzanne supplied with a wink. “And not much else.”

“Dog collars are always a nice touch.” Jennifer viewed the pictures on her cell phone and smiled an enigmatic smile. “Yeah, a collar and leash.”

She knew before she made it to the empty nurses’ station that night that Bastian would not be eating dinner anytime soon. It was too crowded in the waiting area, and the halls were packed. Just the noise level indicated how frantic things were. Voices, beeps and tears battled for airspace, crowding each other into a dull roar.

Through an open doorway she spotted him bent low over a bleeding body. The harsh overhead light turned his hair to gold. Dodging a passing cart full of plastic-wrapped equipment, she stood and watched his precise movements and stern concentration. His lips moved in rapid but silent motion behind a plastic face guard. A splattering of red decorated the front of his disposable gown.

This wasn’t the Dr. Hot she knew. He didn’t dispense sexual advice and flirtation. This was Dr. Talbot. This man saved lives and fought death. Without warning, he looked up from the wire-ridden and blue-draped patient. She knew the instant he saw her. The smile that appeared stole her breath.

She pointed to the paper bag then to the lounge. He nodded. A burly EMT knocked into her shoulder and she quickly stepped aside without dropping Bastian’s gaze. Inside the trauma room, he stripped off red-dripping gloves.

And then the door closed, breaking their connection.

Charlie ducked into the staff lounge, wrote his name on the brown bag and shoved it inside the dented green refrigerator. She’d brought him a fresh coffee, but it wouldn’t last until he could drink it. Spying the admissions clerk, Charlie made a beeline for her.

“Here, Lynne. Bastian’s not going to get to enjoy it, but you can. No sense in letting a six-dollar coffee go to waste.”