“Milla Jovovich, Resident Evil. That woman is so kick-ass.”
There was no polite response that wouldn’t make him sound like a sexist pig, so he didn’t bother trying to find one. Nodding would have to do.
He sniffed, noting the heavy scent of oregano and tomato sauce and sausage in the air. “Any pizza left for me?”
Sam smiled up at him. “Of course. We left it in the oven to stay warm.”
Alex grunted a thank-you as he peeled off his suit coat, then flopped into a nearby chair.
Sara Beth’s knowing look generated a guilt he tried not to feel. “Just home from the office?” she asked him.
“Yep.”
“On a Friday night?” Her brow lifted above those shame-inducing eyes.
“On a Friday night.” This time the sigh escaped, watched or not. Reaching up to tug off his tie seemed like too much effort, but he did it anyway, hoping it would help him breathe.
“You didn’t keep Cailin there this late.” Sara Beth’s statement was matter-of-fact with the slightest undercurrent of accusation.
“Of course not,” he snapped.
Regret hit instantly. The truth was, he rarely got any work done when Cailin was in the office, so he resorted to staying late to catch up with all the stuff his distracted mind hadn’t been focused enough to tackle during the day. He should just say that, he knew, but he couldn’t. Sara Beth was the little sister he’d never had. Big brothers didn’t dump their problems on their little sisters; they sheltered them, protected them. He’d spent so much time holding back things he thought might hurt Sara Beth, trying to insulate her from the pieces of their world that battered and bruised her, that stopping the pattern seemed impossible.
They were adults. She was in a committed relationship. He had agreed to the marriage of his own free will. And still, even though she already knew about Cailin, he couldn’t talk about it, not tonight. He didn’t want Sara Beth feeling even guiltier about his “issues” than she already was.
Another heavy sigh escaped as he leaned back and closed his eyes.
The sound of her head shaking—he could hear the back-and-forth swish of her hair—would have been lost in the noise Sam made getting up from the couch to walk into the kitchen, but Alex’s lifetime of experience with Sara Beth made him sharper than most. Her voice heavy with concern, she said, “You work too hard.”
He shrugged. He was being a bastard, he knew, but the last thing he wanted tonight was the third degree.
Sara Beth held her silence, though she didn’t restart the paused movie.
Alex must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, a heavy plate of warm pizza was being set in his lap. Trying to tell himself the power nap had energized instead of sapped him, he shot Sam a look of gratitude and chugged half of the cold beer she slapped into his hand. Sam gave him a warm, sympathetic smile and resumed her seat on the couch with Sara Beth.
So the minx had been talking, huh? Or was he just that obvious? It shouldn’t matter that Sam knew what he’d gotten himself into; she was part of their family now. It rankled nonetheless. But if Sara Beth needed to talk things out with Sam, he’d ignore it. This once, anyway.
The topping-laden deep-dish was his favorite, the cheese hot and melty and perfect. He managed to swallow four bites before he dropped his fork onto the plate and set it on the nearby coffee table. The beer he finished off, then set the empty bottle next to his plate. The girls talked on the couch; the movie blurred in front of his eyes. His knee bounced as he fought the hole digging a tunnel deeper into his gut. Finally, unable to sit still any longer, he hopped up and gathered his dishes.
Sam and Sara Beth startled as if they’d forgotten his presence. When Sara Beth laughed, he couldn’t help growling, knowing he was acting like an ass but unable to stop all the same.
Sam raised an eyebrow at the sound. “Damn, Alex, you’re a little tense.” Her typical sarcastic smirk made an appearance. “I think you need to get laid.”
“I already did that,” he snapped. Slamming out of the living room was pure defense against their shock. Embarrassment made him ignore the apology Sam called after his retreating figure.
He was banging his forehead into the cabinet next to the sink when Sara Beth followed him into the kitchen. Feeling like a teenage boy on a hormone roller coaster instead of a man in his thirties—and in control of his runaway moods—Alex shook his head against the cabinet door. “I’m sorry. I’ll tell her I’m sorry too. Just…give me a minute.”
Sara Beth came up behind him, her warm hands massaging the tense muscles of his back through the thin shield of his dress shirt. The touch calmed him more than anything else, even the beer he’d downed way too fast on a mostly empty stomach. That stomach tensed when Sara Beth murmured against his back, “She didn’t mean it, you know.” The press of her lips against his shoulder blade made him feel like a total jerk.