Everything for You (Bergman Brothers #5)(49)

I glare at him. “I’ll keep in touch with you when the time comes. Pay a visit here and there.”

“Exactly.” He bangs his fist on the counter. “Because I matter to you. And anyone else you built a relationship with here would matter to you, too.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue, to explain myself, but to explain that would be to reveal just how badly I hurt, how deeply I already live in anticipatory pain, how much I dread.

But you’re not part of the world that I’ll have lost, I almost tell him. You won’t be a reminder of what I’ll never have or be, ever again.

“It’s different with you.”

He shakes his head, standing from his stool and strolling toward my front door. “I’m outta here.”

“Mitch—”

“Nope. You’re bad for my blood pressure when you’re like this.”

“Now, hold on.” I try to sit up from the sofa, but Wilde sinks his claws into me just as Mitch shoves me back down with surprising strength. “Jesus. Now you’re ganging up on me.”

“You,” he says, leaning in and jabbing me in the chest, “need to do some thinking. And stop being so damn stubborn.”

I frown up at him. “I’m not stubborn. I’m practical.”

He rolls his eyes. “See you for poker tonight, knucklehead. Rest up, because you have an ass-whooping coming your way.”





“Where’s the Skittles?” Jorge yells from the pantry.

“Well stocked at the minimart down the road,” I tell him, shuffling the cards. They land with a satisfying snap on the table. “But alas, not here.”

Jorge pokes his pink-haired head out of the pantry and frowns at me. “I ask for one thing. One thing. Skittles.”

I point a thumb at Itsuki. “Don’t look at me.”

Itsuki sits primly in his seat, sipping his lemon seltzer, and says, “I’m not driving you to the dentist again the day after poker because you managed to pull out another tooth on those things. They’re too sticky.”

Jorge levels a glare at him. “What’s the point of having teeth if I can’t eat what I want, hmm?” His rant switches to Spanish as he dives back in the pantry, searching for other goodies.

“It’s not so bad,” Jim says, while stacking chips. “Let’s think of some alternatives.”

“There are none!” Jorge yells from the pantry.

“Sure there are.” Lou sniffs, frowning in thought. “Strawberry applesauce.”

Jim snorts. “Chocolate pudding.”

Itsuki hides a laugh behind his hand, then says, “Prune juice!”

Jorge exits the pantry, slamming the door behind him and looking thunderous. “You’re all dead to me.”

“C’mon, now,” I tell him, patting his place at the table. “Sit down and have your fancy pink lemonade and sort your cards. Takes you long enough.”

“Speaking of taking long,” Lou grumps, glancing at his wrist watch. “Where’s Mitch?”

I fumble the cards slightly but catch them in time to shuffle them together. Parting on bad terms with the old man left me uneasy. I glance up at the wall-mounted clock in my living room, frowning. He’s fifteen minutes late. Mitch is never late.

“Dunno,” I tell Lou. “He said he’d be here.”

Just as I finish my sentence, the back door opens.

And my stomach plummets to the soles of my feet.

There stands Mitch. And by his side…

Oliver.

“’Bout time!” Jim hollers. “Get your ass over here. We gotta start playing before Gavin shuffles the tits off the queens.”

Mitch waves a hand dismissively, shutting the door behind Oliver, who’s giving me a wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights look. I push up from the table with relatively more comfort and ease than I had this morning, thanks to that steroid injection, a result I can’t always count on. Sometimes the pain is worse for a day or two after the injection before relief finally kicks in, other merciful, less frequent times, I feel relief much sooner. Thankfully, this is one of those rare times, and now the pain in my knee is muted to a dull, persistent but not incapacitating ache.

“Mitchell,” I say tightly. “Why don’t you join our friends at the table.”

Mitch flashes me a wide smile, mischief twinkling in his eyes. “Look who I found outside. Isn’t it great that Ollie could join us?”

I clap Mitch on the back and give his shoulder a good warning squeeze. “A delight.”

“I’ll just go get settled in,” he says to Oliver. Then he turns to me and mimes tipping his hat.

Soon as he’s out of earshot, Oliver says frantically, voice low, “I tried very, very hard to tell him no, but he’s—”

“A goddamned bulldozer when he sets his mind to something.”

Oliver nods. “I was just weeding out back, and he shows up in my yard, starts small-talking, which, you know, I’m cool with. He’s a nice guy, easy to talk to. Then he pulls some wizardy conversational sleight of hand, and next thing I know, he’s saying he’s so glad I can come play poker with you guys. I kept trying to politely decline, said I had yardwork, and then he gets down on his knees and starts weeding with me,” Oliver hisses. “Said ‘With two of us working, we’ll be done twice as fast, so you can join us!’”