Fall Guy (A Youngblood Book) by Reinhardt, Liz (knowledgeable books to read TXT) 📕

hospital, and Winch shakes his unease and pulls on that air of command he wears so confidently.

"Winchester Youngblood, here to see my brother, Remington." He charming smile brings out a smile on the face of the pudgy nurse behind the counter.

She's not immune to his good looks and flirtation. "Remington Youngblood," she repeats. "That's some name." They exchange another smile, and my blood boils. I know this is all about playing a game, getting things done. I still hate it. But all my stupid jealousy dies down quickly when I see her face lose its flirty smile. "Oh. Your brother is in critical care. I'm afraid I can only admit family."

He doesn't even look back. "We are. His family."

"All of you? Siblings?"

I expect her to single me out, but I at least have the dark hair and light eyes the rest of them share. It's blond Ithaca she's frowning at.

"All of us." Winch says the next words with such a simple flip, I'm almost able to keep the shock off my face. "My brother, my younger sisters, my wife."

My heart races, and I feel a blush born from a mix of happiness and embarrassment stain my cheeks. It's a credit to the Youngblood penchant for lying that not one of them even draws an audible breath.

The nurse raises an eyebrow, but there's something about Winch that people want to believe, and, in seconds, we're headed up to the hallway she directs us to, hushed in the chemically-pungent corridors, not making a single sound other than the squeak of our sneakers on the polished linoleum.

Mr. and Mrs. Youngblood are at the nurse's station. Her eyes are red and bleary, and she's desperately clutching a balled-up tissue in her fist. He looks pale and gray-skinned, his paunch and thinning hair somehow more obvious and relentlessly aging in the dull fluorescent lights. They're both incredibly stupid, selfish parents, but my hate for them melts when I see the crippling weight of their sadness. Even if their problems are their own damn fault, I have a heart.

A small, mean heart, but a heart nonetheless, and it's filled with pity.

Winch approaches his father. "Pop, what do they say?"

"They think the seizures were caused by the mix of drugs in his system. He has a concussion from hitting his head. There's been some damage to his kidneys and his liver isn't looking so good, but may be repairable." Mr. Youngblood lists Remy's ailments in a monotone.

"Can we see him?" Ithaca asks, biting her lips.

I know she's upset that she stormed out of the room before it happened, even if there wasn't a single thing she could have done to help him. I know because irrational guilt is something I get.

"We know we need to let him rest," their mother says to the nurse on duty, her voice thick. "Can his brother and sisters see him? Just for a minute?"

The nurse behind the desk frowns to let everyone know that Remy's not well, that this can't be a long visit. "Just for a minute."

Winch has my hand in his, but I pull back gently. "Not me."

"You belong in there. Remy would have wanted it," he argues.

His father sighs and shakes his head behind Winch’s back, and his mother's eyes narrow at me.

"No. Go see your brother." I push him to the room, and he walks over, looking back at me a few times as he does.

As soon as he disappears into the room, his father turns to me.

"It would be best if you didn't see my son for a while," Mr. Youngblood says, straightening his back and looking down his crooked nose at me. "We're going to have a serious family situation to deal with, and the last thing he needs is an outsider taking his attention away from what's important."

A few weeks ago, Mr. Youngblood's little dictate would have been all it took to make me crumble inside, push me away and make me roll over and give up. But Winch and I are a unit now. A team. Where he goes, I go. What he does, I do.

So I look both his parents in the eye, first one, then the other, and hold my hand out, palm up.

"I have no interest in what either one of you thinks I should do. Please give me my phone back before I have to report it stolen."

His mother clicks her tongue and mutters something about "disgusting lack of manners," and his father yanks my phone out of his pocket like it's a germ-ridden piece of crap before he slaps it into my palm.

"You're feeling high off of this right now, missy, but listen to me." He wags a finger in my face, so close I could snap out and bite it if I wanted. And it takes everything in me to keep myself from following through with what I want. "Winchester is loyal to his blood. He's misguided right now, by you, by what you're probably doing with him between the sheets." I veer back in open disgust, and his snaking smile tells me that he knows he's pushed over a line and doesn't care. "But that fades. He'll come back to us. He'll forget you. I wish you'd make it easy on yourself and just leave before you wind up dumped."

My spine stiffens and my throat tightens. I have to force myself not to blink until the threat of tears is gone, and I work hard to get my voice under control so I can answer him.

"Trust me. He's never coming back to you."

It's a bet. It's a bet on Winch that I'm willing to make even if I can't see the end result, like I always could with the horse races.

He comes out of Remy's room just then, his lips pinched and white, and the look of sadness in his eyes makes his mother flick a smile and an arched brow of triumph my way.

But it's me he goes to, me he folds in his arms