Free Landon (In Safe Hands Book 1) by S.M. Shade Page B

out his hand. “Hey,
I’m Landon.”
    “Ethan,”
my brother replies, shaking his hand. His gaze darts between us and he grabs
the keys from my hand. “I’ll wait in the car.” He’s off before I can protest.
    Landon
face softens as he asks, “How are you?”
    “I’m
fine. Just dealing with the funeral arrangements and stuff. My friend Frannie
has been a big help.”
    “If
there’s anything I can do, let me know.” His arms wrap around me in a hug that
should be awkward, but isn’t. I find myself squeezing him back, breathing in
his warm scent. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
    “I
haven’t seen them in years. Makes things easier.”
    “In
some ways. But grief can sneak up on you.” I step back, and he hands me an
envelope. “Take the week off.”
    It’s
next Friday’s check. He’s giving me a paid week off. “I don’t need that much
time,” I protest.
    “Well,
you have it if you need it. Please, call me if there’s anything else I can do.
Or if you just don’t want to be alone.”
    His
sweet unexpected response puts tears in my eyes for the first time since I
found out. “Thank you. I should get to Ethan.”
    He
walks me to my car, then waves to Ethan before he leaves. Ethan gives me a
sideways grin. “Dating the boss?”
    “What?
No!” I slap his shoulder.
    “Come
on, I know that look. That guy is crazy about you.”
    “You’re
insane,” I reply, pulling onto the highway.
    “Whatever
you say.” I kind of want to slap the knowing smile from his face. He’s sixteen.
What the hell does he know? Too much, obviously.
    Our
favorite ice cream shop is only a few blocks away, and the wind makes it too
chilly to sit at the outdoor tables, so we head back home with our milkshakes.
Ethan disappears into his room. I’m worried about him, but the sound of him
laughing into his microphone tells me he’s on a game with his friends. Maybe he
is okay. Today has seemed endless, so after draining my chocolate shake, I drag
my ass to bed.
    My
phone wakes me the next morning when it beeps with a voicemail from the funeral
director letting me know he has the copies of the death certificate I need. I
guess I can stop by there on my way to my parents’ house.
    I
wake Ethan and we each shovel down a bowl of cereal before heading out. He’s
too young to have to deal with this stuff, but I’m glad to have him with me.
    A
knot forms in my stomach when I pull into the driveway of the home where I grew
up. Judging by the look on Ethan’s face, he isn’t thrilled to be here either.
There aren’t many happy memories here. “You don’t have to go in.”
    He
shakes his head. “I’m okay. I want to see if any of my old stuff is here.” Like
me, Ethan moved with nothing but a trash bag full of clothes. The house keys
were in the bag of personal effects that I was given by the coroner, so there’s
no problem getting inside.
    It’s
been five years since I’ve entered this house, and I’m struck by how much it
smells the same. Other than some new furniture, not much has changed. Ethan
bounds upstairs, and I head down the hall to what used to be my room. It now
holds a sewing machine and baskets of material. The large walk-in closet holds
more sewing supplies, but I find a stack of boxes against the wall. They’re
full of trophies, awards, and pictures that belonged to me and Ethan. At least
they didn’t throw everything away.
    “Well,
my room now holds a pool table,” Ethan says from behind me. “I guess they
tossed everything.”
    “Not
everything. Help me get these boxes.”
    Huffing
and puffing, we load them in the car. “They manage to keep me in a closet one
way or another,” Ethan mutters, looking pissed. “What are we going to do with
all their stuff?”
    “Give
it to charity, I guess. I’ll start packing it up this week since I’ve got the
week off. Once it’s cleaned out, we’ll get a realtor to put it on the market.”
    He
nods. “I’ll be right back.” He makes his way to the