Late afternoon sunlight filters in through the blinds, prodding me awake. I squint, eyes coming into focus in the dim light of Brooke's bedroom. A stray purple bra dangles over the white dresser next to the bed, a pair of silver heels shoved haphazardly beneath it. My mouth pulls into a smile at the sight. On brand as always.

Contrary to what I'd hoped, the nap didn't cure everything; my head is foggy, and my entire body still feels like I've been put through the ringer. But I guess that's thirty for you. By tomorrow, I should be back to normal.

I glance down at Brooke, still asleep with her back turned. Her breaths are slow and regular, soft curves pressed up against me beneath the covers. Her dark hair is splayed out on the damp pillow. She always styles it, but it dried wavy while we're asleep, and it's unruly in a cute way.

It's cozy, like we're in our own little bubble where nothing else matters. While I normally like to roll out of bed and get on with my day, right now, I'm in no hurry to move.

Just as I'm debating going back to sleep, Brooke stirs. She stretches as she rolls over to face me, light blue eyes sparkling with affection. "Hi, handsome."

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

Her mouth tugs. "Part of you did."

"He really needs to work on his manners." I reach over, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger against her cheek.

"I don't mind." She shifts onto one elbow, bringing her lips to hover above mine. One hand slides down my abs, moving beneath the waistband of my boxer briefs. "I think you said something about nice and slow earlier. Time to pay up."

*

It's wild how life can pull a complete one-eighty in the course of twelve hours. After the clusterfuck otherwise known as last night, today has been downright perfect. A long nap, more sex, a very late lunch, and a hefty amount of lounging around watching TV. Simple, yet easily the best Sunday I've ever had.

I guess Brendan was right about settling down. Which reminds me, I still haven't paid him that hundred bucks. Knowing him, he's going to start calculating daily interest. He's fastidious that way; like the nicest loan shark you'll ever meet. In a sweater vest.

Over in the living room next to the kitchen, Brooke frowns at her laptop, scrolling furiously with her mouse. She's supposed to be finishing an assignment for her introductory accounting course while I make dinner, but there's been a lot of silence and very little typing for the past ten minutes. I'm low-key concerned, but also afraid to broach the subject unless she asks for help.

The marinara sauce bubbles on the stove next to me while I lean against the kitchen counter, mentally sifting through the options for rehabilitation facilities in California and the surrounding states. While I told myself I'd take the day off from worrying about Josh, it's impossible after what happened last night. He needs inpatient treatment, and it needs to be the right facility.

Lighthouse Point, Sandy Beach Bay, Shady Pines... why do rehab centers always fucking resorts? I guess that's a ploy to make them seem more appealing, but they're not fooling anyone. No one wants to be there.

Lighthouse Point worked for Joshua in the past—until it didn't, and he relapsed several months later. One of Brendan's clients recommended Sandy Beach Bay, claiming it's the only place that helped his own gambling addiction. And Shady Pines is where Raymond McGowan went to treat his alcohol addiction after winning the World Poker Championship last year. Ray told me Shady Pines has a world-class facility, and their gambling addiction center is reportedly one of the best in North America. All solid options, but the stakes are high. This time feels different—like it's make or break.

If Josh were when a remotely responsible adult, I'd let him choose, but he would probably pick the one with the nicest views or the best food. Priorities and all.

Suddenly, Brooke slams her laptop shut and flops back against the couch. "Ugh!"

Call it a hunch, but I'm pretty sure her assignment isn't finished.

I turn down the front burner until the pasta sauce is at a low simmer, glancing over to confirm that the water in the other pot isn't boiling yet. Reaching over, I turn that dial down, too—and then I proceed with a heavy amount of caution.

Steeling myself, I walk into the living room and ease onto the couch beside Brooke. "Everything going okay?"

She glances up at me, a mixture of sheepishness and frustration across her face. "I finished almost all of my assignment. It was mostly theory, so it wasn't too hard. I was going to ask you for help because I wasn't sure about the short-and long-term liabilities part at the end, but then I got, uh, derailed."

"Derailed?"

Brooke hesitates for a beat. Then she blows out a breath, gesturing to the closed laptop on the coffee table next to us. "I requested statements for the joint business account I had with Jade from the bank a while ago. They finally sent them on Thursday. I'd planned to talk to you or Brendan about it later this week, but curiosity got the best of me so I opened them. And it's like Latin. I don't understand any of it."

"Sifting through that kind of thing is confusing for anyone," I point out. "That's why forensic accountants exist. And that might be something to consider, depending on what we find." Even under the best case scenario, I fully expect that untangling the gnarled web of transactions will take me a significant amount of time, and I'm no stranger to dealing with financials.

I also fully expect to find that Jade was skimming cash, not giving Brooke her fair share. Based on what Brooke has told me, it's practically a given, and I'm even more certain after I met Jade at On Tap the other night. I've spent years honing my ability to read people at the table—Jade didn't just set off alarm bells in my head, she set off sirens.

"But it was my money, too. Those were my expenses and income that I earned. I should be able make sense of it." Her chest heaves in a sigh, and her fingers land on the drawstring to her grey hooded sweater, fidgeting with it absentmindedly. "Hell, I should have kept track of it while we were still working together. If I hadn't been so careless, none of this would have happened in the first place. I blindly trusted Jade to give me my share. I'm so freaking stupid."

Her last sentence cuts me to the core.

"You are not stupid."

"Feels like it," she mumbles, burying her face in her hands.

"You're not," I insist. "You're incredibly creative in a way most people could never be. Not to mention, you're fast on your toes and your comebacks are second to none."

That earns me a half-hearted laugh. "Yeah, right."

Tension coils through my body, because sometimes the right thing is also the hardest.

"Look..." I trail off, my tongue prodding my cheek. "I considered bringing this up to Brendan instead of talking to you directly, but it didn't feel right to do that. If I fuck up on the delivery again, please give me the benefit of the doubt and know that this is coming nothing but good intentions."

Brooke's attention snaps back up and she drops her hands, scooting away from me. Her blue eyes pin me, wary. "Okay, now you're scaring me."

Fucking up the delivery: check.

My resolve wavers and suddenly, I'm not so sure this is a good idea.

When I fail to respond, she nudges me impatiently. "Dean. Spit it out."

I draw in a breath and pray. "Have you ever been evaluated for a learning disorder?"

"What do you mean?" Her forehead crinkles. "Like dyslexia or something?"

It's a better reception than I expected.

"Maybe, but there are others, too. Some of them involve math instead of reading, for example. I noticed that there are some similarities in the way you mix up numbers and Josh mixes up letters."

Her gaze drops to the floor again, and she falls quiet. A heavy silence fills the room. I move closer to her, placing a hand on her knee. It's a delicate balance between being supportive and giving her space to process the idea.

"It would explain a lot," she finally says, voice so soft it's nearly inaudible.

"It's just a working theory," I tell her, rubbing my thumb back and forth against her inner knee. "And if it is that, it doesn't mean you can't learn things, it just means you need to be taught in a different way sometimes. Or need certain accommodations, like extra time sharing exams."

"Wait." She lifts her chin, mouth pulled into a frown. "Then why was I able to learn poker?"

"We didn't get into odds or probability. The basics of poker are more about logic and reasoning than straight math."

That's one reason Josh does so poorly. While he's not bad at numbers, he's shit at the other two things. Combined with his utter lack of impulse control, it's a recipe for disaster.

"And you did let me have a cheat sheet," she murmurs.

"You can always have a cheat sheet with me. Not a big deal."

Brooke reaches over, grabbing her ice water and stabbing at the cubes with her straw while avoiding my eyes. I can tell she's coming around to the idea—grudgingly.

"How would even I find out?"

"Josh was assessed by a psychologist. Some of them specialize in this kind of thing. Your benefits with the studio should cover most of it."

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. "Would you... come with me if I made an appointment? Tests always make me nervous."

"Of course."

We're interrupted when her stomach growls—loudly. Her cheeks flush pink, and she nods to the kitchen. "Did I derail dinner, too?"

"Give me twenty," I tell her. "I'll help you with the assignment after we eat."

Pushing to stand, I kiss the top of her head and I head for the kitchen. Brooke leans over and grabs her laptop, opening it and beginning to type.

Then I turn, lingering in the doorway. Something is still nagging at me about the Jade situation. Maybe because it isn't a matter of whether she ripped Brooke off, it's a question of how much.

"In the meantime, can you forward me that email with the bank statements so I can have a look at it?" I ask.

Brooke points at the computer. "I just did."

Two in a row! Wasn't sure I'd get this one up because weekends are kind of chaotic sometimes, but I squeezed it in.