“You can just go in,” Charlie says. “John is visiting us, so the door is unlocked.”
We walk through the foyer, pausing to remove our shoes and coats, and walk into the kitchen-slash-living room. The vaulted ceilings, warm hardwoods, and sleek, black appliances haven’t changed much since I visited at Christmas, other than the absence of decorations. A large overstuffed sofa squats in front of a mini-cinema screen, which isn’t surprising given how much Charlie and the guys love movies. The tall windows framed by heavy blackout curtains face the back side of the property, which, in its current state, resembles the misty moors fromPride and Prejudice.
An older man dressed in flannel and dark jeans is standing in front of the television staring down at the remote with a perplexed expression. He glances up when we enter and smiles widely, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He could be Lincoln’s older twin except for his mustache.
“Sebastian! Fiona! Really good to see you.” John Evans steps forward and shakes my hand firmly before pulling me into a hug. Then he squeezes Fi, affectionately tousling her hair as he pulls away.
After Charlie started at Whitmore U, she found her own little band of misfit orphans, so we’re all drawn to John since none of us have real role models. Lincoln’s father is pretty muchthe only parental figure in any of our lives who’s not dead or a piece of shit. He’s taken on the group’s dad role enthusiastically.
John’s eyebrows rise. “And Brantley? It’s been a long time, son,” he says, but I see him give Lincoln a furtive glance. Lincoln just rolls his eyes and cuts a grumpy look at Fi, who smiles sweetly. “I followed your whole career with the Canucks,” John continues. “Despite your accident, you should be really proud. You have amazing stats.”
Michaels’s eyes light up at the compliment, and given what I know about his relationship with his father, the praise is probably an unusual occurrence.
“Thank you, Mr. Evans,” he says, his fingers tracing the scar on his neck unconsciously.
“Please, call me John. Mr. Evans was Captain America,” he says with a wink, and Fiona snorts a laugh.
“Jesus Christ, Dad.” Lincoln grimaces. “Do you have to start the dad jokes before we’ve even begun drinking?”
“Sit!” Charlie says enthusiastically while simultaneously giving Lincoln a disapproving look. “I’ll pour the drinks.”
John takes a seat on the couch, and Michaels and Fi join him. I wander into the kitchen to help Charlie.
“Do you know Brantley’s drink of choice?” she asks as she sets out some crystal glasses.
“Light lager or vodka,” I say immediately.
Charlie glances at me sideways. “You said that fast.”
I shrug. “He just…used to come into the pub a lot. I know a lot about all my regulars.”
This relationship with Fi and Michaels isn’t really defined yet, so I haven’t actually mentioned it to anyone, even my stepsister.
Charlie seems to accept that answer. I’m just about to start handing out drinks when Marcus walks through the door. My brother and I share dark brown hair, but that’s about it. He’s over six feet tall with broad shoulders, chocolate-brown eyes,which look tired right now, and a healthy growth of stubble lining his sharp jaw. He smiles tightly and waves when everyone gives him a chorus of cheerful hellos. Crowds aren’t really Marcus’s mug of beer (a phrase we coined running the pub together), but he tolerates them for Charlie. When he steps to the side, I’m surprised to see the man behind him.
He’s a whole head shorter than Marcus with a lean, muscular frame. His hair is so blond that it practically glows silver, and his eyes are the most stunning shade of turquoise I’ve ever seen. He looks so familiar…
“Jeremy?”
I glance over at Trey, who’s sitting on the couch with his arm slung around Link.
Charlie looks up from the gin drink she’s making, and she misses the glass entirely, spilling it onto the gray marble countertop.
Jeremy folds his arms over his chest and gives Trey a smirk. “Trey Walker, as I live and breathe.”
Trey jumps up and the two give each other one of those weird bro hugs. I don’t miss the way Lincoln narrows his eyes.
Charlie ignores her mess and runs over to throw her arms around her guest. “Jeremy, I didn’t know you and Marcus are friends. What a small world!”
“Hey, Kitty,” he says with a chuckle, hugging her back. “Small world, indeed.”
Then I remember where I’ve seen him. “You were a grade ahead of me at Washington Prep, right?” I blurt, snapping my fingers. “That’s why you look so familiar. Didn’t you and Trey date? I think I saw you guys at some mutual parties…” I glance at Link.
Jeremy purses his lips. “‘Date’ is a strong word. We sucked and fucked, but I don’t think we ever went on a date, did we, babe?” Jeremy asks Trey, who shakes his head with a laugh. “Anddon’t give me that jealous boyfriend glare, Lincoln Evans. I know what your cock tastes like too.”
Lincoln opens his mouth for a retort but then closes it, a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck.
Marcus gives Jeremy a dark look.
