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“Pissed at me?” I ask.
He shakes his head, but he’s not looking at me.
“I shouldn’t have done this in public,” I say.” Maybe I shouldn’t have done it at all.”
He grabs the envelope and rips it open. Just like that.
My gut churns and acid rises up the back of my throat.
He yanks out the single piece of paper and his eyes are on it less than five seconds before relief floods his face.
Thank fuck.
He passes it to me.
I read it, see that my father is, in fact, Austin’s biological father, and then my forehead is on the edge of the table, my forearms resting on my thighs, my hands trembling. This has kept me up at night. Many nights.
My brother squeezes the back of my neck reassuringly and then pats my back as he takes the paper from my hand.
I look up when I catch the scent of something burning.
The table has a candle on it and he’s used it to set the paper on fire. It singes quickly, and he drops it into the empty plate from his appetizer and it quickly burns to black dust.
Just like that.
We’re drawing attention from the closest table. The flame goes out and the couple go back to paying attention to one another instead of us.
“You make me wanna kick myself in the ass, little brother,” I say.
He gives me a tight smile. “Where’s yours?”
“Safety deposit box, still.”
“Come with you tomorrow. Open it there with you if you want.”
Why the fuck have I been putting this off, letting it consume me for all this time?
I suddenly have a new appreciation for my brother. I’ve been punishing myself by keeping a distance. He’s a good fuckin’ guy.
“I’m a dumbass,” I mutter.
He laughs and then shakes his head. “You didn’t know where I was at.”
“Because I had my head up my ass,” I mumble.
“I don’t know how I’d’ve handled it in your shoes, but whatever. We’re cool, man. You and me. It’s all good. Tell me about life in the big apple. And then tell me more about your sexy roommate. We’ll deal with the rest tomorrow. Tonight, I wanna have a nice dinner with my brother.”
The waitress comes with our food.
What if he’s Quentin’s son but I’m not?
“It’s gonna be all right man. Either way. You’re my brother no matter what some paper says. Adele’s brother. Braeden’s second favorite uncle.”
I snicker.
“And Quentin Carmichael is your dad.”
Dad. But maybe not father. All this time, I’ve been so worried about how a different answer would impact Auz. Now reality is setting in. What about me?
