His heart rate sped up a little as he locked eyes with Bran, the sounds of the diner fading out to nothing in that moment, as if they were the only two people there. It felt like a sucker punch to the gut, same as last night when he’d seen Bran for the first time in seven years. The ache of Bran’s absence that he’d lived with since the end of high school dug itself deeper, reminding him of what he’d been missing and which his memory refused to give up. Now that Bran was back, Cillian didn’t want to let go again, even though he knew he didn’t have the right to hold on anymore.
There was just something inside him demanding that he try.
Cillian swallowed hard, making a split-second decision he hoped he wouldn’t regret. He nodded at Lottie as he passed by the register, giving her a quiet hello before he reached Bran’s booth. The younger man washolding on to a mug of coffee with a white-knuckled grip, table empty of plates.
“Mind if I join you?” Cillian asked.
“Yes,” Bran said with the same clipped ruthlessness he’d greeted Cillian with last night. It left a sour taste in Cillian’s mouth, one he was determined to wash away with some company.
“It’s been a while.”
“I haven’t been counting.”
Cillian bit the inside of his cheek. “I just want to talk.”
Bran’s fingers flexed around the coffee mug, gaze dropping. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“Well, I do, so you can listen while I take my lunch break.” Cillian took a seat before he could second-guess his decision, staring defiantly across the table at Bran.
Bran scowled at him. “I don’t know why anyone ever thought you were a pushover when we were kids.”
“I had you to fight for me.”
“You don’t have me anymore.”
The words cut like a knife, and Cillian would’ve bled out from them if the wound had been real. He clenched his teeth, refusing to look away. Bran had changed; of course he had. Cillian knew he was still the same height as when they’d graduated high school, but that was the only thing that hadn’t changed. He’d grown out his dark brown hair a bit, the faint wave to it much more prominent now. Those hazel eyes that had always caught Cillian’s gaze with silent mirth in homeroom and other classes when they were younger now looked at him with a wealth of emotion he didn’t think was meant for only him.
Lottie bustled up to the table, notepad in her apron and pencil tucked behind one ear as she set a glass of soda in front of Cillian. She was an older woman in her fifties and co-owner of Red’s Diner. Her graying red hair was the signature look for the women in her family and the reason for the name of the diner that had existed since the early 1900s. The crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes deepened when she smiled at them. “Well, doesn’t this feel familiar? I remember serving you boys as kids, and now look at you, such handsome young men. Your usual, Cillian?”
“Thanks, Lottie,” Cillian said, deciding he was hungry after all.
“Coming right up, sweetheart.” She turned her attention to Bran, expression softening. “And for you and your sister? You both finally ready for lunch?”
Bran shook his head, letting go of his coffee mug. “We’ll be leaving as soon as Aisling finishes up her game.”
Cillian looked past him at the far corner of the diner, where Lottie’s mother and father had built a small arcade nearly forty years ago. Aisling’s distinctive white-blonde hair was barely visible over the top of a seat in the racing car game he and Bran had always played when they were kids.
“All right, then. Let me know if you want anything to go.”
Lottie bustled off to put in Cillian’s order, and he knew he only had a short window of time to convince Bran to stick around. He’d never been any good at small talk, but he tried. Cillian cleared his throat and pointed at the tattoo covering Bran’s right forearm. “That’s new.”
Bran wrapped his left hand around his tattooed forearm. “Let’s not pretend you’re interested in me.”
Some curl of anger crept into Cillian’s voice, despite how hard he tried to push it back. “How about you don’t put words in my mouth? I wasn’t the one who changed my phone number before running off to college.”
Bran’s lips pressed together into a hard line as his expression shuttered. As seemingly good as he was at closing himself off, he couldn’t hide the redness in his eyes from a grief Cillian shared. He sighed, leaning back and meeting Bran’s gaze, shoving aside whatever lingering animosity he felt for the other man. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight with you.”
“And I don’t want to talk,” Bran ground out.
“Bran.” Cillian tried to think of what to say, but everything that came to mind sounded so trite. He settled for a truth that couldn’t be denied. “I miss your mother, too.”
Bran’s expression broke, twisting into something that was all grief for a split second before it disappeared. “Idon’twant to talk about it.”
Cillian nodded, wishing he had the right to hold Bran, to comfort him. “Okay. But would you please listen?”
Bran looked as if he wanted to argue, and maybe he would have if Aisling hadn’t run up to the table and leaned into Cillian’s side of the booth to throw her arms around his neck and hug him. She nearly knocked off his hat, but Cillian didn’t care as he hugged her back. “Hey, there. How are you doing?”
Aisling squeezed him tight before pulling back and shrugging, her expression sad.
