Page 101 of I’m The Worst

Married.

Fuck.

That’s going to complicate things—shared movement, shared records, questions about our “relationship.” One more fucking thing for me to have to anticipate.

“You know we missed you…at Jake’s funeral.”

My hands stop as my heart stutters. “I was busy.”

“He was your brother, Dylan.”

My grip tightens on the envelope. I don’t look up.

“It’s been, what—eight years?” She continues, “No calls. No messages. And then you just show up out of nowhere.” Her gaze shifts briefly toward AJ. “Dragging someone who looks like she’s about to pass out behind you.”

Focus on the passports. The details. Anything but this goddamn motherfucking conversation.

“You and Jake were close as kids. Especially when you shut down and just…stopped speaking.” Something old and unwelcome pushing at the edges of my mind as I try to take a deep breath through my nose. “He was the only one who could get a word out of you.”

“Are you done?”

“It was a car accident,” she says, like I asked. “He left behind a wife and kid. Ethan’s six now.”

I inhale slowly, forcing it down. All of it.

This was a fucking mistake. Coming here. Sitting down. Letting her talk. I don’t have the time for this. And I sure as hell don’t have the patience.

Didn’t have better options either.

Miranda could get us fake passports faster than anyone else I know. And she wouldn’t sell us out. That’s the only reason I’m sitting here.

Still doesn’t make this any less of a fucking mistake.

“Jake talked about wanting you to meet him all the time.”

“Did you have a point, Miranda?”

“Yes. I have a point.” She leans forward, voice sharpening. “You disappeared, Dylan. Cut contact with everyone who knew you. And now you show up here after fucking years, no warning, using my MI6 resources”—her gaze drops—“with her. You won’t even hug your own sister, but she can touch you?”

My eyes lower, following her gaze…to AJ’s hand resting lightly on my thigh, fingers picking at loose threads in my jeans.

What.

The.

Fuck.

I feel everything. I always do.

That’s not possible.

My hand moves before I think about it, closing around her wrist and pulling it off me. She blinks up at me, pulling her hand back the rest of the way, confusion flickering across her face.

I don’t know why I touched her last night. Why I let her touch me.

Why I⁠—

No.