Page 107 of Cocky Brutal Sinner

It’s not even 9:00 a.m.

Cat

I thought this chat was supposed to be a judgment-free zone.

Pippa

You’re right. Shame on me.

I’m grinning down at my phone when Luke walks in, two cups of coffee in his hand. He stops in his tracks when he sees me, eyes widening.

“I should go,” he says immediately. His tone isn’t angry—it’s surprised and embarrassed, like he walked in on something private.

For some reason, I find myself blurting out, “No, Luke. Stay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Maura’s awake, and James just went to see her, but he’ll want you here when he gets back.”

Luke nods. He walks inside and sits on the edge of the hospital bed. “Do you still take your coffee black?”

“Yes.” I’m surprised he remembered—hell, I’m surprised he ever knew my coffee order at all.

“So does James.” He holds out a cup. “You should take this. It’ll be cold by the time he gets back.”

“I couldn’t. James should have it.”

“It’s just shitty hospital coffee. If he wants more, I’ll just go down to the visitor’s center and grab another one.”

“But—”

“Take the coffee, Brin,” he says, exasperated. He thrusts it out again, and this time, I take it.

We both sip quietly for a few minutes. Neither of us takes out our phone as a distraction. We just sit and drink, letting silence stretch out between us. I find myself really looking at my brother for the first time in years. His face is as familiar as my own, though we don’t look alike. When I was younger, I used to be jealous of his light brown hair, blue-green eyes, and warm complexion. My brown eyes, brown hair, and pale skin felt so plain.

I’ve always shrunk beside my brother. He talks with his hands, oozes enthusiasm, and draws people in like moths to a light. I’m quiet by nature, more comfortable observing unless I’m around people I know well. We were the social butterfly and the bookworm—technically related, but sometimes it feels like we’re from different species.

“The coffee at your shop is better,” Luke says after a moment.

I shrug. “Yes, but it’s not a high bar. This sludge is awful.”

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to. I kind of forced it on you.”

“No…I want it.”

The silence starts again. It’s longer this time, and more brittle. I’ve avoided real conversations with Luke for a decade, and now, that avoidance has run its course.

“I’m sorry,” we say simultaneously.

“Luke—” I start.

“Let me go first, please,” he says. “Because I’m the one who fucked up first. I’m sorry, Brin. I was an asshole when I read your diary out loud. I humiliated you in front of people that I knew you wanted to impress. I tricked you, when I used Beau’s phone to get you to meet us. I was your big brother. I was supposed to protect you, and instead I treated your feelings like a punchline. It was despicable, and I’m so fucking sorry.”

“So why did you do it?”

“This is going to sound awful, because it is.” He stares down at his folded hands. “I was scared that my nerdy sister crushing on my friend might scare the guys away from hanging out with me. Like they’d judge me for letting you hang around or something. I was already the only scholarship kid at school, and that made me feel expendable. I didn’t want to give them a reason to eject me from the group, so I turned it into a joke at your expense.”

“They wouldn’t reject you. The guys love you, Luke.”