Page 5 of 10 Signs You Need to Grovel

I’m not good. Today’s persistent nausea increases. Bringing up Sadie means avoidance is no longer an option. Not when she’s involved. “Spit it out, E. Whatever it is, waiting to tell me won’t make it easier. It’ll only earn you a black eye.”

“Yeah, so.” He shifts nervously and glances toward the entrance.

Two guys who look a lot like our brothers pass by the window. The door stays shut, but a screech and whine from my left indicates our emergency back exit has opened. I check, and Jake is there, blocking the path.

This is not fun. No part of me is having a good time.

If all four of my brothers are here, whatever’s happened with Sadie, it can’t be good. Maybe it’s her parents. While they weren’t physically abusive with her, they were emotional terrorists, issuing passive-aggressive insults on a whim, using her as a pawn in their endless fights. Or he’s here to tell me he found Sadie in Tennessee. Warn me not to look for her. Explain that she has a husband and kids and a happy life without me. Which would actually be for the best, considering the last time she saw me, I was finishing my first year of Duke Law, top of my class, no crap tattoos in sight.

I squeeze my tremoring hands into fists. “E, what’s going on?”

Sadness swimming in his eyes, he approaches slowly and grips my shoulders. It’s our oldest brother’s signature move—arm gripping to keep us together. My anxiety doubles. “Sadie came to find me in Windfall, Des. And she wasn’t alone.”

So it is the husband thing. I slump, actually relieved. Better that than hearing her parents did something reprehensible or that she’s hurt. I try to wrench away from E, but he digs his fingers in deeper. “She has a son, Des.”

“Save your breath. I know. And I don’t wanna talk about it.”

He rears back. “You know?”

I huff out a harsh grunt. “I hired a private eye about a month after the Becerras were killed. Called her and heard a kid in the background, then hung up as fast as I fucking could. So yeah, I know she’s probably married and happy and living her best life, but thanks for coming and reminding me of everything I’ve lost. Always a pleasure.”

I tug out of his hold.

One step away, he says, “He’s your kid, Des. The boy you heard is yours. You and Sadie have a son.”

My chest caves. Spots flash in my periphery. I must have heard him wrong. I must have fallen asleep earlier into some kind of origami trance. Or I got in an accident and have been in an eleven-year coma.

I swivel and search E’s pained face. Forget general nausea. My dormant gag reflex tests its strength. “I don’t have a kid.”

He smiles for the first time, his expression amused but still strained. “His name’s Max. He’s ten and has the unfortunate luck of looking like you.”

I heave. Almost throw up on his face.

Tripping over my feet, I run to the “b ro m,” drop to my knees, and empty the contents of my stomach into a toilet, abolishing my no-puking streak.

TWO

At some indiscriminate time later, while I’m still heaving and dying a violent death, I hear scuffling and talking.

“Is he puking?”

“It’s Des. Of course he’s not puking.”

“He’s definitely puking.”

“He hasn’t puked since we were kids.”

My brothers’ voices drift more firmly into my consciousness while the room spins and my insides revolt.

“I’ve never seen someone heave that intensely.” E, sounding concerned.

“It’s the shock. Get him water.” Jake, the oldest, always telling us what to do.

“I think he just hurled up a lung. We should video this.” Lennon being Lennon.

“No one’s videoing anything. Leave him be.” Callahan the Peacekeeper, here to rein in the Bower boys.

A few dry heaves later, one of them tosses a paper towel at my face. I wipe my mouth, somehow manage to crawl out of the bathroom stall, and sit my ass on the floor. When my head becomes too heavy to hold upright, I drop it forward into my hands.