Page 100 of Blue Jeans in Low Beams

“And I said no.” I hold my ground, staring him down, letting him know I’m not going to budge. “What are you even doing here? You aren’t scheduled to be back until⁠—”

“So that makes it okay to fuck my business partner on my bar?”

Ouch…

I bristle, his words hitting hard and deep. I want to defend my actions—my relationship with Milo—but I can tell by the look on his face that right now, he’s not going to hear any of it. Still, I have to try.

“It’s not what you think.”

“Get upstairs.”

“Anything you have to say to me⁠—”

“Brenna Heidi Rawlins!” Brandt shouts.

Oh, he did not just middle name me.

“Brandt Patrick Rawlins!”

“Bren,” Milo injects. He starts to close the gap between us, but Brandt throws him a look and he stops, retreating slightly. “Go upstairs; talk with your brother. I’ll be down here whenever y’all get done.”

I look him up and down, taking in how calm he is. Or at least the calmness he’s projecting. For all I know he’s just as much of a wreck as I am inside. But he’s also Brandt’s best friend and knows him as well as anyone on this planet. So he knows that as excitable as my brother can be, he’s not one who is usually prone to anger, and that more often than not what he needs is to simply talk something out.

I hate that he’s right, because it means giving in to Brandt’s demand of going upstairs. But logic wins out here. Plus, it gives me the chance to share with one of the most important men in my life that there is another important man.

One who might rival him for the top spot.

“Fine, let’s go.”

I push past Brandt, letting my own anger at him for his behavior fuel me as I work my way through the storeroom and up the stairs to the loft. I don’t bother to look to see if he’s behind me, his presence big enough to be felt on the other side of town, much less from three stairs up. Once we’re finally in the loft and the door is closed behind us, I spin on my heel, hands planted on my hips, every emotion I’ve ever felt flowing through me ready to break loose.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I scream.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” he repeats. “Me? What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Yes!”

Brandt stomps past me into the apartment, the floorboards vibrating under my feet. He rounds the coffee table, stopping in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling window, crossing his arms and staring out. He’s silent for a long moment, eyes trained on something in the distance, as if he’s trying to collect his thoughts.

“Congratulations on passing the boards. I knew you could do it,” he says, his voice calmer.

“Thanks.”

“There’s a gift for you, Dr. Rawlins, down in my luggage.”

I smile, flopping down onto the couch. Maybe this won’t be the battle I was expecting.

“Thanks. But no one calls pharmacists ‘doctor,’ even if that is technically the title.”

Brandt chuckles, his whole upper body moving, arms still crossed as he stares out the window. “You’re Dr. Rawlins to me. Which is why I can’t let you throw away your life like this.”

Errrr…what?

It’s like the conversation slammed into a brick wall. I blink, trying to get my bearings, because I have no idea what he means by that. We are still having the same conversation, right? Unless we aren’t. That has to be it. Brandt started a whole new conversation while I wasn’t paying attention, and that’s how I got lost.

“Throw my life away how?”

Seriously, I am so confused. I lean forward on the couch, waiting for him to respond. But Brandt doesn’t move. He continues to just stare out the window.