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“Are you coming?”
Wish I was while screaming your name.
“Yeah,” I say, walking toward him. “Thanks.”
We wander downstairs, and I sit at the small, round table. The kitchen is cozier than the dining room. Far less pomp and circumstance.
Alden puts water in the kettle and turns it on, then he preps the mugs. Every movement is precise and measured. He sets milk and sugar on the table, then gets the infusers ready with the loose-leaf tea. We say nothing as I watch him work.
“Alden?”
“Hmm?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
He leans against the counter, his arms and ankles crossed as if on display. It takes me a moment to collect my thoughts.
“Why have you never married? I mean, you’re clearly…” I wave my hand at him, and he smirks. “And you’re successful. Is there a reason you don’t have or want a family?”
He rubs his bottom lip with his thumb, taking his time before answering.
“I guess because I haven’t found the right person. My parents’ relationship was turbulent. I don’t want to end up in the same situation.”
I nod just as the kettle whistles. Alden turns to take it off the heat while I play with the lazy Susan. It turns as I stare blankly at the salt and pepper shaker, thinking about what he said.
It’s time to step up my game. I want him to notice the lengths I’ll go to get his attention and make him happy.
“Here you go,” Alden says, setting the mug down.
“Thank you.”
He sits across the table, and his eyes never leave my face as he takes a sip. I swear he can see right through me.
“What about yourself? Have you ever thought about getting married? Did you hope to marry my brother?”
“No. I’ve never considered marrying anyone that I’ve dated.”
He smirks. “Seems like we’re cut from the same cloth.”
“Yes, it does.”
You have no idea how much so, Alden, but you will.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ALDEN
The funeral is beautiful, but I’m torn.
My heart aches for the boy I knew. The little brother who held my hand. The boy I taught to swim and protected from the worst of what my father brought into our home, including the hard strikes of his fist when he drank. Maybe I never should’ve stood in his way. Rob grew up believing that our father was a misunderstood man and that the issues between our parents were our mother’s fault, even though she did nothing but dote on him.
Such a fool.
My mother cries for the little boy, her son, but I can’t shed a single tear for the man Rob had become.
Rob’s behavior worried me. His drinking was starting to get out of control, much like my father’s had…but murdering my brother was not on my to-do list. However, he was heading down the path where it might have become inevitable, so maybe…his death was for the best, even if it was a message, warning or taunt.
