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“Actually, yes, I did.” He squinted at me. “Why? Were you trying to avoid me?”
“What?” I snorted as if that were a ridiculous suggestion. “No.”
He knew I was lying. Pick had a way of eyeing a person that let you know he could read every thought in your head. I kind of admired that about him, even though it also intimidated the shit out of me. Hell, just about everything there was to Pick Ryan impressed and unsettled me in equal measures.
It was eerie as fuck—as well as astonishing and yet utterly overwhelming—to know I was related to such an intuitive yet pleasant guy.
If I could’ve handpicked anyone on earth to choose as my biological big brother, it would’ve been him. He was just one of those personable, laid-back guys who accepted you for who you were and watched your back without you even asking him to.
And yet, the whole brother thing rattled me to the core. Me and “family” had never meshed. I just had this sinking feeling I couldn’t shake that if I let him actually be my brother, it’d all go to hell.
I had too much to lose if Pick ended up telling me to get lost. This place and what I had here were my entire life. My job, playing on Forbidden’s stage with my band, my friendship with him and all the other guys who worked here, and just...well, all of it had become the most important things to me. I didn’t know what I’d do without everything he’d already given me.
Pick continued to watch me with those omniscient brown eyes, which he must’ve picked up from his dad since our mom’s had been green, like mine.
“Prove it,” he murmured. “Tag along with me.”
“Huh?” I blinked at him as if he’d spoken a foreign language.
An amused grin cracked his face. He hitched his head toward the exit. “I have somewhere to be soon. Why don’t you come?”
“Why?” I winced as the suspicious-sounding word left my lips. What I really should’ve asked was where. But Pick answered me anyway.
With a careless shrug, he said, “Just to hang out.”
The offer was tempting. It was the exact kind of companionship I’d been craving only minutes ago. But I didn’t dare hope, wouldn’t fall victim to the lure. It would end badly. It had to end badly. Any and every familial thing in my life ended badly. Why would this be any different?
“Oh, Jesus.” He rolled his eyes and slugged his arm against mine. “Quit overthinking it already. Just get your ass off the stool and come with me.”
“But...I have to finish my beer.” Yeah. That sounded...lame.
Pick glanced at the countertop in front of me. “What beer?”
I spun to check on my drink, but it was gone, only a wet ring left on the bar where it’d once sat as Quinn tossed a bottle in the trash that looked suspiciously like an Angry Orchard.
“So let’s go already.” Pick nudged me again.
With a reluctant groan, I slid off my seat. I told myself I was only doing this because he was my boss; he could fire me if I was subordinate. But honestly, I was curious. No matter how certain and afraid I was that starting a brotherly relationship with him would end badly, I wanted to know more about this guy who’d come from the same womb as me. I secretly did ache to have him as family.
It had all started with a stupid song I’d written about my mom and how she’d given up her first child, abandoning the baby boy at the hospital only hours after he was born and then going on to live a miserable life until some asshole—aka, my father—had beaten her to death. Then I had to go and sing it on stage with my band. And the people who’d heard it just had to tell me it reminded them of Pick because his mom had abandoned him at the hospital when he was born, which led me to wonder if Pick might’ve possibly been that child, and then further led me to do the epically stupid move of mentioning the little coincidence to him. He, in turn, ran off and got a blood test done, and boom...here we were. Fucking blood-related brothers who shared a mother but had different fathers.
After working for him for as many months as I had, I thought I knew him well enough, but now...now I realized I barely knew a damn thing.
Like the fact he was into restoring old muscle cars.
As he led me outside toward a maybe 1970s model blue Mustang with a white stripe running down the hood, I let out a low whistl
e. “Nice ride.”
“Thanks.” He unlocked my side for me. “It wasn’t even running when I came across it. I traded out the original 302 for a 351 and installed a new heating and air system before I got her purring again.”
I understood basically nothing he’d just said, but I nodded like I did as I climbed into the passenger seat.
“Next, I’m going to work on the interior and paint job.”
Nodding some more, I ran my hand along the tattered seat under me. “I had no idea you knew how to fix up old cars.”
He glanced at me as he started the engine, and damn, I wasn’t a car expert, but even I knew the melody of this one coming to life sounded good. Pick might’ve called it a purr, but to me it was more like a deep satisfied growl, like the sound a guy might make while stretching his muscles on a soft mattress after coming hard and deep inside a soft eager woman.
