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The door swings open for a second time, and we’re joined by Gage. His hair is dishevelled, his suit is creased, and there is a suspicious stain on the collar of his shirt. As blasé as my brother is, he is never this brazen. But here he is, walking around in public in what looks to be yesterday’s suit with a lipstick stain smudged on his collar.
“Rough night?” Malachi asks.
“Not at all,” Gage replies, making his way toward us.
“Jesus, Gage, you look awful,” I say, noticing how flushed his cheeks are and how wide his pupils appear. “Have you been doing drugs?”
It’s a good job that no one from the press has dared write a story about us since my little altercation with Darren Moore andCornwall Gossipmagazine. But it’s only a matter of time before someone from the press is feeling brave and one of us appears on the front spread of a newspaper. I just hope the story they print isn’t too damaging to our name.
“It is not a crime to indulge in a little debauchery,” Gage protests.
I meet Malachi’s stare. “He cannot go into the meeting in this state.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Gage interrupts. “Because I’m not going to be joining you.”
Frowning, I lean forward. “What do you mean, you’re not going to be joining us?”
Gage sits between us and takes the cigar. “Call it what you will, a change of heart or a conflict of interests. Either way, I no longer have any desire to pursue the housebuilding company. Yesterday evening I had a lengthy conversation with our father where I withdrew my stake in the company.” Gage claps Malachi and I on the back. “It’s a two-horse race. I wish you both the best of luck.”
Malachi and I say nothing. We’re both waiting for the punchline, because this has to be a joke. Gage has been working in this very building every day without fail since he left university. Why would he just give up without a fight?
“Gage?”
Gage shakes his head. “It isn’t up for discussion. I just want to smoke this damn cigar for old times’ sake, and when I’m done, I’m going home to get shitfaced.”
I shrug at Malachi, who in turn nods. I reach in my pocket for my nineteen-twenties vintage lighter and light all three cigars. We inhale at the same time and blow out rings of smoke into the morning air. The rings link together, and I can’t help likening them to the Calloway crested gold bands my brothers wear, a band I myself should have and be wearing. The smoke circles unite and are as one for the briefest of seconds, before the link is broken and the smoke fades into nothing. I hope that isn’t a representation of things to come, that by going our own separate ways in business that our brotherly bond doesn’t begin to disappear.
Today is the last day all three of us will sit together on the rooftop. The next time this meeting takes place only one of us will be sitting on this bench and there will be only one cigar. Call me sentimental, but today marks the ending of an era.
“Welcome to team thirty,” Gage says, and side-eyes me.
I nod once, but don’t acknowledge the fact.
“Yes, about that.” Malachi reaches into the inside breast pocket of his jacket and retrieves a crisp white envelope. “Seeing as you will not accept gifts, Gage and I have booked a skiing weekend away to Switzerland.”
Smoke catches in the back of my throat and I cough. “As in for the three of us?”
“No, as in you and the bloody Tooth Fairy. Of course the three of us.”
I could swear by the way his eyes crease at the corners that Malachi is smiling, but I can’t see his mouth due to the position of his hand, which is strategically placed.
Skiing in Switzerland with my brothers just like old times. It has been years since we have been away as a trio. “When is this trip taking place?”
“We leave on Saturday after the contracts have been signed and we know which one of us will be running the housebuilding company. Whatever happens with the business, we are still brothers.”
That weekend just so happens to be when my fake engagement with Chelsea will come to an end, and the weekend of her best friend’s wedding. Is it presumptuous of me to hope to be her plus one? I rub my hands over my beard. “I think Chelsea and I have plans.”
What I should say is that Ihopewe have plans.My hope is that we are still together. I made it abundantly clear that I’m sick of pretending. I want her to be mine. I’m not sure if I’ve intrigued her or scared her off because after my proposal, she did not say a word. But silence is better than a flat-out no. She knows my intentions; she just needs time to decide what she wants to do with them.
“Nonsense,” Malachi says, waving me off. “We’re going. She is welcome to join us.”
Chelsea on the slopes, now that’s something I want to see. I laugh, picturing Chelsea as more of a sun-worshipper. “I’ll make sure to mention it to her.”
“Yes, make sure that you do.” Malachi stubs his cigar out on the side of the bench and stands. “Right, Lucian, it’s time. Come, Gage, I will see you out.”
Malachi heads toward the door to re-enter the building with Gage close on his heels.
“Go ahead,” I call to my brothers and, when the door closes behind them, I pull out my phone. I flick through my list of contacts and stop on Farrah’s name.
