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“Oh, Sophia.” This time Jezebelle reached out and squeezed her hand. “I had no idea. I’m here for you with whatever you might need. You know that, right?”
An appreciative smile graced her sister’s lovely face. “I know that. You’re not alone either. I know what Mother expects me to do here. Force you into something you don’t want, make you see reason and it’s the best thing for you. Instead, I’m going to tell you to follow your own path.”
“I’m trying and she’s making it so difficult.” Jezebelle couldn’t help but picture Brick, the irritation, anger, and heartache on his face as he relayed what her mother was trying to do to him.
“And she’s never going to change. First, it’ll be the law firm. Then, it’ll be who you should marry. Then, it’ll be about kids. She’ll want a say in where you live. Who you interact with.” Sophia sighed heavily, displaying for the first time how exhausting their mother could be even with her.
Jezebelle hadn’t seen it before. She thought she had been alone in her misery. It was refreshing—as terrible as that sounded—to know she wasn’t the only one.
“Don’t let her. I know it’s not going to be easy, but stop her now before you can’t.” Sophia brushed her hair absently as she fiddled with the napkin again. “I thought you had already broken free from her grasps when you moved here. I was so jealous.”
Wow. What an eye-opening conversation. Sophia, jealous of her? She couldn’t fathom the idea.
“I think we should get together more often. This is nice.”
Jezebelle had never felt closer to her sister than she did right now. She didn’t want to lose that feeling.
Sophia looked at her with a bright smile. “I would love that. We could make it a monthly thing. Taking turns.”
Jezebelle nodded. “I’ll come to Connecticut next.”
Their mother took her seat, glancing between them, a crafty smile appearing as if she had won another battle.
“What have you two been talking about?”
“Oh, sisterly things, Mother. I hope nothing too serious happened,” Sophia said, nodding at the phone as she slid it back inside her purse.
“Oh, no, dear. Everything is wonderful. I’m investing in a new business. It’s all coming together nicely.”
Jezebelle’s hand curled around her glass, tightening.
That didn’t sound good. Brick would be devastated if he had to deal with her mother concerning the bar.
Yet she didn’t say anything, even when her mother cast her a smug look.
Because she promised Brick.
But she would only hold that promise for so long. She would never allow her mother to win.
* * *
Brick dreaded this,but it had to be done. When Jezebelle started asking questions, they buzzed in his mind until he knew he had to do something about it. His dad would have the answers. He always did, the bastard. Not always in a good way.
His old man had been tolerable when his mother was alive. She had been an excellent referee. He enjoyed visiting his mother, which meant he had to deal with the old man. The day she died of a heart attack no one saw coming—here one day, gone the next—he rid his life of the guy. The last time he had seen his father was the day of his grandma’s funeral three years ago. Before that, his mother’s funeral, which had been five years ago.
It had been difficult dealing with both deaths, but his mother’s was worse than his grandmother’s, only because they had no time to prepare for it.
Corey took it the hardest. His drug use was sign enough. Sure, he had smoked marijuana here and there. So had Brick at one time. But then he turned to the hard stuff—heroin. Brick was positive Corey had shown up to their mother’s funeral high, so consumed with pain he needed to take the edge off.
In the two years between his mother’s death and his grandmother’s death, he had tried to help Corey as much as he could. Besides going into business together with the bar, they were brothers. He wanted to look out for his younger brother as much as he could. Then his grandmother shocked his world. Two months before her death, she said Corey stole from her. And there started their animosity.
He blew out a stringent breath before knocking on the door. His father had retired before Grandma passed away. What his old man did with his spare time, he wasn’t sure, but he figured looking at home was a good place to start. The bar would be the next best place. Brick found it comical his father was disappointed he had invested in opening a bar. He spent the majority of his time in one drinking away the pittance of his life.
Brick could only be thankful his father didn’t choose to do it in his bar. One less irritant to deal with.
The door opened with a creak. A shiver rippled through him. His mind briefly conjured the opening of a horror scene where the idiot macho man was about to enter the haunted house and never come out.
“Well, my son finally visits me. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
