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“Costume?” Had my brother taken a few hits to the head recently, too? A couple of hockey pucks to the face, maybe? Because in what world did he think I’d play dress-up and escort Natalia to a party?
“Do this for me, and I won’t tell Mom about your head injury. You know how she overreacts.”
The fact that I fessed up to my brother I even had a concussion was proof of the damn concussion. In all my years, not once had I informed my family of the injuries I’d sustained while serving. Not personally, at least.
In my twenties, I’d found myself on the operating table twice, and my superiors had notified my family while I was in surgery.
I’d been fresh out of BUD/S the first time and thought I was Superman. I went up against a guy wearing a vest packed with explosives and no will to live, and I hadn’t had enough sense to recognize it.
And the second? My first deployment as a new recruit for DEVGRU. That mission had ended with a Navy Cross and back surgery.
“You’re playing dirty, bro. Even for you,” I griped.
“Nat will hate me forever if she misses this party. You know her, she loves Halloween. And she’s a big fan of this Maddox guy throwing the charity event. Maybe you’ve heard of him? He’s a former Marine with a ton of money, and he’s paying it forward by helping veterans get back on their feet.”
“Yeah, I know of him. Good guy. Great cause. But let Natalia hate you for missing the party because I’m not taking her. And in case you forgot, the woman can’t stand me.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear as Anthony hissed out a long, frustrated breath. My ears were already ringing, I didn’t need to worsen my headache. “Not true. She just thinks you hate her. And in her defense, you treat her like shit whenever you visit.”
I grunted. “I rarely visit.”
“You leave a lasting impression, what can I say?” He only gave me one second of silence before tossing out, “You’ve been an ass to her since we began dating in college. You weren’t a dick to her before that.”
“She was a kid before that,” I reminded him. “A teenager. And then I came home on leave, and . . .” She grew up.
I remembered that family dinner eight years ago, two days before Christmas, when Natalia Romano and Anthony announced they were a couple. Natalia had been twenty-one, and although Anthony was only one year older than her, they’d never been that close when we’d been younger. Not that I remembered. So, the dating news had taken me by surprise.
“And what?” Anthony prodded. “You didn’t think she was good enough for me?”
“Of course not. I just didn’t think you were right for each other.” I scoffed. “And I was right. You two lasted all of five minutes back then,” I added, unsure why that was relevant but the words slipped free anyway.
“It wasn’t our time. I was playing hockey for Michigan, and she was a Tar Heel. But . . . fate brought us back together again this year.”
“Her mom,” I reminded him. “She brought you together.”
“Yeah, yeah. Anyways, Nat is a sweet girl. Probably too good for me. So, do me a solid. Don’t be a dick, and take her to this party.”
She is too good for you. I kept that thought to myself and tried to stand again. Successful this time, I went to the floor-to-ceiling window and set a palm to the glass, taking in the amazing view of the city.
“The costume is hanging up in my closet. You can’t miss it. My fans on Twitter voted for what I’m wearing tonight. We’re the same size, it’ll fit.”
“Your fans voted?” I laughed and faced the room. “We really are living at opposite ends of the spectrum in life, aren’t we?”
“Come on. I had a game yesterday, and then this PR thing I had to do today ran late. And now my publicist needs me to stick around this weekend for some more shit.”
He was laying it on thick. Almost too thick. “Is your publicist hot?”
“What’s that have to do with anything?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and bowed my head. “Just answer the question.” I hated that I didn’t trust my brother, but he was a pro-hockey player with women throwing themselves at him in every city he went to, so . . .
“What she looks like is irrelevant. I’m here for work. Just help me out.”
Work? Then why did I hear a siren-like sound in the background, as if someone just won big on the slots?
My little brother was at a casino. Of course. Gambling was Anthony’s second love after hockey. Dad taught us to play poker around the same time we learned how to tie our shoes. Betting with pennies and nickels back in the day was one thing, but now Anthony dropped stacks of cash on the tables, and he was horrible at knowing when to walk away.
“Does she know you’re not coming back this weekend?” I could feel myself relenting.
