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Gia crosses her arms, her expression all business. “Where are you going?” Her expression flickers to something more amused. “Talia’s busy today.”
“I’maware, considering the fact that she’s not here.”
“You don’t have to be a smartass. Just answer the question.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m meeting my brother.”
Her gaze softens, and suddenly that door is looking way more enticing than continuing this conversation. “Oh,” she says, uncrossing her arms. “Well, have fun.”
Wait… what?
“Seriously? That’s it? You were just shooting daggers at me with your eyes, and all it takes for me to skip out on work is meeting my brother?” For some reason, it annoys me.
Gia shrugs. “You two have had beef for a while, and for no good reason. Plus, it’s stressing Nyla out. She wants you to get along for the wedding, and what stresses my girl out stresses me out. So go, have fun, be bros, rekindle brotherly love, all that good shit. Bring me back an iced double espresso though, would you?” She turns to the paperwork at the conference table.
I hate admitting my faults to anyone, most of all to my brother, but if there’s one thing I hatemoreit’s the observation of them by others, as well as anything resembling tender feelings.
I say nothing else and saunter out the door, silently fuming as I make my way to the address Kieran texted me.
I was right about the traffic being the bane of my existence today. It takes me nearly an hour to reach the place Kieran suggested, and by the looks of it, it’s some uppity coastal cocktail bar where one glass of whiskey will cost you nearly a hundred dollars, and all they serve are tiny plates of food meant more for posting on social media than actual eating. It’s exactly the type of place he would pick.
Upon walking in, I spot Kieran immediately. He sits at the bar, hunched over, unsurprisingly, what looks to be a hundred-dollar glass of whiskey. I slide onto the stool next to him and he greets me with a nod without even looking in my direction.
“Glad to know we’re both still incompetent in the way of greetings,” I say to him, receiving no more than a grunt in response. I wave down the bartender. “I’ll have what he’s having.” I jerk a thumb at Kieran, who swishes his drink around in his glass. “Make it a double, actually. And put it on his tab.”
Kieran scoffs. The bartender looks to him for confirmation, and he gives him a haphazard wave of approval in response. “Still polite as ever, I see,” he says, finally looking at me.
“Old habits die hard, brother.”
“That they do.” He takes a heavy drink. “So, listen…”
“Nyla made you do this,” I interject, making a calculated guess.
“Nyla made me do this,” he echoes, nodding in confirmation, and I swear I see the hint of an amused smile on his face. Turning to me, he adds, “She thinks it’s time we put the past behind us.”
“And what do you think?” The bartender returns with my drink with expert level timing—justas we’re about to start digging into our past indiscretions.
“I think a part of me still hates your guts,” Kieran admits, setting his glass on the wooden bar top with a sharp tap.
“Ditto.” I sniff, taking a heavy drink.
“But a part of me also wants to have my only living family member left at my wedding to celebrate with.” For a moment, I swear he even sounds grief-stricken over our late parents. How touching.
“Sounds optimistic,” I say into my glass.
There’s a heavy moment of silence between us where neither of us acknowledge the other, and then Kieran speaks, his words biting. “Why do you have to do that?”
I suck my teeth. “Do what?”
“If Nyla were here, would you talk like that to me?”
“If Nyla were here, I’d be talking toher. She’s much more fun to talk to, anyway,” I say, meeting his gaze. I know my words will strike a chord before they’re even out. It brings up mine and Nyla’s history, which I know is the sorest point I can poke at when it comes to my brother, the fact that I made out with his future wife.
Part of me wishes he would just explode at me, yell at me, call me a piece of shit, even hit me. Instead, he just scoffs and shakes his head.
“I don’t get why you have to be so impossible. You could live a normal life, meet a good woman like I have, settle down. But you’re thirty-two and just as immature as you were when we were kids.”
Nowthatstruck a chord inme, but I don’t let my anger rise either. Instead, I drown it in whiskey, because deep down inside, under all of my anger and apprehension, I want the same thing. My mind wanders to Talia, and the train of thought is so jarring, so unexpected, that the anger flares again. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Sipping fruity cocktails together on the patio, chatting about dinner party plans and nurseries for future kids. That’syouKieran, not me. But it looks like dad properly trainedyouto be the man, huh? You’re the spitting image of him.”
