After a long pull from the bottle, I shifted my attention to my father’s face. He wasn’t looking at the camera, at whoever had taken the picture. His attention was on my mom. She’d been the light and the glue. Everything that had made our family strong and happy. And when she’d gone, we’d collapsed in on ourselves.
I put the photo down, angling it away so I wouldn’t have to look into the past anymore.
The past and the future were two places I had no business being. The only thing that mattered was right now. And right now…well, I still felt like shit.
Ready to numb out for a night, I reached for the remote again when a loud knock sent Waylon galloping to the front door, ears flapping.
I followed at a more dignified pace.
Crisp, September evening air wafted in when I opened the door.
Nash stood on the doorstep, jaw clenched, hands fisted at his side.
“You’re lucky I gotta do this right-handed.”
“Do wha—”
I didn’t get a chance to finish the question before my brother’s fist connected with my face. Like any good sucker punch, it rang my bell and knocked me back a full step.
“Ow! Fuck! What the hell, Nash?”
He pushed past me and stomped inside. “What did I tell you?” he snarled over his shoulder. He opened my fridge and helped himself to a beer.
“Jesus. Tell me about what?” I asked, working my jaw back and forth.
“Naomi,” Lucian said.
“Christ, Lucy. Where did you come from?”
“I drove.” He clapped me on the shoulder and followed Nash into the kitchen. “Feel better?” he asked my brother.
Nash handed him a beer and shrugged. “Not really. He’s got a hard face to go with that thick head.”
“What are you two assholes doing here?” I demanded, swiping Lucian’s beer and holding it to my jaw.
Nash handed him a fresh one.
“Naomi, of course,” Lucian said, accepting the beer and squatting down to pet Waylon.
“For fuck’s sake. That shit is none of your business.”
“Maybe not. But you are,” Lucian said.
“I told you not to fuck it up,” Nash said.
“This is bullshit. You can’t just come into my house, punch me in the face, play with my dog, and drink my beer.”
“We can when you’re being a stupid, stubborn son of a bitch,” my brother snapped.
“No. Do not sit. Don’t make yourselves comfortable. I finally have a night to myself and I’m not wasting it with you two.”
Lucian took his beer and wandered into the living room. He sank into one of the armchairs and put his feet up on the coffee table, looking content enough to stay there for the rest of the night.
“Sometimes I really hate you assholes,” I complained.
“Feeling’s mutual,” Nash growled. But his hand was gentle when he leaned over to give Waylon the loving he demanded. The dog’s tail blurred into happiness.
“You don’t hate us,” Lucian declared mildly. “You hate yourself.”
“Fuck off. Why would I hate myself?” I needed to move. I needed to buy a thousand acres and build a damn cabin in the damn middle and never tell a damn soul where I lived.
“Because you just told the best thing that ever happened to you to take a damn hike,” Nash said.
“A woman is never going to be the best thing that happens to me,” I insisted. The words tasted suspiciously like a lie.
“You are the stupidest son of a bitch in the state,” my brother said wearily.
“He’s not wrong,” Lucian agreed.
“Why in the hell do you two have your panties in a twist over who I do or don’t date? It was never real anyway.”
“You’re making a huge fucking mistake,” Nash insisted.
“What do you care? Now you get your shot at her.” The thought of it, just the split second imagining him with Naomi, nearly brought me to my knees.
My brother set down his beer. “Yeah, I’m definitely hitting him again.”
Lucian dropped his head back against the cushion. “I said I’d give you one. You’ve had it. Find a new way to get through his thick skull.”
“Fine. Let’s try something new. The truth.”
“How novel,” Lucian said.
I wasn’t going to get rid of either of them until they’d said their piece. “Say what you need to say, then get the hell out.”
“This happens every time he sees him,” Nash complained to Lucian.