“Why were you in foster care?” she asks in confusion. “I mean if you have a half brother. And Owen mentioned his parents more than once tonight. Why didn’t his family take you in?”
A sick feeling crawls through me. “They just didn’t.”
“How much older is he?”
“Two years. He was eight when Mom died. But he wasn’t living with us at that point,” I explain. “Mom and Owen’s dad got divorced when Owen was one. Then she met my dad and got pregnant with me almost right away. Owen lived with us until about a year before she died.”
“Were you close?”
“Best friends. Still are.” I hold up my wrist. “He’s the BFF you like to rag me about. Got these fucking things when we were sixteen, and they still haven’t fallen off.”
She smiles. I can sense her anger melting away. “That’s a good sign, I think.”
“Anyway, when he was seven, his dad remarried. Really nice woman, Sarah. She had her own daughter from a previous marriage. Russ, Owen’s dad, wanted them to be family, so he fought my mom for full custody. Told the courts he could offer a better environment for his son. He had a higher income, lived in a nicer area. Mom couldn’t afford to hire a lawyer to fight him, and eventually she gave in. It wasn’t like he was trying to keep her out of Owen’s life entirely. He just wanted to be Owen’s primary residence. So she agreed, and we got Owen on weekends and holidays. That hurt her a lot, though. She missed him.” My voice thickens. “We both did. He went to live with his dad and stepmom, and I stayed with my parents. And a year later, my dad put a bullet in Mom’s brain.”
My chest clenches. Suddenly I find myself breathing hard, spitting out a ragged curse.
“What is it?” Gigi pushes.
“I will never forgive him for what he did.” My throat is burning. “She wasn’t a perfect mother, but she was mine.”
Tears sting my eyes and I avert my gaze. But Gigi’s goddamn perceptive, and of course she notices. She wriggles toward me, the fabric of her dress swishing, and forcibly lifts my arm so she can tuck her head underneath it.
I instinctively hold her.
She rests her head on my shoulder. “And Owen’s dad just let you go into foster care after you lost your mother? That’s cruel.”
The frank assessment is sort of depressing. “I wasn’t related to him, so he didn’t care. Owen’s dad is…” I try to be tactful, then wonder why I’m bothering. I’m not a tactful guy, so why start now? “He’s a fucking prick. And Sarah, sweet as she is, is a total pushover. I think if it was up to her, she would have taken me in.”
I think about the handful of holidays I spent with the McKays. It was only a few, and only because Owen begged his dad to let me come.
“Russ never liked me. I think I was just a reminder of my mom, his ex-wife. He claims she cheated on him with my dad, but I don’t know if that’s true. Maybe she did.”
I probably wouldn’t blame her if that was the case. Russ has always been a difficult, abrasive man. Strict, with impossibly high expectations for Owen. It’s a damn good thing Owen was phenomenal at hockey, considering how hard Russ pushed him growing up. If Owen didn’t possess the talent and the necessary passion for the game, he would’ve crumbled under that kind of pressure.
“Russ didn’t want me,” I say simply. Nobody did. I clear the sudden rush of emotion out of my throat. “I was a reminder of a life he’d put behind him.”
“But Owen’s been a good brother to you?”
“The best.” Guilt squeezes my chest.
She doesn’t miss the tension. “What?”
“Better brother than I deserve,” I admit.
“What does that mean?”
“My father killed his mother, Gigi. That’s not something either of us could ever forget.”
“Does he hold it against you?” She sounds concerned.
“No, but he should,” I say flatly. “If it weren’t for my piece-ofshit father, he would still have a mom.”
“Yes, but that’s not your fault.”
“All I’m saying is, I wouldn’t blame him if he blamed me.”
My throat feels tight again. Whatever. There’s no point thinking about any of this. Talking about any of it. It doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t fix the past or— “Don’t do that,” Gigi says softly. “Don’t bury it down. I can feel you doing it.”
I flinch when she grasps my chin. Forcing eye contact.
“You want so badly for this to not be your past, but it is. I understand how much that sucks, and I’m so sorry. But none of it was your fault. You’re not responsible for it. Your father is.”
“I know.”
“Then stop taking ownership of his actions. Let yourself have a good relationship with your brother. You don’t need to feel guilty.”
“But I do feel guilty,” I mumble, and it’s the first time in my life I’ve ever said those words out loud.
I’ve never even told Owen how I feel.
It scares me that I can tell her everything. Just be vulnerable this way. And I’m not scared of her reaction. There’s never even a trace of fear that she might judge me.
I wrap my arm around her waist and gently lower her onto her back. One hand cupping her cheek, I gaze at her gorgeous face. My heart’s always in my throat when I’m with her. When I think about her.
I lean in to kiss her.
“I’m not good enough for you,” I whisper against her lips.
Alarm fills her eyes. “Ryder—”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be. But I want to try.”
And I do. I mean that. I know I have my flaws. But I need to level up to be with this woman. She forces me to be better.
I want to be better for her.
I want to be her hero.
Emotion clogs my throat.
“Hey,” she says, reaching up to touch my chin. “What’s going on?”
“I love you.”
Her breath hitches.
I’ve never said those words before. But I mean them with every fiber of my being. She’s the one. She’s the only one.
“Say it again.”
“I love you, Gigi.”
A brilliant smile fills her face. “I love you too, Luke.”
That does something to me. The name I’ve loathed for so long, the name I’ve recoiled from, leaving her lips. Hearing it now, coming from that sweet voice and gorgeous face, accompanied by those three words, well, I guess I don’t mind being Luke.
I’ll be whoever she wants me to be.
Pulling on a T-shirt, I duck out of the bedroom early the next morning and find my brother in the full kitchen of the lavish suite. Gigi’s sound asleep behind the closed door of our room. Alex must be too because she’s nowhere to be seen.
I walk toward my brother. “Morning.”
“Happy New Year. You want a coffee?”
I nod. “Please.”
The suite is equipped with an expensive coffee maker and the gourmet kind of coffee you find in those super bougie hipster cafes.
“Fancy,” I drawl, and he chuckles.
A minute later, he hands me a cup, steam rising from the rim. We wander over to the living area and sit on the plush couch. We didn’t spend any time in this room last night, so it’s in pristine condition.