CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Rosie
Olly was blowing us off. Again.
After he’d promised he’d be here, that he would come to prime the walls of Dad’s studio after he had asked for our help.
The worst part, though, was the realization that Dad didn’t need any help. The fact that I was standing behind him holding the bottle of multisurface soap while he did all the work was proof enough. He’d asked for help just so he would get us here. Just so he’d have an excuse to see his children. See Olly.
God, I wanted to shake my little brother. What the hell was wrong with him?
“Are you sure you should be doing this?” I asked him, closing some of the distance so I could see his face. “Your hip okay, Dad? We could take a break and have something to eat.”
“I’m fine, Bean,” he said quickly.
Ugh, not the I’m fine routine.
Snatching the sponge out of his hand, I stood by his side until he looked at me. And when he finally did, reluctantly, his expression confirmed that he wasn’t, in fact, fine. “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
Dad chuckled, and I kissed his forehead just so I wouldn’t shake him, too.
“Just a little worried, is all,” he finally admitted with a sigh. “Have you heard from your brother? He’s coming, isn’t he?”
“I… Yes.” I busied myself with the sponge so he wouldn’t see my face. “Let me see if I have any missed calls from him. He’s probably just running late.”
Dad snatched the sponge back. “I’ll finish this off while you do. We’re only missing a few spots.”
“We?” I muttered as I turned to fish my phone out of my bag.
Not a text, not a call, nothing.
I texted him again.
Where are you, Olly? I’m at Dad’s and it’s already 6PM. You said you would come.
Then, I invented an excuse for him with Dad, the man who had fought tooth and nail to keep us afloat while making us feel loved every single day, even when he couldn’t spend much time at home. “Olly might be on the train, maybe without reception?” I explained, hoping Dad bought the lie. “I’ll try again in a bit.”
Dad sighed. It was a quiet sound that most people would have overlooked, but I knew it well. It was the Olly sigh. Because Dad blamed himself for whatever was going on with my brother.
Almost as much as I did.
I was about to attempt to reassure him when a female voice entered the room. “How’s my favorite neighbor doing?”
I turned to find a woman with graying hair high in a bun, her eyes twinkling with warmth and humor.
“Ah, Nora. You’re here,” Dad answered, his whole face brightening. “I hope we didn’t bother you by moving the furniture around. Is your book club meeting over? Did you bring some of your delicious red velvet cake?”
Her book club meeting? Her delicious red velvet cake?
Dad lowered his voice. “I’ve been thinking about it all day.”
I blinked. Oh Lord, what was happening here?
Nora lifted a bag she’d been keeping behind her back. “I’m glad to hear that.” She smiled before turning to look at me. “I didn’t know you had company, Joseph. Is this your daughter?”
“I told you to call me Joe,” he corrected her with a wink. A wink that had me doing a double take. “And yes, this is her. Rosie is an engineer. Works at a fancy company in Manhattan, remember I was telling you about that yesterday?”
Guilt sliced through my chest at my dad’s words. “That’s me.” I swallowed. “Hi, Nora, it’s nice to meet you.”
She smiled at me over the bag. “Your dad is very proud of you, honey. He told me all about that well-deserved promotion.”
I felt my blood drain from my face, but I gave her a nod.
Nora’s gaze slid to my dad. “She has those beautiful green eyes of yours, Joseph.” She chuckled. “I sure hope she’s not as stubborn as you are, though. Because those are some genes you don’t want to pass on.”
“Joe,” Dad corrected her. And without turning to me, he added, “Did you hear that, Rosie? Beautiful eyes.”
I searched Dad’s face, then Nora’s. They were both grinning. Dad at her, and Nora at the bag that contained that delicious red velvet cake he had been thinking about all day.
My phone buzzed in my hands, snatching my attention from the flirtation-fest happening right in front of me.
Lucas: How’s the home project? Your dad’s hip okay?
I bit my lip just so I wouldn’t smile at the screen. At his name. At his words.
And just like that, memories of our first and only experimental date toppled down my mind, making me feel all kinds of breathless.
It had been goofy, fun, sweet, and cheesy in the best possible way. As much as I teased Lucas, the truth was that I loved cheesy, and he had surpassed any expectations I’d had for our experiment. Every single thing about it—about him—had been a romance writer’s dream come true. A woman’s dream come true. Even thinking of that rodent running around the apartment didn’t make my skin crawl anymore. Instead, I thought of my legs around Lucas’s hips as he carried me to safety. Of his solid and warm body under mine. Of the intensity burning in his brown eyes as he’d looked at me when we danced.
It all had been in the name of research. Experimental flirting. Experimental dancing. Experimental… wowing.
But this wasn’t. The care he took in checking up on me and Dad—as Lucas, my roommate and friend, not Lucas from Date Night—wasn’t experimental. It was real. And that… was hard to ignore.
Rosie: He’s okay. He’s busy flirting with his neighbor. In front of me.
Lucas: Go Mr. Graham!
Rosie: Don’t encourage this kind of behavior.
Lucas: Why not? Flirting is healthy for the soul.
Rosie: He’s my dad And they are watching each other with googly eyes right here.
Lucas: He still deserves to eat, you know.
Rosie: EW LUCAS. NO.
Lucas: Fine but you’re a romance writer. You should encourage this. Maybe even give him tips.
Lucas: How far do you think the flirting has gone? Do you think they’d had a little pow-pow fun?
Pow-pow what? Jesus Christ.
Rosie: okay gossip girl, let me stop you right here.
Rosie: you’re supposed to side with me.
Lucas: I’ll always be on your side.
Those words sat there alone for several seconds as I stared at them, not really knowing what was about them that made them stand out.
The three typing dots appeared again.
Lucas: I’ll let you go, just wanted to check on him. And you.
Lucas: #TeamRosie
Lucas: xoxo, you know you love me.
Lucas: and before you ask… I have a big sister, Ro. I know Gossip Girl.
Ah dammit. God freaking dammit.
Why did he have to go around being so… good and funny and… and… so Lucas?
Rosie: that’s sweet of you, Lucas. You really didn’t have to check on us.
A few seconds passed, and just when I thought I wouldn’t receive any more messages from him, a new bubble appeared on my screen.
Lucas: One last thing, will you be eating at your Dad’s or should I leave dinner in the oven for you?
That expanding sensation in my chest I so often experienced when Lucas was around came back with a vengeance. Heightened, intensified. As if it was there to stay. He was so unbelievably sweet, and he probably had no idea.
This truly was a curse and a blessing. Because—
“Rosie?”
Looking up from my phone, I caught my dad’s interested gaze. “Sorry, were you saying something?”
“Who’s that you’re texting?”
His question brought me back in time, when I was sixteen and he’d asked me if there was any boy I liked. Remember to pick the boy that will plant a garden for you instead of just getting you the flowers, Bean.
“Oh,” I said as casually as I could. “Just a friend.”
“There was a lot of grinning going on there for ‘just a friend.’ ”
“I was laughing at something he said.” I locked my phone and slipped it in my bag. “He’s funny like that.”
“Oh yeah?” Dad’s smile was knowing. “What was the joke?”
Out of the corner of my eye I watched Nora slip out of the room with a nod in our direction. I used her disappearance to my advantage. “One not as funny as seeing you with Nora.” I pointed a finger at him. “Someone’s been busy.”
He laughed, like outright deep belly laugh, and I loved hearing that sound. I loved it less when it died off too quickly the moment Dad checked his watch.
“I guess your brother’s not coming then,” he admitted with a sigh.
I thought about making up a new excuse for him, but we had reached the point where there was not much else I could say. “I guess not, Dad.”
“Right.” He nodded. “Let’s get this done so you can catch an early train back, Bean.”
Hours later, I was finally getting off the train and making my way out of Penn Station. Feeling surprisingly drained of all energy and it being dark and a little late, I opted for spending the extra bucks on an Uber instead of taking the subway back home.
I had been waiting for my driver to arrive, when the outline of a man pacing the intersection across from where I stood caught my attention.
His head hung low as he walked back and forth, fidgeting with his hands in a way that immediately struck me as familiar.
I stared for a little longer, then felt my feet carrying me forward.
Olly?
It took me at least ten feet to confirm that the man was my little brother. God, had he changed so much in the time I hadn’t seen him? His shoulders seemed wider, and he even looked taller, but it was him. Man or boy, that was my little brother. And… What was he doing here? Was something wrong?
I rushed the last feet between us.
“Olly?” I called, watching his head immediately bounce up at my voice. “What are you—”
The last stride that brought me face-to-face with him stopped whatever I was about to say.
Something wasn’t just wrong. Everything was. Because my brother stood in front of me with a black eye and a busted lip.
“Jesus Christ, Olly.” I watched my hands reach for his face. My fingers brushed his cheeks. He winced. “What happened? Who did this to you?”
His eyes closed, and I knew, I just knew that the nineteen-year-old man in front of me needed comfort. He might have been at least five inches taller, and no longer the boy that stared at me like I had hung the moon when I sneaked him an ounce of chocolate, but I still wanted to wrap him in my arms and protect him from the world. From whoever had done this.
“I’m fine,” he grunted.
I felt something snap inside of me. Something dark and hostile. “I swear to God,” I growled, my voice shaking with frustration, “if you Graham men don’t stop this I’m fine crap, I’m going to lose my shit.”
Olly’s exhale was close to a gasp and I knew it was because I had cursed, but it managed to appease my anger. Just the tiniest, littlest bit. “I think you might have lost it already, Bean.”
I sighed, studying his black eye. “How, Olly? How did this happen?”
“It’s a black eye. It just happens.”
Taking my time to fill my lungs with a deep breath, I willed my voice to remain steady. “Is this why you’re here, outside the station? Why you didn’t come to Philly?”
A nod. “You texted me you were on your way back. I wanted to apologize for not showing up.”
My thumb grazed the cut on his lower lip. “Does it hurt?”
He shrugged and I sensed the words rising to my mouth. Words he wouldn’t want to hear. “Olly, what the hell is going on?”
“I’m young, it’ll heal quickly,” he had the nerve to say. Deflect.
“Because you’re young, you shouldn’t be getting into situations that leave you with a busted lip. Nobody should, young or old.”
I saw my fingers start shaking, bewildered by the whole situation. Overwhelmed. Helpless, too. Because I didn’t know what to do to make him listen. To trust me. “You should be enjoying life. Having fun. Doing whatever nineteen-year-olds do now.” I shook my head, something occurring to me. “Does this have anything to do with the mysterious job at the nightclub?”
He recoiled, stepping out of my hold. “Just trust me for once, okay? I make good money. I’m fine. This was just a little brawl over a misunderstanding.”
I reached out for him again, but he stepped farther back. It was only then that I took notice of what he was wearing. Nice clothes, expensive ones. Brands I could hardly afford myself.
He looked down, too, and he shook his head.
I wanted to scream, but I didn’t. If I did, I probably wouldn’t stop.
“Is it drugs?” I demanded.
Olly’s head snapped up. His eyes widened.
“What?” He gasped, as if I’d just asked him if he was pooping golden pellets.
“Are you dealing drugs, Olly? Is that what this is?”
“Jesus, Rosie.” That shock turned into disgust, frustration. “I’m not dealing anything. It’s not that, okay? You just don’t understand. I’m…”
He shook his head, his raven hair falling over his forehead.
“You’re just what?”
“I’m… dancing?” he finally said, but it came out as a question. Which only made me more confused.
More skeptical. More suspicious.
“At the nightclub,” I said slowly. “Making enough money to afford clothes worth my rent.”
Olly shrugged.
Jesus, was my brother… dancing for money? Was Olly stripping?
My heart thundered in my chest while I remained very still.
Not long ago, I was thinking of Lucas’s cooking as the Magic Mike of Doughs and Pans, and now it turned out my little brother was actually reenacting the whole thing. In real life.
Didn’t he trust me enough to tell me?
Overwhelming sadness slipped in, making me feel dizzy. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but the blinding lights from a vehicle stopped me.
Olly threw an arm over his eyes and cursed under his breath. A car pulled up beside us, and the window rolled down.
“Okay, pretty boy. Get in,” a man that wasn’t much older than Olly demanded from the driver’s seat.
“Olly,” I tried. “Don’t go.”
But my brother moved toward the car.
“There’s so much we need to talk about—”
“Rosie,” my brother cut me off. “It’s fine, I called him. And I’m okay. I swear.”
The man in the car smirked, his expression setting off about ten different alarms in my head.
“Let’s go,” he told Olly. “Shift starts in thirty. We’ll have to use a crap ton of makeup to cover that number you have, but Lexie will manage.” Lexie? “You’d better hope she was worth the trouble.”
My head whirled in Olly’s direction. His jaw was hard.
The black eye. It was about a girl. But—
“Bye, Rosie,” he said. And in a swift motion, he was kissing my cheek and throwing the back door open.
In a blur, I was left alone, dumbfounded and standing on the sidewalk while I watched the car’s taillights turn into two red spots in the distance.
Ironically, it was exactly then that my Uber arrived.
A while later, when I finally stepped inside the apartment, the encounter with Olly weighed so much on me that not even the sight of Lucas asleep with his mouth hanging open and our vampire show playing made me smile. After pulling a blanket over him, I tiptoed to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, where I found a note he’d left on the counter. Dinner’s in the oven in case you’re hungry. And not even that made me smile. I didn’t even answer his text, and he still went through the trouble of cooking for two. Because he hadn’t written leftovers, he’d written the word dinner. And he’d made sure that the note was somewhere I’d see it. Waiting for me. In case I was hungry.
It should have made me smile. Grin like a fool, overwhelmed with giddiness, just like earlier. But it all had the opposite effect.
The situation with my writing, Lucas, my brother, even my dad. The complete mess that was my life. How big of a hypocrite I was for demanding the truth when all I did was keep secrets. Everything was… too much.
I was standing there, with the note in my hand, when I heard my name.
Lucas stood in the middle of the studio, about ten feet away from me. He held the blanket in one hand, and his hair pointed in all directions.
Summoning the best smile I could manage, I said, “I’m sorry I woke you up.”
“I was only resting my eyes.” He blinked a few times, as if he was willing himself back to life. His eyes roamed around my face. “What’s wrong? Your dad—”
“No. Dad’s fine.” I shrugged, doing what we Grahams did best. Hide whatever was wrong. Swallow it up. “Nothing’s wrong, Lucas.”
He was silent for a long moment, looking at me. I knew what he was doing. He was worrying, wondering how he could make it better for me. Probably wondering if I was going to burst into tears again.
And the fact that he was doing all those things made me mad. Lucas was doing so much. And I was giving him nothing. Just the company of someone who moped around a lot.
I vowed in that moment that I’d do something for Lucas Martín. Something to make him happy.
“Hey, Rosie?”
I sighed. “Yeah?”
He looked at me with something that was a lot like that intensity from our experimental date, but different. Fiercer. Softer. “Do you want a hug?” he offered.
He was such a good man. But I wouldn’t have another breakdown in front of him after he’d done so much.
“No. It’s okay. I’m fine,” I whispered.
He was quiet for a few seconds. Then he said, “Do you think you can give me one, though? Maybe I’m the one who needs it.”
I swallowed, the urge to step forward and lunge myself at him invading me. But I didn’t, because I knew what he was doing. This was for my sake, not his.
Lucas caught on, because he went with something I wouldn’t be able to resist: “I really miss Taco today. So that hug would really help.” His voice was so deep and gentle, so soft. “Can I get one hug, Rosie?”
And as much as I knew that this hug was for my sake—because I must have looked like I was about to come apart at the seams—he still managed to make it look like I’d be giving him something precious if I said yes. Like I’d break his heart if I denied this one thing to him.
“Okay,” I heard myself say. Knowing with alarming certainty in that precise instant that I’d never be able to look into Lucas’s face and not give him whatever he asked from me. “Only if you need it that badly.”
It didn’t take him any time to cross the few feet between us and throw his arms around me.
Once more, I buried my face in his chest. But this time, I let myself lean into him. Completely. I gave myself the green light to give up. I inhaled his scent and relished how warm and big and solid he felt around me. I took as much strength from him as he was willing to give me. And I imagined this, his hug, his body, him, being my safe haven. My normal. My bad days, my good days. My every day.
“Thank you, Rosie.” I felt—more than heard—his chest rumble with the words. “I feel much, much better, now.”
My arms tightened around his torso, feeling every muscle, every bone underneath, every inch of warm skin under his shirt. Even the beat of his heart.