by Julie Olivia
“I was trying to be a good brother, so sue me!” he bellows back. We don’t fight like this. We never raise our voices, let alone have legitimate arguments. It’s making my heart both race and break all at once. “I wanted to try fixing your car again because you’re too stubborn to pay for a new one, and I also wanted to help our idiot brother who I’m fairly sure is on fucking drugs while driving on the interstate.”
“What?!” I yell. It’s like with every sentence Harry says, it gets more and more difficult for me to process anything. Please tell me this is the nightmare part of a hangover fever dream.
“He stole my car. I’m driving yours—which, yes, is fixed. You’re welcome.”
My dear brother Harry, the one with a heart of gold, wanted to fix my car because he’s just that kind of person, and he succeeded because he’s just that good of a mechanic. Then there’s my other brother, Grant Smith, who, in all his privileged glory, thought it would be a good idea to steal this kind soul’s pet project.
No wonder Grant is so far ahead. Harry knows how to max out the speed of any car and maneuver it with skill, but my trash vehicle is nothing compared to Harry’s souped-up monster, his pride and joy. No wonder he’s pissed.
I pity the fool who steals Harry’s car.
“He’s going through a lot,” Harry grumbles. In true Harry fashion, he’s still trying to see the good in people. I, on the other hand, may murder Grant the second he shows up.
“It kinda seems like it’s his own damn fault,” I shoot back. “I mean, what do I do? I’m here with a bunch of people. How am I supposed to handle a psycho at the same time? And what does he even want?”
The words visibly startle Ian and Corinne, who exchange a look.
“You wouldn’t answer your phone.” Harry says. “He just wanted to talk to you. Apparently, he thinks driving all the way to Florida is the way to do it. Look, I’m coming to get him and bring him back.”
“He’s driving down here just to talk to me?”
“Has Grant ever done anything that made sense?”
I exhale. “I’ll see if I can get him in my room before he wreaks too much havoc.” This is not how I wanted to start my hungover afternoon. In fact, seeing Grant at all is not how I wanted to start any day moving forward.
“I’ll keep you updated,” he says. “Like I said, just two hours out.”
There’s a moment of silence between us, and I know we’re both taking in the situation. It’s absurd, but it doesn’t matter how long of a pause we take. It’s still happening.
“Thank you for warning me,” I say.
He grunts back something along the lines of, “Yeah.”
“See you soon. I’ll call you when he gets here.”
I hang up, holding the phone tightly in my hand. My knuckles are white, my heart is pounding, and I’m slightly light-headed, but now is not the time to succumb to weakness. I need to be the strong one, because in less than an hour, I will most likely be face to face with a brother I haven’t seen in years. What do we even say? How do I address him? What is he like now?
The last time I saw him, his eyes were bloodshot and his t-shirt was littered with stains, but he was still flashing the grin of someone who is confident in how ridiculously awesome their life is. It was at the birth of my niece. He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t announce that he would never come to another family event. He just left.
I shake my head and try to focus. I need to go to the front of the resort and wait for him. I need to cut him off before he can do anything too stupid.
“Nia?” Corinne asks.
My head shoots up to her and I inhale. “I need to handle some things,” I say. “Just go meet up with Grace and them, but don’t tell anyone.”
“We’re here to help,” Ian says without missing a beat, and Corinne gives a strong nod.
“You don’t want to get involved in this.”
“Yes, we do,” Ian says firmly. I rarely hear this tone from him unless he’s in court. It’s powerful, strong, and sends shivers down my spine.
Can I not go two seconds without admiring him?
“Fine,” I accept. “I need to go to the front.”
“I’ll take your things back up,” Corinne says, reaching out for my bag. I slide it off and hand it to her along with my room key. She runs off, and Ian and I look to each other.
“So, tell me what’s going on,” he says, and I don’t know what else to do but oblige.
We walk back through the lobby and I tell him everything—at least, everything I can tell. I say how I don’t know a lot of the details, how I don’t even know what he’ll be like when he gets here. Ian listens intently, his brows furrowed as he nods with each piece of information he gets. He asks no questions, just listens. I wonder what’s going through his mind. I wonder if every good thought about me is being washed away, and it hurts me a little to think so.
Corinne joins us shortly after, handing me back my key. “Drama!”
“Yep, just like Disneyworld, Corinne,” Ian says.
The silence between the three of us isn’t uncomfortable. It’s solemn, as if we’re holding a funeral for this day, which has effectively gone to shit, but the moment doesn’t last long.
We hear a loud rumbling, the sound of an overworked engine, and the revving of a vehicle with too much power for one car. It is definitely Harry’s sports car driven by a person who doesn’t understand how to control the car’s infinite limits. It whips around the corner, streaks of black and red zooming through, halting in front of us with a screech.
Ian touches the small of my back and a swoop of nerves drives through me faster than Harry’s beast of a car. I’d watch that nasty movie and imagine Ian a thousand times over if it meant I didn’t have to be here.
The car’s door rises up. It’s a feature I distinctly remember Harry being psyched about, but instead of Harry’s grinning face peering out of the car, it’s a much more haggard, unshaven man.
Grant’s face is slack, and his eyelids are drooping. I guess an eight-hour drive on drugs will take a toll on your energy levels. But, even apart from that, he’s showing visible signs of age. His hairline has receded, and his once luscious dyed auburn hair is now back to pale blond, overshadowed by wisps of gray and white.
He walks around the side of the car, not even bothering to close the door behind him. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a navy shirt. I see some familiar stains on the sleeve. Could he be more of a cliché?
“My own welcoming committee,” he croaks out with arms spread wide. “That’s a long fucking drive, and so many fucking idiots on the road.” He’s irritated, and I wouldn’t doubt that he had road rage the entire way here; he looks like he’s close to raging now as it is. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Grant tosses a half-hearted wink over to Corinne. She grimaces in response.
Even coming down from a high, he’s still trying to be a ladies’ man, but it’s becoming clear to me now that he was less of a gift to women and more of an egotistical womanizer. I look up to Ian. His hand is still resting on the small of my back, but there’s a bit of a grip to it now, and his jaw is set. I can’t help but notice his eyes piercing my brother. Ian’s hair is curled and suave—not at all ragged like Grant’s—and his strong jaw ticks with every second.
They couldn’t be more different.
“God…” Grant grips his head, grinding the palm of his hand into a closed eye. When he opens them again, they’re bloodshot. The bags don’t help his appearance either. “Please tell me there’s a bed here.”
“Well, we’re at a resort, so I would hope so,” Ian shoots back, and my brother blinks before taking a stride toward Ian with his finger out. I can feel the explosion coming on.
I dart forward and press both hands to his chest. “Hello, Grant,” I say loudly, trying to turn his attention to me.
“Little Apollonia,” he says, calming a bit, though his face remains red. The nickname makes my spine stiffen slightly, and I find myself ris
ing to a fuller height without even thinking about it.
“That’s me. Guessed correctly. Good job,” I say, patting his chest.
He stares at me, trying to take me in. Then his eyes narrow. “I have a bone to pick with you,” he grumbles.
I hear Ian’s sandals clap forward behind me, but I hold my hand out and stop him in his tracks.
“Who’s your giant watchdog?” Grant asks, peering to Ian. I look over my shoulder. His hands are curled into fists by his sides, accentuating his forearms and large chest. His blue eyes are narrowed, but a slight smile still tugs on the corner of his mouth. I don’t know whether he’s mad or delighted at how irritated Grant is.
“You’re the pit bull trying to attack me.” Ian laughs.
This comment makes Grant’s face grow so red it’s almost purple. He tries to walk forward again, but I push my hands into him.
“Down, boy,” Ian says with a smirk. Damn it, Ian.
“He’s a friend.” I exhale. Yes, he’s a very hot friend who is, for some reason, very protective. “Let’s go upstairs. We can talk there. I have a bed and everything.”
He shakes my hands off, runs his fingers through his hair, and straightens his posture, shaking out his shirt as if that could possibly improve his appearance.
We walk forward and he spots Corinne again. “Are you coming with us, darling?”
She scowls at him. “Unfortunately.”
When Ian follows behind me, Grant lifts an eyebrow. “He’s joining us too?”
“I’m the best part of the welcoming committee,” Ian says, throwing him a wink. I mouth a “Stop” to him and he shrugs nonchalantly.
What am I going to do with this man?
In less than thirty minutes, after an unnecessary number of snarky comments from Ian, Grant finally passes out on my hotel bed, snoring like a bear in hibernation. An hour after that, I go down to the lobby for Harry. He is flustered and forcing out a grin. I wrap him in a hug but immediately pull back.
“Oh god, you’re sweaty.”
“I didn’t exactly have time to fix your air conditioning.”
“Fair.”
We walk back up to the room where he takes a moment to stare at Grant before exhaling and joining Ian and Corinne on the patio. The four of us look out at the beach with the sliding glass door shut and the curtains closed to both block out the sun for Grant and ensure we can’t see my mess of a brother.
Harry and Ian share niceties, but not much past that. I’m hoping it’s been too long for Ian to remember the last time they met, but Harry is not nearly as oblivious. That’s what I get for having a schoolgirl crush on this man and not concealing it from my brother like any other rational person might.
“You guys can stay for the night,” I say. “That drive is long, and he probably needs time to get normalized again or whatever.”
“Do you know if he has any more?” Ian asks Harry, who shrugs.
“He didn’t have anything in his pockets when he came in, not even a wallet,” Corinne says. The three of us look to her, and she leans against the railing with a smirk. “What? I patted his pants down. He didn’t seem to mind.”
“We won’t be a burden,” Harry reassures me. “We can probably put something on TV and that’ll occupy him. You guys go out and do whatever you were going to do. Don’t worry about us.”
Ian’s face immediately lights up and a grin spreads across it like a kid finding secret candy in a couch cushion. I don’t like this face.
“We actually have the bachelor party tonight,” Ian says. Oh no. “You should come!”
“Absolutely not,” I say, hands slicing the air as if calling a foul. “No. No way. The last thing Grant needs is a strip club.”
“Nah, we won’t do the strip club. Nobody wants to anyway,” Ian says with an unconcerned shrug.
“We’re not busting in on your party.” Harry laughs, and Ian’s smile still beams with enjoyment over the whole thing.
“Just let me talk with Cam,” Ian says. “We only have three people here. Two more will make it a party. Plus, I can keep an eye on your brother the whole time. I don’t drink.”
Harry twists his mouth to the side, apparently considering the offer. Oh, good lord, is he going to accept?
“No, this is ridiculous,” I say, stepping between the two of them. “The man in there just drove down here on drugs with no wallet and we’re going to reward him with a night out on the town?”
“You only focus on the fact that he’s lacking ID?” Ian teases. My face flushes and I turn away.
“Maybe Grant needs a guys’ night,” Harry says.
“Are you serious?” I twist toward him. “For real? You’re going to agree with Ian?”
“Ian!” Harry snaps. “That’s right. I remember you!” Good man. At least he plays it off well.
“Is nobody listening to me?” I cross my arms and tap my foot. I’m having horrible flashbacks to my childhood with a very unbalanced boys-to-girls ratio.
Corinne is in the corner of the patio, smiling at me as if this is a simple thing for the boys to figure out. Woman, this is a serious problem. How am I the only one realizing just how crazy this is?
I wave my hands. “No night on the town. No big party. No.”
“Unfortunately,” Harry says, taking in a deep breath then exhaling, “it’s two against one.” There we go—the ol’ sibling card.
“Don’t you dare play that game with me,” I say, lifting my index finger close to his nose. He pushes it away. I see Corinne giggle behind him.
Et tu, Brute?
“We’ll be back before you know it,” Harry says. “Scar-free.”
I look between Ian and Harry. They both have the same puppy dog frown on their face. Harry’s is cute, but Ian’s is positively heart-wrenching. What is this stupid soft spot I’m developing for Ian again? Why does his five o’clock shadow make me want to run my fingers across it? Why can I not stop imagining that jaw against my thighs?
“Arrest-free,” I add. I hate not being in control. I hate this so much. But, hell, I probably couldn’t stop them if I tried, and I can’t deny the draw of those icy blue eyes.
“No promises,” mumbles Ian. I shoot him a glare, and he throws his hands up. “Kidding.”
20
Ian
I like Harry. The first thing he says to me when we leave to find Cameron and Wes is, “You’re the dude who crashed our dinner a few years ago.”
“Bingo.”
“And how long have you liked my sister?”
“How long ago was that dinner?”
We exchange grins and continue down the elevator.
As it turns out, we catch Cameron while he’s pregaming with a flask down by the beach. He and Wes are already tipsy, and although Wes mentions something about picking up strays again, which I happily ignore, they both seem pretty excited about the addition of two new people. Lucky for me, they are also too tipsy to even ask who these men are after my haphazard lie stating that I met them at a bar.
Perfect.
Grant eventually wakes up, and he seems a bit more stable. His eyes are red and he is less than thrilled to see me, but Harry knows the right things to say to calm him down. I think the news that he is about to go to a bona fide bachelor party makes him more excited than able to muster up hatred for me. Although, the mention of us skipping the strip club causes the return of irritation once more. He’s a yo-yo that will be hard to “walk the dog” with tonight, but I’m always up for a challenge. Plus, they didn’t make me a yo-yo champion for nothing.
Man, summer camp was awesome.
I take one last look at Nia before leaving. Her eyebrows are pulled tight in the center. I throw her a smile, and surprisingly, she returns it.
“Here’s my phone number,” she says, handing me a piece of paper. “In case you need it. Just keep me updated.”
“You’re giving me your number?” I wiggle my eyebrows and she blushes.
“Don’t abuse it, Ian.”
/>
I type the number into my phone and shoot out a quick text. She looks down at her screen and scoffs. I’d kill to see that smirk every day.
“You sent me, ‘Hey girl’?” she says, holding up her phone.
“Entrancing, I know.”
“Good lord, just go.”
The bar is nearly empty when we arrive, but the groom insists on starting the party immediately, so it’s shots all around. Grant takes both his and mine. I almost protest, but whatever. I’ll just keep on eye on the old bastard.
Ian: Just arrived.
Nia: Cool.
Ian: Crowded bar.
Nia: No need for constant updates.
Ian: Ordering drinks.
Nia: Why are you like this?
It takes Grant a total of thirty minutes to finally talk to me again.
“You like little Apollonia?” Grant’s slurred voice rings over the music. Already drunk—what a surprise. Did the bartender seriously not card him? I suppose he is looking a little worse for wear and even older than he actually is.
“She’s not too fond of me, but I pride myself on the fact that I can eventually wear anyone down.” There’s a moment of quiet before Grant bursts out into laughter. It must have taken him a second to get the joke.
“There we go,” Harry says, patting Grant on the back.
“Ian!” Another familiar voice rises over the crowd and holy shit here comes the motherfucking goat man, barreling toward us with open arms. He attempts to hug both myself and Harry, but thankfully his reach isn’t long enough.
“Surprised you remember me,” I say, taking out my phone.
Ian: Goat man.
Nia: Goat man?
“How could I forget you?” he says, squeezing my cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. I twist out of his grip, causing his fisherman’s hat to topple over. Harry picks it up and hands it back.
“Who are your friends?” the goat man asks.
Ian: Hey, do you remember his name?
