“She’s right,” Dillon chimed in. “I want us to be the family we never had. It’s time to hang up your hat, bro. Come to the legal side. It’s sunny and bright over here.”
Dillon had been gushing about a cohesive family unit for the last few years since he befriended the tight-knit Maxwell brothers, who Dillon admired to a point that was sickening. He wanted us to be close like them and to do things on Sundays and holidays together. He’d even mentioned that all of us should live in the same neighborhood, like the Maxwells did. Each of them had built a house next to one another on a lake in the small town of Ashford, Massachusetts.
I couldn’t see that far into the future. Nor was I in any position or even mindset to consider Dillon’s dream.
“I’ve been on your side, Duke,” Denim said. “So I know the addiction. I also know it’s not that easy to break free. However, it is doable. Clean up this mess, and then call it quits.”
My laugh was anything but nice and happy. It wasn’t like I could snap my fingers and the cartel would be gone and I would be living in euphoria. “I didn’t ask you here for an intervention.”
Dillon grunted. “But you knew it would lead to this.”
“Okay.” Grace let go of me and patted the tears from her cheeks. “Let’s talk about something happier. Dillon wants to ask you something.”
Dillon picked at the label on his beer bottle. “Duke doesn’t do fancy dinners, but why not ask?” He leaned back in his chair. “I’m hosting a charity gala to raise funds for the Hart of Hope House. My business is growing, and I’m planning on finding a larger space.”
Grace beamed with pride. I had to admit I was proud of Dillon too.
“When I had the vision for a women’s shelter,” Dillon continued, “I never expected it to grow as fast as we did. All of us here support the cause of battered and abused women.”
“Of course,” Denim chimed in.
I gave Dillon a nod. “How much do you need?”
He grinned. “As much as you would like to donate. Tickets for the gala are two hundred dollars a plate. I want all of you there.”
Grace batted her long lashes at me. “You can be my date. Or we can find you one.”
I couldn’t say no to my sister. “I’ll think about it. At the very least, I’ll write a check.”
“Good,” Dillon said. “I’ll send you the details, but it’s set up for next month. The second Sunday in December, in fact. I’m making the theme Holiday of Hope. It will be a black-tie affair.”
I did at least own a tux.
“While Duke is in the giving mood,” Denim said, “Jade and I are hosting Thanksgiving.”
I held my breath. I hated the holidays. Every year, my siblings tried to coax me into all that gooey crap about being thankful and shit. The only thing I was thankful for was the fact that they were alive and happy.
Once again, Grace was blinking those pretty lashes at me. “Please come. Please. You’ve never spent a holiday with us.”
I knocked back the rest of the liquor. “Maybe.”
She squealed. “I’ll take that answer. I have over two weeks to turn that into a yes.”
Her happiness was everything to me.
“You know what would be awesome?” she said. “A nice woman to settle Duke down.”
I almost choked. “Grace, please don’t start with that.” Give her an inch, and my sister took a mile.
“She’s right.” Dillon jumped on Grace’s bandwagon.
“It’s time to move on from Savannah, bro,” Denim added.
“All of us know you had a headstone erected in Weston in her honor,” Dillon said. “We know you go out there every year around this time. Is that where you came from today?”
“Are you following me?” I asked, rearing back in my chair until I remembered Grace had seen the receipt from the cemetery on my office desk when I’d first purchased the headstone.
Grace frowned. “I’m sorry that I told them.”
