“You’ve been here for months.”
“I know.” Rhys leaned forward and set down his drink.
He had been in Myers Bluff for months. He liked being in Myers Bluff, and even though his brother was best friends with Callahan McMillian, Rhys had managed to avoid him for the most part. Or at least, avoid conversation with him.
“Come to the gala at the museum,” Sebastian pressed.
Remington was an archivist at the California Museum of Literary Arts and thanks to some generous donations Sebastian had anonymously made the year before, Remington’s work would live to see another day and, as a bonus, be celebrated at a massive gala, apparently.
The irony of the situation was not lost on Rhys because Remington himself was rich. Disgustingly rich, if Rhys was being honest, which was always and also never. But unlike him, Remington didn’t care for the trappings of having old family money. Instead, he shied away from it and let it collect interest in the dark.
“Didn’t I move here to get away from all of that?” Rhys asked.
“Among other reasons, probably,” Remington mused. “I’m honestly not sure why you moved here.”
“To get closer to Sebastian’s copper sink, obviously.”
Remington’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Stop that, Rhys. I might end up liking you.”
“Callahan will be there,” Sebastian said.
“All the more reason for me to not go.” Rhys waved his brother off.
“It’s public. Annoyingly so. Callahan won’t cause a scene. It’s as close to neutral ground as the two of you are ever going to have.”
“I’m not going. That’s final.”
Rhys rose and picked his drink back up from the table. The condensation around the crystal tumbler felt slippery against his palm and he traded hands to wipe the wetness against the front of his slacks. The vodka already looked like it had been watered down from the melting ice and he lamented the fact that Sebastian hadn’t used his good ice cubes. He would fix it, like he fixed everything else. Rhys finished his drink and carried his glass into the kitchen to mix a new cocktail.
“You can’t avoid him forever,” Sebastian called out after him.
“Jace wishes he would,” Remington said softly, the thought obviously only meant for Sebastian’s ears.
“I’m not,” Rhys hollered back. “I’m not you, little brother. I don’t run away from my problems.”
That barb was met with silence, which Rhys deserved.
He didn’t think the statement waswrong.He knew it was mean, but he was tired. He was so tired, and that was how he’d found himself in Myers Bluff in the first place. After thirty-seven years of doing what everyone else wanted, what everyone else expected, what everyone else needed…
Cleaning up Sebastian’s mess with his ex-wife Daniela had been the last straw.
Sebastian had always been more tempestuous than Rhys. He’d always been the less predictable of the two. Rhys envied him for that. He wished he’d never known a time when their father had split his attention. But there were five years of his life when Rhys was the only son, and then he’d become the first son. The oldest son. And somehow that was worse.
He was glad to bear the burden of responsibility if it made Sebastian’s life easier, but maintaining the integrity of the St. George name got harder and harder the older they got.
Ten years ago, when Rhys had taken a job at the school that bore his name, Callahan was about ready to graduate and Rhys had every intention of making an honest man out of his younger brother’s best friend—and himself…
No.
He didn’t want to think about that conversation.
He didn’t want to think about that time in his life.
And he definitely didn’t want to think about Callahan.
Rhys mixed himself a stronger drink and returned to his seat in the living room. Remington tracked him as he walked, stare expectedly cool. Sebastian stared ahead at the wall, doing his best to pretend Rhys didn’t exist.
“That was a deliberately hurtful thing to say, Sebastian.” Rhys sat down across from his brother. “I’m sorry.”
