She nods and closes the door again.
Salem leans around me. “Did you see?—”
“No. You’re going to your room.”
He scoffs, mock-offended. “You’re no fun.”
“That’s literally my job. I’m the oldest.”
Houston laughs once, low, and heads to his room. The suite gets quiet. I set my phone to vibrate and drop it on the bar. I don’t call Troy. There’s no reason to invite him into this.
Lou deserves a night of peace.
And if I’m honest, I don’t want him here tonight. Not after what we saw with him. Fucking shameful behavior. Hard to believe he’s even related to us.
I look at her bedroom door again and then look away. This isn’t about me. Lou isn’t a problem to solve; she’s a person who just got the truth pulled like a splinter. Anything would feel like kindness after the day she had. I’m not going to stand here and take credit for basic decency.
The shower in my room hisses to life in my head before I turn it on. I grab clothes, nothing dramatic. Dark jeans. Black shirt. Jacket I can ditch if the night goes off-axis.
I turn on the water and let it heat while I strip down. I step in and let the day run off and go down the drain. Sagebrush. Troy’s jaw set hard. Lou’s face when the truth landed.
It’s hard when your little brother continuously disappoints you. On some level, you feel responsible. Troy was Mom’s surprise pregnancy. Technically, we all were. But she thought she was too old to get pregnant when he came along. Troy is twelve years younger than me, but in some ways, he feels decades younger.
I made things too easy on him when he was a kid. So did Mom. If we had done things differently…doesn’t matter now. He’s thirty-two. He’s responsible for his own actions.
Still sucks, though.
When it comes to Lou, I’m not looking for trouble. I’m looking for a clean night and a clean exit. We’ll take her out for a good time, we’ll keep her off the radar if she wants, we’ll make sure she gets back to her hotel or stays here with a locked door. Like we all said, one night of fun.
When I step out, steam has blurred the mirror. I wipe a stripe with the side of my hand. Same craggy, lined face. Same hair that’s turning silver sooner than I’d like. Less dust. I dress. I keep the wallet light, the phone charged, and the pockets emptyexcept for what a night might need. I leave the jacket open. It makes people think I’m not about to say no to the next idea. It also makes it easier to move if I have to be the one who says it.
3
HOUSTON
No cluewhat to do for Lou. I don’t know her yet, so I give her space and head for the bar. The least I can do is make her a drink.
I take stock. Citrus. Soda. Simple syrup. Decent bottles. Ice that doesn’t taste like the freezer. Glassware clean. The suite gives us what we need if we know what to ask for. I line up three rocks glasses and a coupe, then glance over.
She comes out of her bedroom, dressed in a little black number that hugs her body and fuck-me heels she can barely walk in.
I hope she’s thinking of changing them, but I’m not about to say it. “Anything you won’t drink?”
She thinks. “Nothing too sweet.”
“Citrus okay?”
A nod.
I wash the limes, roll them on the counter, and cut clean wedges. The knife makes that soft click against the board. I fill the shakerhalf with ice. Mom loves a solid cocktail, so I’ve been making them since I was a kid.
Tequila, lime, a breath of agave, a pinch of salt, shake until the tin sweats, strain into the coupe, neat rim. I build two highballs with soda and citrus for backup. Water too. Always water.
I slide the coupe to the spot in front of her and push the water within reach. “Test drive.”
She takes a sip. The corner of her mouth lifts at the same time her shoulders drop. Not a full smile. Something better. “Perfect.”
“Good.”
