“Of course. Marie made sure we could all do some DIY. I’m better than Jacks or Max too.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. You always were competitive. And murderous. Max told me about how many times you tried to kill him and Jackson,” Killian said, still staying at the doorway.
“You’re back!” My eldest brother slapped Killian’s back and pushed him into my room. “Claire, I’m so sorry about this morning. I had a late night and overslept. When Killian messaged me to say you were with him I knew you’d be okay.”
“So, you carried on shagging your fuck buddy?” I said, hands on hips, glaring at him. “I know my place in your list of priorities.”
Max pulled his face. “Killian said you were out and he was showing you round. We’ll go out tomorrow night – it’s pound a pint night at the bar in your halls.” He sat down on my bed. “I knew you’d be okay with Killian. He’s like another big brother for you.”
I glanced up at the tall blonde Viking. He was nothing like a big brother and judging by the expression on his face, he felt nothing like being my big brother either. “With you and Jackson I don’t need anyone else looking after me.”
Max pulled a face. “If anyone gives you any hassle - and believe me it will happen – tell us and we’ll rearrange their face. Or if you do end up with a boyfriend, don’t let me know. I’d have to threaten him.”
“Sure. Now go away. You’re potentially cramping my style.” I glared at the pair of them. Max stood up and waltzed out; Killian lingered.
“The café where we had cake, tomorrow at one?” he said quietly.
I nodded. “Definitely. I’ll see you there.”
And so, it began. For the next few weeks we met, ate, talked, held hands and exchanged chaste kisses when no one was watching, both aware of the impossibility of us. He and Max socialised with me and the friends I made and I settled in to university life, all the time aware that I was starting to drown in a feeling I hadn’t been familiar with before.
Chapter Three
Killian
“Beer? Or whisky?” Max asked, nursing a bottle of what looked like home brew. Given that Grant Callaghan had just bought a winery in Ontario I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had starting brewing his own as well. The man was a legend and I’d been lucky enough to have him around since I was eighteen, courtesy of being friends with his eldest son.
“The beer has no label,” I said, narrowing my eyes. Before I was drinking anything in this house I was going to find out exactly what it was.
Max grinned slightly, the secretive smile that had women eating out of his hands since freshers’ week. “Dad’s friend, Dave, has started brewing his own. It’s worthy of having a bottle or two. Just to be polite.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “I’ll be polite then.”
“Jacks, get a beer for Killian,” Max said, elbowing his brother hard in the ribs.
“For fucks’ sake, I’m not your fucking slave,” Jackson said, surprisingly not booting Max. Jackson had started at the same university the year after us so we’d spent a lot of time together, in the gym, drinking, playing rugby and more drinking.
“I’ll get them,” I said, which had probably been Max’s plan all along. “Are they in the kitchen?”
Max nodded. “You could always bring the whisky bottle that’s on the side,” he said. “Jackson has limited nights of freedom left. He needs to make the most of them.”
Jackson scowled. “I’m not going to be pussy whipped,” he said, quickly glancing around the room, probably to check that Vanessa wasn’t there.
“You’re right,” Max said. “You’re notgoingto be pussy whipped. Because you already are.”
I laughed, bolting for the kitchen while they bickered. The house was huge, an old farmhouse that had been extended and groomed into something interior decorators dreamed of. The kitchen was open planned with bi-fold doors looking out into the garden. A corner of it was a seating area, comfy chairs that I had fallen asleep on more than once and an oversized TV that was great for watching sport.
“What’s amused you so much?”
I turned and saw Claire at the fridge, pouring an orange juice. Over the past three years I had realised that when she had a big case she drank very little alcohol. “Your brothers,” I said, my eyes trying not to trail over her again.
She half smiled and I wished I could make her face brighten fully like I used to be able to. “I don’t think Max has come to terms with the idea of Jackson getting married yet, so we’re all in for a weekend of them annoying each other. I feel for Vanessa. I hope it doesn’t put her off Jacks – he’s even grumpier than usual when they’re not together,” she said, glugging the juice.
“I think it’ll take a lot more than Max annoying Jackson to scare Vanessa,” I said. “What about you? Are you seeing anyone?” I braced myself for both the answer and the biting way it would be given.
Claire held my gaze, putting the glass down on the worktop and biting her lips together. “No,” she said. “But you know that, so why ask?”
“Why would I know?”
