“Yeah. A few years ago, he marriedFelicity. She might be two or three years my senior—I’m not sure. I wasn’t invited to the wedding.” In truth, I don’t think about my parents much. Dad left when I was young, and I didn’t see him much. I’m not close to either of my parents.
“Roman,” Stella scoffs. “You’re telling me that you have a sibling?”
“I guess I do.”
Stella smacks my arm. “Roman! You’re a brother. Boy or girl?”
I assume she’s talking about my sibling. I lift my brows in thought. “Brother. I think.” But the truth is, I know. I have a brother. His name is Mason.
“You don’t know?” She turns herself in her seat, and she’s staring at me now.
I brace myself for another smack. “I haven’t met him. Dad has a whole new life with Felicity and their kid. He’s pretty happy to keep his old life in the past. Including me.”
Stella’s hand reaches out, planting on my thigh. Her voice is soft, like this is terrible news. “I’m sorry.”
But I blow out a tired sigh. I lamented over the loss of my father long ago. And after we lost Brice, it felt obsolete. “I’m over it.”
“No,” she says, her fingers moving in soft circles on my leg. “That isn’t something you just get over.”
I swallow with her touch but keep my eyes on the road. “It’s okay, Stell. Really.”
She leans back in her seat once more. “You have to meet this kid, Roman. You have a brother!”
“Wha—No, I don’t. I just told you. Dad’s moved on. We aren’t really part of?—”
“Roman. You have a brother. A brother! What would Brice say?”
I swallow past the ache she’s caused in my throat.
But before I can answer, she’s talking again. “What’s his name?”
“Mason,” I say. There’s no use in fighting her on this. “But it’s not like he’ll care about me. He’s got his parents and?—”
“Believe me,” she says, that hand back on my thigh, forcing me to glance her way. “He’ll want to know his brother. Having a brother is special. I’d know.”
I can’t argue with her. Not when it comes to Brice. He was important, and he was a great brother. I clamp my mouth shut, keeping quiet on the subject.
“We need to go see him. We need to bring him a Christmas gift.”
“Stella,” I growl.
But Stella is unaffected. “We’re not going to argue about this. You have to?—”
“Fine. We can send him a Christmas gift.”
“And you’ll call him.”
I huff. “Fine. I will call my dad and see if he minds.”
She retracts her hand, facing forward, making me wish we were still arguing.
“Since you made plans for us tonight, I think it’s only fair that I get a say in our activities.”
“You made plans for me yesterday! I wouldn’t have asked Fran and Rosalie over.” She’s looking at me again, like my own personal sunshine lighting up the cab of this vehicle.
“Admit it. You’re glad I did.”
She deflates, looking away from me. “Fine. I like them. They’re nice. One day, I might even call them friends. There. Happy?”
