His expression darkens, but he doesn’t look away. “I love my sister, but that doesn’t mean I have to like her orwhat she’s doing. Just like I don’t really like how you’ve handled this situation, either.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “But we’re square, man. I can’t even be mad at you when you look this pathetic.” I tip my head back with a groan, making him chuckle, but then he tells me seriously, “I don’t need to take a step back, but I might punch you again if you don’t wise up and start treating Gracie better. She’s the real victim in all this.” He looks away, mouth working. “I hate that my sister added onto the shit that Gracie’s already dealing with.”
“You aren’t responsible for Paisley,” I rasp, regret clogging up my throat, because I added more onto Gracie’s shoulders than anyone else could. “And nothing Paisley did would have hurt Gracie if it wasn't for me.”
Nick nods, eyes coming back to mine. “We’re responsible for ourselves and the choices we make,” he says meaningfully. “We all saw you struggling, but you chose to lock us out.”
“I know,” I murmur. “I’m going back to Ashland in three days for another appointment with the counselor. And I was thinking of sitting down with Dad and Monroe—get some suggestions from them on how to handle this all better.”
Nick nods. “Good. You should talk to your mom, too.”
I send him a bemused frown. “Why’s that?”
He huffs out a laugh. “You’re a moron. You think she knew what she was getting into when she married your dad?” He lifts a brow. “The reason your mom was able to understand everything that weighed your dad down is that she lived the life for years. Once upon a time, she was just like Gracie, doing her best to understand and having no real idea of how to help. But she learned, same as your dad.”
“I didn’t even give Gracie a chance.” The truth spillsfrom my lips without any forethought—more honest than I’ve been in a while.
“No, you didn’t. And now, you’ll be fighting an uphill battle.” Nick reaches out to slap my shoulder—hard. “And it’s gonna be fun to watch you stumble.”
As I pullup outside Gracie’s duplex, my head is still throbbing like a bitch despite the Tylenol that Nick pressed into my hands before I left, and my mouth feels like I’ve been sucking on cotton.
I rap my fist against her apartment door because it doesn’t feel right to use my key right now, but the house is silent.
I knock again, just in case, but after several minutes, I accept that she’s not home. There are only so many places she could be, and the florist is closed today, so I head over to Bridget’s place—a small bungalow on the other side of town.
The front door opens before I’ve even reached the bottom step, and Bridget steps out, glaring daggers down at me. “What the hell are you doing here?” she snaps, and I can practically see the smoke steaming from her flared nostrils.
“I’m looking for Gracie.”
“And if she wanted you to know where she was, she would have told you.”
The temptation to pull my phone out and check rises, even though I know there’s not a single call or message waiting for me.
“I need to talk to her,” I say, keeping my tone calm and nonconfrontational. “I’ve been by her place and?—”
“She’s not here,” Bridget barks. “And even if she was, I certainly wouldn’t tellyou.” She whirls around and stompsback inside, slamming her front door so hard that the windows beside it rattle.
I suck on a tooth as I backtrack to the truck, each minute that passes sending more and more dread surging through my bloodstream.I’ve got a bad fucking feeling.
I pull up outside my parents’ house and jog up the path to the front steps. The street is quiet, everyone probably relaxing after ringing in the New Year.
I try the door, but it’s locked. I frown in consternation, pulling my keys out and slotting them in, hearing the deadbolt turn. But when I push the door open, the chain catches.
“What the fuck?”
“That you, Brax?” Analise calls cheerfully, her green eyes appearing as she peeks through the gap in the door. As she takes in my face, her eyes widen. “Wow. What happened to you? You look like you went a round with a boxer and got knocked out on the first hit.”
“Ha ha,” I mutter dryly. “Why is the chain on?”
Her eyes flicker down, like she’s only just realized the door isn’t opening. “Oh. Mom did it, I guess.”
“Well, can you open it?” I demand impatiently.
Analise’s smile doesn’t slip an inch. “Nope.”
“Why not?” I demand in exasperation.
“Look, Brax. Braxton. Brother of mine.” She lets out a long sigh. “I’m not picking sides here?—”
“What sides?!”
