I felt as tired as I probably looked. “Something like that.” I grinned, gesturing for him to join me at the table. “Tea?”
He neared me and seated himself to my right. “So, was it the usual fuck frenzy that has you all tired out.” He chuckled. Shaking my head, I placed a cup of Earl Grey tea in front of him. As a young, brilliant barrister, Rhett might appear sophisticated in a courtroom but around me, he was unapologetically twenty-four, the crude kind. “Maybe you should give your dick a rest and work on that book you’ve wanted to write. Or perhaps you’d like to discuss what action your dick got up to last night?” He wiggled his brows.
“My cock and its social status are not up for discussion, Rhett. Unless you’re in dire need of some pointers,” I mocked. His flabbergasted look had me chuckling. “I didn’t think so. What brings you here?” The only time he dropped by this early was when he needed advice.
While I had two younger brothers with whom I shared a strong bond, and despite being ten years older than him, Rhett and I always seemed to bounce ideas off each other that we weren’t likely to share with the rest of the Sinclair tribe. That included anything from academics to sex. We were called an abnormality among the Sinclair men and why we probably got on so well. Where I was the only one to have green eyes in a history of blue-eyed men, Rhett was the only one born with blond hair in a bloodline of dark-haired men.
“There’s this case I’m thinking of taking on,” he said, pulling me out of my musing. Sipping his tea, he leaned back in his chair and turned contemplative eyes on me.
“So?” He’d never struck me as indecisive before, which piqued my curiosity.
“There’s a criminal element to it.” He set his cup down on the saucer and rested his crossed arms on the table. “I’m talking the serious mafia kind. The kind that could get me into trouble if I pissed off the wrong people.”
“That’s never stopped you before.” I chuckled, referring to him being caught with his pants down fucking his date over her husband’s desk when he walked in on them.
“I was a kid back then,” he snorted. “We’re allowed to fuck up when we’re nineteen.”
My brow shot up. “Yeah, with a serious hankering for older, married women.”
“How the fuck was I supposed to know she was married. I don’t exactly ask that question when a woman offers to blow me in the middle of a club dancefloor. Fuck, Seb, she took me down her throat in one quick swallow before I could say rabbit hole. Who would give up on that?”
Laughing, I shook my head. “I’ll let you have that one. So, this case?”
He sobered and stretched out his legs. “One of the companies I represent got sucked into a deal that went sideways when they discovered the mafia backed it.” He fingered the handle of his cup while continuing, “I’m not criminal court material, Seb.”
“How do you know?”
He looked at me. “What?”
“That you’re not the best criminal advocate out there. That you don’t have the balls to take anything on.” With my eyes on him, I bit into the slice of toast I’d just buttered.
“The fact that I voiced my doubts so openly should prove my inadequacy.” His shoulders lifted in a slight shrug.
Placing my half-eaten toast on the plate, I dabbed at the corners of my mouth with a napkin and stood. Rhett followed suit and together we walked out onto the balcony that overlooked my mother’s rose garden. Leaning with my back to the balustrade, I looked at my cousin. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, Rhett, it’s that those who never acknowledge their reservations are impostors. A deep dive into one’s soul is a sign of strength, not fragility. Facing your doubts is the first step of courage.” How often had my father drilled similar sentiments into me when I was just a fourteen-year-old boy who wasn’t ready to take on family responsibility? “What’s your greatest fear?”
Slipping his hand into his trouser pockets, he rested a hip against the balustrade and glanced out into the garden. “Failure.” His gaze met mine, indecision swam in those blue eyes—something I’d rarely seen with him. Rhett was a go-getter, a take no prisoners type of guy when he set his mind on achieving a task. “It’s debilitating,” he added.
“Do you trust your instincts?”
Again, he shrugged. “I guess I do.”
“Then, that’s all you need. Because the time will come when your fear of failure will be subjugated by an impulse to take action, to survive. You’re a Sinclair, it’s in you to fight and if you listen to your gut, you will succeed.”
He studied my face for a moment, then sighed. “Is that what you tell yourself as you approach your last year of the ritual?”
My smile was slight as I turned to stare out into the gardens. Surrounded by tall boundary walls, it gave Winthrop castle, my home, a tranquil ambiance that could otherwise be termed dull. “Just like you, I’ve accepted we cannot change who we are, Rhett, nor the outcome of our lives. The Brotherhood is and will always be a part of us that we must sanction, unless...” I let the words ebb on a self-explanatory reason only a Sinclair would understand.
“I wasn’t supposed to be here, remember?” There was contrite underlining to his tone.
“What do you mean?” I asked, frowning.
“My brother should’ve been here, Seb. He died, leaving me to face this godforsaken drama alone.” He raked a hand through his hair and turned away from me. I knew emotion had gotten the better of him. Four and half years ago, he lost his brother and it had taken almost a year for him to accept his passing was inevitable.
I gave his shoulder a light squeeze. “You still have me even if I’m full of shit,” I grinned.
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I should hope so.”
I chose not to answer. We both knew that some things just weren’t easy to discuss. “I had a bizarre run-in yesterday.” I rubbed a hand along my jaw, making a mental note to shave before leaving for work.
