“Hey,” he says in a rush, like he wasn’t sure I’d pick up. “I called you yesterday…”
“Yeah.” I open the cupboard and grab a mug. “I was out.”
“Ah,” Daren says slowly, and I practically feel the tension bleeding out of him. “What were you up to?”
As I pour coffee into my mug, I try to think about how to answer that. I don’t think sucking off the Basin Kings’ VP on the clubhouse rooftop is going to be a satisfactory answer. “Just out for a beer.”
He pauses for a moment. “With…?”
A sigh escapes me as I place the coffeepot back in its cradle.
“What?” Darren laughs softly. “They’re important enough for you to miss a call from your big brother, so at some point we’re going to have to know who it is.”
I lean back against the counter and take a drink of my coffee.
I never thought about how my family would take this… situation. Whatever it is. They only ever met one guy I was seeing years ago, and it was nothing important. For me, anyway. I went through the motions because that’s what I was supposed to want—someone to settle down with, and build a life around. But I wasn’t connected to him, or to any version of myself that could have made that real. I didn’t want him… I just wanted to be the kind of person who could.
They were sad to see me throw away something that could have been good for me.
So, I don’t think they’ll be too pleased about Alder.
“So?”Darren asks.“Do I at least get a name? Or are you going to keep pretending I don’t know you’re seeing someone?”
“No,” I say, taking another drink.
He chuckles. “Which one? Come on. Give me something.”
“Can you just fuck off?”
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and immediately, I regret it.
Fuck.
Darren is silent for a moment as I close my eyes and wait for it.
“Cade…”
Here we fucking go.
“Are you ok?” he asks. I hear a door shut, probably going somewhere no one else can listen to what a disappointment his brother is. “Do you… Have you thought about talking to someone again? It’s been a while and… I don’t know, it helped you before, right? There’s no shame?—”
“I know there’s no fucking shame,” I snap.
And this time I don’t feel so bad.
I’ve seen therapists. Plenty of them, since I was a kid. I’ve been dragged into offices by Darren and my parents, forced to sit through sessions I didn’t ask for and talk about things I never wanted to say out loud.
And maybe on the outside it looked like it helped. But it was slow and exhausting, and the thought of sitting across from someone so they can tear me open again feels worse than drinking a bottle of rum every night.
Darren stays quiet, waiting for me to say something.
I pull in a breath and try to gather myself enough to end this.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“No, you’re not.”
My eyes immediately find the cupboard that holds a bottle of whiskey that promises to make this feeling go away.
