“Oh… okay,” she says, seeming confused, but doesn’t press.
We head out to the back terrace. The terrace hasn’t changed much since we were kids. Same cool slate underfoot, the same wrought-iron railing curving along the edge like a ring rope. Our father had it built when we were little, said every fighter needed a place to rest between rounds, that even warriors deserved peace.
He’d sit out here for hours, shoulders too broad for the chair, calloused hands wrapped around a glass of whiskey,watching the sun go down like it was part of his training routine. That was the only time we ever saw him truly quiet.
This was his corner of the world.
Desmond and I spent half our lives out here sparring without gloves, throwing jabs with words instead of fists. It was where we smoked our first stolen cigars. Where he told me I hit like shit, and I told him he was too soft to ever win a fight. Where our dad taught us how to take a punch and walk it off. Where we sat the night of his funeral, not saying anything at all.
The furniture’s new. Sleek black couches and a fire pit now sit where his old bench used to be, but the ghosts are still here.
Once we’re seated, Desmond pulls out a slim silver case, cracking it open with a familiar click. Inside, two tightly rolled blunts. He hands me one and I take it.
The second I catch the scent, I know exactly where it’s from: our dispensary in Colorado. High-grade, top-shelf, smooth as hell. We’re silent partners, but the product never lies.
He flicks the lighter my way, and I light up, inhaling deeply. The smoke drags through my lungs, warm and grounding. It doesn’t fix anything, but it dulls the edge.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asks, exhaling a sharp cloud of smoke.
I don’t answer right away, taking another hit instead.
“I don’t know, man,” I say finally, exhaling slowly. It’s the truth. I’m more lost than I’ve ever been.
He stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Your fiancée’s little sister? Did I hit my head and wake up in some twisted alternate reality where I’m the responsible one?” He runs a hand over his face, shaking his head. “How did you let this even happen?”
He’s right: I’ve always been the level-headed one. Desmond’s always been the reckless one, the impulsive, unpredictable wildcard. And now here I am, the one bringing someone, not just anyone, but her, home to meet Mom.
Abigail’s little sister.
The line I never should’ve crossed.
But now that I have… I’m not sure I can go back.
“I don’t know,” I repeat, exhaling the smoke. “But I’m going to need you to shut your mouth about it.”
Desmond raises an eyebrow, then exhales another slow puff of smoke. “Oh, fuck… she doesn’t know, does she? And what about Abigail? Does she know you’re screwing her little sister?”
I want to tell him to watch his mouth when he talks aboutmy girl,but I catch myself before I hand him that kind of ammunition.
My girl.
The problem is… it feels right. The thought of Blair being anything less doesn’t sit well with me.
Desmond’s laugh comes loud and unrestrained. He leans back, grinning like the smug bastard he’s always been. I roll my eyes and flip him off.
“Holy shit,” he says between laughs, pointing the cigar at me. “Youloveher.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just…” I pause, searching for the right word, “…it’s just sex, okay?” I avoid his eyes, which only earns me another low, knowing chuckle.
“Jesus,” he says, quieter now, amusement fading. “You really do love her.”
“Okay, I’m gonna need you to stop saying shit like that. It’s not funny.” My tone’s sharper than I mean it to be, but it doesn’t have its usual bite, and he knows it.
Desmond smirks, the kind of look only an older brother can pull off.
“Besides,” I add, grasping for some ground to stand on, “what about anything I’ve done makes you think I’d be that whipped?”
“Uh, first of all, you brought her to meet Mom,” he says, holding up a finger like he’s counting off an unarguable list. “I don’t know if you’ve suddenly developed amnesia, but we both agreed years ago that we don’t bring women home unless they mean something. You know, out of respect.”
