“Veronica?” Brooklyn joined me, sliding onto the stool next to mine. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I lied.
“Yeah, right. If you’re going to lie, at least try to make it convincing. Your whole face betrays you.”
I blew out a harsh breath and ordered shot of Patrón because champagne wasn’t going to cut it. “I’ll be fine, Brooklyn.”
Not because I reallywasokay, but because I alwayshadto be good. No matter what was going on in my life, I was expected to grin and bear it. Even through hurt feelings, tears, and life’s disappointments, my mother had always ordered me to suck it up and trust God. Broken bones? Thank God you have a doctor. Liver and onions? Be grateful you have food on the table. Boyfriend dumped me? Praise the Lord. He wasn’t the man for you. God was looking out. Cry? So many people have it worse. Depressed? No faith. Jesus would work it out.
At six, I’d had to sit out the Daddy-Daughter dance because my father didn’t want me. I’d never received anything from him. Not a call, a card, a gift. I would have settled for a letter in a plain white envelope and a thirty cent stamp. I never complained, though. The fact that he couldn’t be bothered to even call me on my birthday because I was a girl and not an heir to the Wellspring Water Corporation still stung. But I’d needed that call, I’d yearned to be acknowledged by him. I hated that feeling of not being wanted.I still hate it.
“Sis?” Brooklyn rubbed my back. “You can talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong? I want to help you.”
I shot my sister a sidelong glance. “I know you do, but I don’t think you can.”
She frowned. “Even if I can’t, I can still listen.”
My eyes watered but I willed the tears not to fall. It was New Year’s Day, damn it. No emotions, no tears, no heart-to-hearts in the middle of Brook’s Pub. “Maybe another time,” I said, offering her a small smile. I downed the shot in front of me and relished in the burn traveling down my throat and settling in my gut.
“Fine.” Brooklyn ordered two more shots. “If you want to drink, I’ll drink with you. Carter can drive us both home.”
I smirked. “I’m sure he would love that, handlingtwodrunk women tonight?”
Shrugging, Brooklyn said, “If he doesn’t, oh well. I’ll still suck his dick tonight, so he’ll be just fine.”
Unable to help myself, I laughed. Loudly. And it felt good. “Thank you for that, sis.”
“You know I got you.” The bartender,not Juke, set two full shot glasses on the bar in front of us. I picked up one and Brooklyn grabbed the other. “Toast?”
“To what?” I eyed her skeptically. “Please don’t say another year. That’s so cliché.”
“Girl! What the hell is going on with you? Birthdays are national holidays. I’ve been trying to tell you this forever.”
“Not forever,” I countered. “I literally just met you a few years ago.”
Brooklyn giggled. “Oh, shut up. One day, you’ll tell me why you hate your birthday so much.”
“Let me guess… this,” I motioned toward the cake that had been cut and served already, “was your idea.”
“It was,” Brooklyn admitted. “And I know you told us not to make a big deal, but I wanted to. I didn’t get a chance to steal your birthday thunder while we were kids. And since I’ve grown out of that center of attention phase, I had to do something special for you. To thank you for being my sister. To celebrate you because you’re a bad ass boss. Smart as hell. Beautiful. Kind. Fly in every way. You deserve birthday cake.” She met my watery gaze. “If Kennedi doesn’t eat it all,” she added under her breath.
Before my father died, I’d spent a lot of years feeling alone, like I didn’t have a place in the world. Parker Wells Sr. had effectively prevented me from bonding with brothers who would have protected me against every enemy, real or imagined. My bastard of a father kept me from hours of advice and support from my sister. And now that he was gone, I’d stepped into a world I had only dreamed of in what seemed like a past life. Family. Friends. Everything I didn’t know I wanted, but so desperately needed.
“I hate my birthday,” I confessed softly. “It has never felt likemyday.”
“Why?”
I hunched my shoulders. “Growing up, we prayed for the New Year and spent the day at church.”
“That sucks,” Brooklyn grumbled. “No birthday parties?”
“Not really. My mom didn’t celebrate birthdays. She thought it was a waste of money to eat empty calories and blow your spit onto cake that other people would eat. It just wasn’t a priority for her.”
While she’d spent years being Senior’s mistress, my mother had been determined to leave her past behind. After I was born, Susan Pittman became Reverend Pittman. She’d turned her life over to God and had never looked back.
I sighed. “I love my mother, but she was definitely about that church life.”
Brooklyn nodded. “And so you had to be, too?”
