Danny’s eyes narrowed, processing that. He knew what it meant for a pro athlete to walk away from a Major. “Just be careful, Orly girl. You forget I’m around his type a lot.”
“Fuck that, you’re one of them,” I teased, nudging his shoulder.
He looked offended. “Excuse me, I am not.”
“I bet you’ve turned my flat into a right shag pad since I’ve been away.” I grinned, trying to pull him back from the heavy stuff.
“Yeah, right. I wish.” His smile softened, but the shadow didn't leave his eyes. “I’m just saying, if you need me to kick his ass, I’ll do it for free.”
I slipped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in for a side hug. “Thanks, big bro. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Chapter 39
Tyler
New York
Late August
My cab easedup to a little basement restaurant in Greenwich Village just a little before eight p.m. It was the type with no sign, just worn brick, a narrow staircase, and the flicker of low lighting inside. It was small and tucked away, the kind of spot you had to know to find, and after two weeks of airports, interviews, and missing Orla like a constant bruise, it was exactly the kind of quiet I needed.
I’d landed in New York the night before and told my brother I’d catch up with him and his wife while I was in town. Travis and I didn’t see each other much anymore. The chaos of life, work, all the usual excuses but I owed him dinner. He’d married Eve last year, a former model with a smile the camera loved and a personality that scared half the family shitless. I liked her, though; she made him lighter.
I handed the driver a few crumpled twenties, more than enough to cover the fare and my miserable scowl, and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The late-summer heat of New York hit me but this little corner of the Village was mercifully quiet. I did aquick scan—checking for the glint of a lens or anyone lingering too long with a phone out—before I ducked toward the stairs.
I pushed through the heavy wooden door, the distant noise of the city cutting out instantly.
Travis was already there, his broader frame looking slightly too large for the delicate bistro chair Eve sat next to him, her posture as perfect as the day she’d retired from the runway.
“Little brother,” Travis said as he stood, clasping my hand before pulling me into a quick hug.
“Long time no see, Trav.” I turned to Eve, kissing her cheek. “Eve. Looking beautiful as always.”
“Thank you, Tyler. Hey, you were on fire this week,” she said, giving me that polished smile that could sell perfume in a single glance.
“Yeah, feeling pretty good about my game.”
Travis flagged the waiter for drinks. “Well, good to hear, because Mom’s back in rehab.”
My stomach dipped. “What? Since when?”
“Three weeks ago. She called me last week, swore she’s sticking it out this time.” His voice was casual, but the serrated edge was definitely there. “Anyway. Canada. You had a good run, huh?”
“Yeah,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “It’s been…a good couple of weeks.” I didn’t like the way we brushed over the subject of my mother but honestly, I didn’t have the time or the energy to go into it now.
Travis smirked over the rim of his glass. “Yeah, in more ways than one, what was it this week? Brunette, I think?”
Eve shot him a look. “Trav, don’t be an ass.”
I didn't bite. I just shook my head at his flippant mention of the photo—the one of Orla and me that had been haunting the tabloids for days. “It’s not like that. I’ve been seeing her for a while.”
Eve’s brow lifted. “She’s not your usual type.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Maybe not, but I really like her.”
Eve stilled, her smile softening into something almost tender.
“Tyler…” she said quietly, almost like she didn’t want to spook me. “I’ve waited years to hear you say something like that.”
