Page 82 of Filthy Rich Ex's Brothers

Although the man rarely drinks, Travis does a good job of keeping each room stocked with good liquor. I make a whiskey on the rocks and sink down into one of the armchairs, thinking I wouldn’t be too put out to sleep down here.

I’ve gotten used to sleeping in all sorts of places while I’m traveling. On the ground, sitting upright, even in a tiny cot that my legs hung off the edge of. And usually, I’m able to clear my head pretty easily and fall asleep. Troubles don’t usually linger.

Lately, though, I can’t stop thinking about my youngest brother.

It’s not like Alex and I ever had a close relationship, but I can’t deny the pang in my chest at the idea of what I’m doing. Can’t shake the insistent feeling that I’m doing something wrong. That I should feel guilty for being so happy with Serena, especially since she was with him first.

But he didn’t just break it off with her… he hurt her. And from the sounds of it, he was financially abusive for most of their relationship. Asking her to pay rent when the rent was actually free.

My mind turns over the situation again, poking at the places that don’t make sense. I really don’t understand why Priscilla would cut Alex off from Stephen’s funds. Sure, she’s always been a little loose and reckless—going as far as to flirt with me immediately following my father’s funeral—but she’s not cruel.

And why was Alex making Serena pay him, even with Travis letting him live there for free? It doesn’t make any sense. The only thing it boils down to is that he did it as some sort of power thing. Knowing Serena worked so hard for everything she had, it might have been a type of kink for him—to take money from her when he didn’t need it.

Almost more than anything else, that’s fucked.

Sure, there are a lot of kids who grow up rich and don’t realize their privilege. I was not one of them. From the moment I was old enough to understand, it was like I could feel the exact weight of our presence in the world. The fact that quite a lot of our money came from less-than-savory avenues.

I’d even found the courage—using my mother’s name and legacy—to pressure Stephen into giving more. He’d started Bonnie Beats Hunger in response to me saying it’s something she would have wanted.

Which was true. My mother made Stephen a better person. At least, for a little while.

“What are you doing up?”

I startle, turning to find my brother in the doorway. Of course, he’s wearing a matching set of pajamas, while I’m in an old pair of sweats and a tattered shirt from some festival in Brazil.

“Needed a drink.” My voice is rough from disuse. I clear my throat and try again. “What about you?”

“I have this thing…” Travis pauses, sighs, runs a hand over the back of his neck. “I kept waking up, nervous that my alarm would wake Serena, then realizing she’s not even in my bed. So I just decided to get up, then I saw a light on down here.”

“You’re mental,” I say, tilting my glass toward him.

“Yeah,” he says, giving me a half-grin. A half-grin for a half-brother. “I know.”

Travis moves to the other side of the room and pours himself a tall glass of ice water. The guy is obsessed with health. It’s disgusting.

“Have you given it any thought?”

“What?” Travis asks, and my tired, whiskey-soothed brain reminds me that he doesn’t know what I was mulling over before he came down here.

“Why Priscilla would cut him off.” I finish off the drink. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m grateful he didn’t have access to enough money to fuck our shit up, but I just don’t get it. She doesn’t seem like the kind of person to cut her kid off like that.”

Travis shrugs, “Maybe she realized she needed to do some parenting, at some point.”

“That’s harsh.”

“Alex never had to work for anything,” Travis scoffs. “You think that has nothing to do with how he is now?”

I sigh, close my eyes, then open them and look out the window. Through the gentle, drizzling rain, I can just make out the dimly-lit tree line along the back of the house.

I have to hand it to Travis—this is a really nice place. A good pick. Almost like he could look into the future and anticipate our needs.

He’s always been good at that. Maybe it comes from being the oldest brother.

“Sure,” I relent. “Sure, it has something to do with it. But I don’t think it’s Priscilla’s fault.”

“I don’t think she was ready to be a mother,” Travis counters.

“I don’t think Stephen really gave her a choice.”