Page 21

I hear the sound of slapped backs and mumbled greetings happening behind me, but I’m stuck. Half turned in my seat, eyes locked with a pair of blue ones and a stoic face on the other side of the bar.

Dillon.

He looks from me to my brother behind me.

I look from him to the woman at his side.

She’s talking, ruby red painted lips moving, and then an elegant hand with matching nails grasps his forearm on the counter as she laughs.

I’m instantly annoyed.

She’s got voluptuous, long auburn hair that I just know no bottled color could ever replicate. She’s still talking and still touching him. When I look back at him, his eyes are back on me. I grimace at the intense swoop of my stomach and force myself to turn.

“Dear God, Warren, you look like shit.” His beard is more grown out than I’ve ever seen it, and the purple bags under his eyes are darker than they were the last time I saw him. The bruise is fainter now, more yellow than purple as it heals.

“Thanks,” he deadpans, giving me a half-hearted noogie that I try to dodge.

“No, seriously, War. Have you been sleeping? Oh, my God, did Morgan kick you out? Are you house-less?”

Warren’s throat bobs with a swallow, and he rubs the side of his head, looking behind me. He’s uncomfortable. I can see it in the tense lines around his mouth and eyes. Is he looking at Dillon?

Shit.

“Morgan didn’t kick me out, no.”

I put my hand on his arm, hoping to get his attention back down to me and away from the Neanderthal across the bar. “War? Did she leave?”

That would explain the boxes Dillon was putting in Morgan’s car. God, I’m a shitty brother, aren’t I?

Besides a few texts every day, I haven’t checked up on him. I’ve been too consumed with Does Not Exist.

“Leave?” he says absently, then shakes his head and steps closer like myself and the whole damn bar aren’t between him and the other side of the room.

He’s definitely spotted Dillon.

I glance over my shoulder, but I can’t see Dillon behind Ellis. Looks like Warren can, though. He’s breathing like a damn bull.

“I’ll be back,” he says, and I try to grab for him, but he slips around Zane and moves through the Friday night crowd coming in.

“Shit,” I hiss, spinning back around on my barstool. Zane and Ian take their seats again on either side of me. “Shit.”

“Shit,” Zane agrees. He picks up his glass but sets it back down when he realizes it’s empty. “If Ellis comes back while I’m gone, tell him I’ll take a refill. Gonna hit the bathroom.”

I nod, downing the rest of my wine. I’m going to need several more of these, I fear.

“I don’t think they were happy,” Ian blurts out. He drums his fingers anxiously then peeks at me when I turn to look at him.

“Like even on non-arguing days?” Then I gasp and turn towards him. “Wait a damn minute, Eeyore. You’re with him every day working at the gym. Holy shit, what do you know that you’re not telling me?” Turning towards him was a problem, though.

Because now I can see Dillon again.

And his redhead.

I squint, trying hard to hold control over my eyes and keep them planted firmly on my brother who looks like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Or, in this case, caught with information that he knows damn well I want to know.

“Spill it, Eeyore.”