“Have you tried?”
A shoulder lifts. “I offered him money for the surgeries and medication. Stuff that I didn’t want him to cover if he didn’t have to.”
“What about an apology?”
Pressing his lips together, he stays silent.
I shake my head. “I think a genuine apology would make things better than you think. Throwing money at a situation isn’t going to do anything but make him angry, especially if it proves you have what he doesn’t because of what happened.”
“He was really good at the sport,” he murmurs.
“Does he know you think that?”
A head shake.
“You should tell him,” I say.
His brown eyes are soft with doubt. “Do you really think talking will help? It’s been years of resentment between us. I hardly think saying sorry and asking about the sport he can’t stand is going to make him feel better.”
His tone isn’t incredulous, just coated with disbelief. I smile. “Did talking to me help you? Because I know having this conversation made things better with us. Who’s to say it couldn’t work with him?”
When he doesn’t say anything, I rest my cheek against his shoulder and let him think about it in silence.
After a few minutes, I say, “Noah?”
“Yeah?”
“You really need a shower.”
He laughs. “I need some food.”
I pat his leg, let go of his hand, and stand. He watches me as I back toward the door. “You hop in the shower, and I’ll grab us something to eat. Your mom will be happy knowing you’re at least trying to sober up.”
“She told me to get help.”
I pause. “It might not be a bad idea.”
All he does is frown.
I shrug. “Think about it.”
When I escape the room, I turn and smack right into a hard chest that has he bouncing backwards. “Geez, sorry about—” My voice cuts off once I see Daire looking down at me with accusation in his dark orbs.
“You and Lover Boy make up?”
I cross my arms over my chest at the sneer in his tone. “I feel sorry for you sometimes, Dairen.” He blinks, surprise flickering across his face. “I feel sorry for you because you clearly don’t know what it’s like to forgive. And that probably has a big part to do with Noah and his awful communication skills. But, for your information, yes. Me and my friend made up. Because that’s what friends do.”
Once again, he blinks. “That easy?”
I shrug. “He’s going to be mad for how we went about things and it’s going to be weird between us for a while. I mean, he saw my boobs.”
His eyes instantly go to my chest. “I doubt he minded that part much.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve been best friends with your brother for a long time, and that’s all we’ll ever be. He and I both know it, so we can get past it. I highly doubt you going after his flings will make him hate you as much as you hope it does, though. So, if that’s why you’re here talking to me—”
“He cares about you.”
“Yeah, he does. And I care about him, but not the way you obviously think. I guess I’m a better actress than people give me credit for if you believe more is going on, even after what he walked into at the hotel. If that’s the case, maybe I’ll win an Oscar after all.”
Confusion crosses his face, but I don’t let him speak. “I talked to Noah about…stuff. And I think he’s going to want to talk to you. I don’t know what he’ll say or if he’ll chicken out. Because your brother is a chicken. At least about the real stuff that deals with emotions. So, good luck. That’s all I have to say. Enjoy the party.”
I begin walking around him, but he wraps a hand around my arm to halt me. “You’re something else. You know that, Addy?”
A grin cracks my lips. “I’ve been told that a time or two. See you around, Daire.”
I walk away, picking up a new bottle of water when I pass by the table of refreshments. I’m not sure why I do it, but I pull my phone out of my little clutch and type out a text to my mom.
Me: Merry Christmas. Love you xx
I don’t expect a reply right away or even wait for one before slipping it back into my bag and walking over to the food.
Noah’s mom stops beside me as I load up a plate for her son. “Is he okay?” she asks quietly, concern obvious on her features.
Nodding, I offer a small smile. “He just needs some food. He’s taking a shower now. I think eating will help sober him up a bit. And maybe talking to Daire before the night is over.”
Wariness crosses her features, but her husband comes up and pats her back. “I think it’s long overdue, Samantha. Don’t you?”
With reluctance, Mrs. Scott nods.
I pass her the plate of food. “I actually think I’m going to head out. Can you give Noah that and make sure he eats?”
His parents look at me.
“You’re leaving? You haven’t even opened the presents we got you.” That comes from Mr. Scott, who always makes sure I have something to unwrap along with the boys.
“I did what I needed to. It’s time I go and let the boys talk.” I think about my DVR full of my favorite Christmas movies and the cookies my agent had delivered for the holidays. “Plus, there’s a script I want to go over for next week. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, though.”
Kissing them both on the cheeks, I walk back to the elevator feeling oddly satisfied with myself.
I’m shocked when I get my phone out to call a car and see a response from my mother.
Mom: Merry Christmas, sweetie! We’ll FaceTime tomorrow after my shift. I love and miss you. xo
Chapter 10
Daire
* * *
When I was 22, I got a slurred phone call from my 16-year-old brother that had me grabbing my car keys and tracking his cell until I found him stumbling down the sidewalk of St. Mark’s Place in the East Village.
It was one in the morning, and he was walking a few feet behind a group of people who were calling out to him to catch up. They were all trashed, but nowhere near Noah’s level of intoxication. He could barely keep himself up, stopping every so often to catch himself on a light post or postal box so he didn’t fall.
That’s where I found him. I’d pulled over and got his attention, recognizing a couple of the people when I jogged over to rescue the idiot who clearly indulged in too much whiskey by the smell of his breath. One of the guys with him was some up-and-coming pop sensation that the news outlets were comparing to Justin Bieber. A leggy brunette with him was the lead singer in a girl band that’s name still escapes my mind. Addy was nowhere to be found. I learned later on that Noah had lied to her about staying in when he was meeting with his buddies for a night out.
When I tried convincing Noah to get in my car to take him home, he’d fought me. Insisted I join them for fun even though he’d called to ask me to bring him home, which he either didn’t remember or changed his mind about. The events that happened after his protest are cemented into my mind for life.
“You need to come with me,” I tell Noah, yanking on his arm. “Mom is going to lose it if she sees photos of you plastered all over social media tomorrow.”