“When aren’t you?”
“Well, that was below the belt.”
“The truth often is,” she intoned, her fingers clacking away at her keyboard. “Just FYI, your groceries are arriving in two hours.”
“Did they have the raspberry water kefir I like?”
“They did. That stuff’s nasty. It tastes how farts smell.”
“Lucky you’re not the one drinking it then.” My lips curved. “Thanks, Parker.”
“No worries. Laundry service will be by before seven as well, and I managed to get a meeting with Francine Petronelli scheduled too—”
Parker managed both my personal and business life. Some days, I didn’t know where I’d be without her, even if she did have bad taste in fermented drinks.
“Parker?” I asked when she was done telling me about the next couple days’ schedule—most of which made me internally groan because I’d be spending more time in Manhattan than I’d like before Christmas.
“Yep?”
For a second, I contemplated blurting out the whole sorry mess with Scott to her. I’d long since learned that Parker had my back in all things, but…
It was humiliating.
Though I knew she’d make me feel better, I shoved those thoughts aside and turned it back to work.
When Rain came home an hour later and asked me how I was, even after speaking with Parker, F.I.N.E. was still my answer.
Frantic. Insecure. Nervous. Erratic.
He knew too.
Arching a brow at me, he asked, “Rach?”
Somehow, my baby brother had become a man who could discern that my throwaway answer was total bull.
As I stared at him, at his concern, I didn’t answer, just blurted out, “When did you grow up?”
A grin creased his lips. “You were there for most of it.”
Sometimes, even though I’d accomplished a lot while I was out of his life, I regretted those lost years.
Years where Axel had been the driving force in his childhood.
Years where my stepfather had managed to imbue a desire in Rain to become a goddamn soldier.
That was the last thing I wanted for him, especially knowing what Maverick had gone through during his service, but I knew that was his plan. He thought he could hide his dreams from me, but I could read him like a fucking book.
I huffed. “You’ve gone from an awkward teenager into this Captain America replica.”
Something flickered in his eyes, something that made him backpedal. “Nah, not Captain America—” I almost scoffed but he spoke over me, “I’m just working out more.”
More?
Ha.
He had muscles on top of muscles. I’d seen him working out in the yard the other day. He had actual pecs! My baby brother—pecs and abs. It was weird.
He was probably getting laid by all the clubwhores. We’d had the sex talk years ago, but I just hoped he didn’t get one of those bitches pregnant. I thought I’d prefer for him to serve our country than become a dad at eighteen.
As judgmental as that sounded, I figured I was in the right place to judge. I’d been pregnant at eighteen, and it had been hell for me. Why would I wish that on him?
“No shit,” I retorted. “Working out more? I’ve seen you training outside at all the hours God sends.”
He shrugged. “I like it. Anyway, what’s going on with you?”
Noting the quick shift in conversation, I didn’t bother grumbling under my breath as I made us both a coffee from the machine.
This was one of our rituals.
He had school, a job, and he trained, but we always met up for a coffee after he returned home.
Dumping his bag on the kitchen floor, he perched on the stool as he waited for me to slide the mug in front of him.
“Nothing’s going on with me.”
He snorted. “You could probably get away with that with anyone else but me. I know you too well.”
That wasn’t a lie.
Jesus, he was eighteen.
He was going to leave home soon.
Worse, he’d be in basic training.
There’d be no more coffees after school or work.
A bewildering feeling settled inside me—it was hurt and grief and panic. An odd combination that made me breathless with dread.
Forcing myself to calm down, to act normal, to focus on the conversation with Scott so I could explain it to him, I muttered, “Scott was a prick to me earlier.”
Rain arched a brow. “I don’t like him.”
“I know you don’t.” Rex didn’t either. “That’s not the point. I do.”
“You spend most of your time arguing,” he countered. “And he’s usually the one who puts you in a shitty frame of mind.”
I scowled. “That’s not true.”
Disbelief etched into his expression as he accepted the coffee. “What did he do this time?”
Rain didn’t know about Wynter. I didn’t want him to know. Not yet.
Someday.
But not today.
Clearing my throat, I answered, “He said that I didn’t care about his surrogate.”
Rain blinked. “Well, you don’t, do you?”
I almost snickered. “Rain!”
“What? You don’t!” he remarked guilelessly. “You’re not the most maternal of women, Rach, and there’s nothing wrong with that. I’d like to think you did a decent job with me but I don’t see you signing up for babysitting duties—”
God, it was uncanny how well he knew me.
Grimacing, I agreed, “No. That’s not me.”
“And seeing how he’s known you almost all your life, you’d think he’d have realized that by now.” His sniff was dismissive. “Anyway, what was the emergency this time?”
“How do you know there was one?”
He rolled his eyes. “Because there always is with him. He’s a pain. I like Craig. Craig’s rational. Scott, not so much.”
“I know what you mean.” Even that made me feel cruel though. Scott was very emotional, and there was nothing wrong with that, but Craig and I were on the same wavelength. “His surrogate has gone missing.”
“Missing?” Rain repeated blankly.
“Well, she hasn’t answered her phone—”
He started to snicker. “He probably calls her ten times a day, wanting to know if the baby farted or something, and she got sick of it.”
My lips twitched because I couldn’t imagine Scott wasn’t ‘hands on’ with the process. “That’s mean,” I chided.
“Mean but true,” was all he said, a twinkle in his eye that probably had the girls in his class fluttering around him like a flight of butterflies. “So, what was the problem?”
“Well, he thinks she’s gone missing, and I wasn’t as understanding as he’d have liked.”
“So?”
I swallowed and tried not to feel like I was back in grade school. “He called me names.”
He tipped his head to the side. “What did he call you?”
“Even gay guys aren’t imaginative,” I mocked.
“Bitch?” he guessed.
“Yes.”
He hummed as he took a sip of coffee. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing to be a bitch.”