There was no need to discuss this. He wanted answers, but I wasn’t ready to give them. He was wrestling with what he could have done differently, blaming himself almost as much as he did me, and I took satisfaction in that. I was witnessing firsthand the fruits of my labor.
We pulled into the underground garage of the apartment building, the same one my son who wasn’t my son lived in. That made me nervous . . . and that made me uncomfortable. Anger I could handle. Jealousy was just another day at the office. Happiness . . . the last time I’d been happy was the moment my heart had been ripped out of me. Nervous? What the fuck did I have to be nervous about, especially when it came to a pint-sized boy who barely knew his ABCs?
Wordlessly, Easton and I rode the elevator to my floor. My breath held when we made it past where the little guy who scared me lived. I needed a drink.
My brother pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and inserted it into the lock of a door just off the elevator. Surveying the lobby, I noticed only one other door. I hoped like hell I didn’t have any neighbors. By keeping my ears open, I’d learned Daniel Elliott had, in essence, purchased the whole building for his family and friends. Whoever had lived on this floor before had probably taken whatever cash he’d been offered and happily waltzed off to another apartment.
Easton held the door open for me, and I sauntered past, heading straight for the kitchen. This place was bare minimum: white walls, a black leather sofa and coffee table, an open-plan kitchen sharing the same space. It was nothing like the vastness of my parents’ place upstairs or the condo I was used to in Houston, which sprawled over an entire floor.
I tossed my jacket on one of the barstools and grabbed the nearly empty bourbon bottle next to the sink where I’d left it last night. I poured half a tumbler for Easton and one for me, sliding a drink across the laminate counter to him. Lifting my glass, I gave an insincere smile, tossing most of the contents down my throat. The burn barely registered, even as it hit my stomach.
“Why?” Easton asked, his voice lethally quiet, the drink I’d poured for him untouched on the counter in front of him. Understandably, Easton wanted to know why I’d manipulated EXODUS and embezzled cash from Carter Energy. He wanted to know why I’d pushed our father in the direction of Starlight Petroleum Energy when it came time to sell our family’s company. Why I’d exploited Holly’s vulnerabilities. And the list went on. I was a bastard. I shrugged. He studied me with piercing eyes, begging for answers I had no intention of giving. “I’m asking as the brother who loves you, who thought you were my best friend. Not the brother you screwed over.” There wasn’t one ounce of malice in his words, but they still stung.
“There’s no need to do this, brother,” I said, reverting to the defense mechanism I used best. “Let’s stop the false pretenses, shall we?”
“I’ve never used them.” He looked me in the eye. I had no problem straight-up lying, but my brother wasn’t me. He was a stand-up guy.
“You don’t give a shit about me, so let’s save ourselves the time and effort.” I finished my whiskey and immediately poured another. Easton still hadn’t touched his. The way he was staring at me, I braced for him to take a swing.
“If I don’t give a shit, then why am I here?” he growled, gripping the edge of the counter. “Why aren’t you in jail? Because the punishment does not fit the crime.” Anger and hurt swirled in his eyes. He wasn’t afraid to express himself, wasn’t above raising his voice to get a point across, but he was careful and didn’t lose control. Yet he looked a breath away from doing just that right now.
“You and Dad got what you wanted. We made a deal.” It had been easy enough to bring forth evidence that Starlight Petroleum Energy had purchased Carter Energy based on cooked books. But I’d made that go away when they promised the FBI wouldn’t look any further into it either.
“As much as you deserve it, I can’t stand the thought of you in prison.” He slung back some of the liquor. “I’m a sucker.”
“For marrying Mulaney? Yeah, you are.”
“Damn it, Drew.” Easton pounded his fist on the counter, accidentally hitting the glass and sending it and good whiskey flying. He rounded the island until he was in my face. “I love her. I don’t expect you to, but you will be respectful.”
“Always her first,” I muttered.
“She’s my wife,” he shouted, fists clenched.
She wasn’t always. But there was no point in saying that out loud. He’d chosen her over me since she’d started working for our family business. Maybe before that.
When I didn’t speak, the muscle in his jaw clenched, and he carried on.
“You have stolen hundreds of millions from us and lied about so much I don’t think you even know the truth. You imploded our company; the one we were supposed to run together. And you have torn our family apart at the seams. Crushed our mother, who, might I remind you, is dying. I have every reason in the world to hate you, but what I want more than anything is to have my brother back. The one I watched baseball and drank beer with. The one I shot the breeze with, who made me laugh no matter what kind of shitty day we’d had. The one who had my back, and I had his. Give him back to me, and I’ll forgive and forget any of this ever happened.”
He shook me, eyes imploring. My gut twisted, but my heart was too hard. “That person doesn’t exist anymore. Stop wishing for something that will never be.”
He shook his head. “You’re wrong, Drew. He’s in there. Maybe I’ll see him again, and maybe I won’t, but I won’t stop trying. You’re stuck with me like a shadow, little brother.”
“You’re gonna stay here with me?”
Easton hesitated, and I wondered if he would actually take it that far. He had his precious Mulaney. No way would she allow that. His grip on my shoulders tightened. “Yeah. I am.”
What. The. Fuck? “What about your wife?”
“She supports whatever needs to be done.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I thought . . .” He paused as if searching for the right words. “You and I should’ve talked about a lot of things.”
“I’ve been right here,” I shouted. He was the one who hadn’t told me he’d gotten married, let alone he was even with her. “You’re the one always huddled with Dad and Mulaney. I didn’t go anywhere.”
Easton recoiled, blinking in surprise. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve got your life,” I said bitterly. There was no working this out. I was blood, but I didn’t count.
“I want you in it,” he yelled, the vein in his neck pulsing. “What made you think otherwise? When?” Easton shook me, harder this time. “When?”
It was on the tip of my tongue, but I clung to the anger that had kept me strong. His plea was heartfelt, nearly piercing through the hardness inside me. Wasn’t this what I’d wanted? For someone in my family to hear me? To notice I still existed?
“I need a shower. Then I’m going to bed. Kitchen duty starts at five in the morning,” I finally said, my voice devoid of emotion.
Easton drew in a harsh breath, tamping down his desire for answers. “I’m going to get my things. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”