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Forty-four
Patrick
Thursdays are usuallyrough. Even with catching a few hours sleep before I left for the office, I’m dragging. The only thing that’s keeping me going is the fact that the sooner I get my desk cleared, the sooner I can knock off and go home. Grab a quick shower and change my clothes before seeing Cari.
I texted her as soon as I got to the office this morning, telling her to call me as soon as she woke up. It’s almost 10 AM, and I still haven’t heard from her. I imagine her curled up on her side, hands tucked under her chin, the way she likes to sleep. Right now, I’d give just about anything to be sleeping beside her.
Instead, I’m here. Trying to concentrate on submitting an application for a building permit for the new project we just landed—something that’s usually Declan’s job. He’s been slipping lately. Off his game. Not so much that anyone but me would notice but I’ve been noticing it for weeks now. If I were a total dick, I’d shuffle the extra work off onto Jane. She’d probably jump at the chance to do something that didn’t involve color-coding Declan’s filing cabinet. Instead, I push through the paperwork.
As annoyed as I am, I can’t find the energy to work up a full-fledged mad. I’d be dropping the ball all over the place if I was staring down the barrel of the nightmare that is marrying Jessica.
Shit. I’d probably fake my own death and move to Outer Mongolia.
I hear boots stomping, fast and heavy, up the stairs and I look up from my desk in time to watch the real reason I’m here and not taking the day off, push his way through the door.
“Where is he?” Con says, striding past my desk, on his way to the conference room. Throwing the door open, he sticks his head inside, despite the fact that it’s dark as pitch inside. “I’m serious, Patrick.” He slams the door closed and turns to glare at me. “Where the fuck is my brother?”
He hasn’t called me by my given name since we were kids. Hearing it from him now is strange and more than a little bit disconcerting. I aim a look at Jane’s desk. She looks alarmed. “Not here,” I say, keeping my tone level.
“No shit, asshole,” he shoots back. “Where is he?”
I roll my eyes and lean into my desk again to pick up on the application where I left off. “Calm down, Con—”
“He kissed her.”
Shit.
I knew something happened last night between Declan and Tess. The way he chased her behind the bar. The red welt on his jaw. Her asking Logan to go with her to his wedding. Yeah—I knew something happened, I just didn’t think Declan was capable of losing control like that. I didn’t think he was stupid enough to do it around his brother either.
Skipping the part where we passive-aggressively attempt to communicate with each other, I use the intercom. “Jane,” I say, not taking my eyes off Con. “Take an early lunch.”
“... but it’s not lunchtime.”
“That’s why they call it early.” I shoot her a quick look. “Now, Jane.”
“Yes, Mr. Gilroy.”
A second later she’s standing and collecting her bag. A few seconds after that, she’s gone.
I look up to find Conner standing over my desk. The look on his face makes me glad I put Declan in a truck and sent him out to spot check job sites. “Tess is a big girl, Con,” I tell him, despite the tightening in my gut. “She doesn’t need you to fight her battles for her.”
“First, that fucking bitch shows up at my place and has the balls to actually invite Tess to the wedding, and then he shows up and—” He stops himself and takes a deep breath. When he lets it out, he’s not one bit calmer. “Where. Is. He.”
“I don’t know.” To someone looking in on the situation, Con’s reaction to his brother’s fuck-up would look a lot like jealousy. To someone who understands Con and the history he and Tess share, the picture isn’t so black and white. “And I don’t expect him back anytime soon.”
“I can find him on my own, you know,” he says, jaw clicking around each word it’s so tight. “All I need is two minutes and an internet connection.”
“I know,” I say, giving him a shrug. “Which makes me think maybe you don’t want to find him. Not really.”
“Fuck.” Con swipes a hand over his face, shaking his head. “Got any beer in this dump?”
“Check the fridge.” It’s barely ten o’clock in the morning, but if a beer is going to keep Con from killing his brother, I’ll give him a case of the stuff. I type a few more entries into the computer while I listen to him rummage around in the mini-fridge in the kitchen area across the room. He comes back a few minutes later with a bottle of Trillium.
Using the side of my desk, he pops the top before tossing the cap on my blotter. “You look like shit,” he says before taking a long pull from his beer.
“I look like you,” I tell him without looking up from my computer.
Con laughs at my joke, but the sound of it is flat and humorless. “Late night?”