Page 24

Have you read Angela Duckworth’sGrit? She mentions that perseverance and effort are what it takes to succeed in life. And effort counts twice. You have this in spades. So I know, if you trip and fall, you’ll just dust your knees off and get back up. Plus, we’re often the toughest critics of ourselves. You’ll succeed someday. I know it and believe it.

I smile at her words, a soothing balm to the ragged wound in my ego. I was right. Reading her words made me feel better. Her trust and faith is an addictive drug, and I want more of it.

“Ethan? Earth to Ethan, what are you staring at?” Rex snatches the journal from me.

“Fucker. Give that back, C!” I jump out of my seat and throw a right hook at my brother without thinking. Luckily, he dodges out of the way just in time.

The violent impulse shocks me. All I know is when he grabbed the book I had to make sure no one else read it because the words belong only to me and Dreamer.

Rex’s eyes widen. I snatch the journal from him, my face aflame. He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Damn. What do you have there, state secrets?”

“Just notes from work, jackass. You know I hate being disturbed when I’m working.” I roll my eyes.

Rex arches his brow before tossing his suit jacket near the coatrack. He plops down on a sofa and stretches his legs. “I don’t know how we’re related, workaholic.”

“I don’t know how you’re the older one,” I mutter under my breath.

“I heard that. And thank you.”

“It’s on purpose. It’s not a compliment.”

He smirks and waggles his brows. The Anderson charmer, or Mr. C, because our parents alphabetized our middle names with Maxwell’s being Angus, Ryland with Benedict, to Lana with Eloise—the ladies love him and he loves them back.

“I’m not in a rush to carry the weight on my shoulders like the folks over there.” Rex juts his thumb toward Maxwell, who just ended his call.

“What are you two fighting over now?” Ryland grumbles and snaps his laptop shut. Maxwell chuckles and takes a seat.

“Rex and his womanizing ways.” I stuff the journal back into my bag.

Maxwell eyes the motion and arches his brow. I shake my head. The man misses nothing, but he isn’t nosy, unlike Rex. “I heard there was a hiccup with the investments, Ethan.”

A muscle tics in my jaw and I fist my hands on my lap. Of course, the loss has made its way to him already. “It’s my fault, not Trey’s. An oversight with the model.”

“Can we course correct?” Ryland steeples his hands. Their attention is heavy—an unwanted spotlight.

“I’m meeting with Trey tomorrow to discuss. We might not make it all back, but hopefully we can break even.” I chug down my beer to do something with my hands.

“Don’t be too aggressive—learning the ropes takes time, Ethan. There’s no rush.” Maxwell’s eyes soften into something akin to sympathy. “You have time.” He smiles encouragingly, the way an older brother dotes on his younger siblings.

I don’t want sympathy. Or gentleness. I want pride and recognition from his eyes.

“I’ll fix this.”

As the words slip out of my mouth, I realize I want to do it not only for my brothers, but also for Dreamer.

Because somewhere out there, she believes in me, not because I’m an Anderson, not because I’m related to her.

She believes in me for me and me alone.

Chapter 8

“Babe, so what doyou think? Would your brother be interested in investing?” Dayton sprawls on his sofa in his loft in Brooklyn, which unfortunately is littered with his usual man cave mess—half empty bottles of hard liquor and takeout containers.

I pretend I don’t hear him as I head into his kitchen to buy myself a few seconds. For the last few weeks, I’ve done some soul searching. With IBA on spring break and my project for school done—I got a C because I suck at finance—I had time to think about my relationship with him.

Originally, I wanted to avoid hurt feelings and let the relationship end when I graduate from high school. But if it isn’t going anywhere and my feelings for him aren’t changing, what’s the point of wasting more time?

Rip the bandage off, Lexy. Just tell him.