Page 107 of Broken Brothers

Don’t say anything, Chance.

“In any case, finish your drink. You’ve been working on that first one for a little bit too long. I want to know more about what’s going on.”

“Oh, what you’d expect,” I said, but I did as she asked, crushing what remained of my drink. “Edwin found out Morgan and I were going out on our own and has been doing everything he can to break us since. Was seeing if you had any advice.”

“Oh, honey, if I did, I would’ve broken free long ago,” Layla said. “You just learn how to win the small battles, ignore the ones that the older one thinks are big but are really tiny, and tolerate the major ones.”

“That…”

Seemed weak and lame? Yes. But did I finish?

It seemed strange. I was a man who prided himself on the blunt truth. But pushing the blunt truth didn’t seem like such a good idea when the person’s past consisted of a spiked wall they could fall into if the blunt truth was pushed too hard on them.

At least, that was the pragmatic excuse I told myself. Maybe I was just turning into a pussy.

“Let me ask you something,” I said, changing subjects.

“Do I want another drink? Yes, and I’ll get this round.”

I started to speak, but Layla got up with a wink. I just laughed and let my head hang in mock defeat. This was… weirdly fun, in that I had no choice but to think it was fun after the heavy conversation that had just transpired.

I glanced at my phone and saw I had two messages—Claire and Sarah. Of course. I also had a message that came through from Morgan, but it was just him asking if I wanted him to order dinner for me as well as him. It was an easy choice to say no.

The other two messages, though…

Life was beginning to add a little too much romantic weight, and it sure as hell didn’t help that I was developing protective feelings for the girls that I had. Now, more than ever, I needed to focus and tune out romantic relationships, and instead I was giving myself the exact opposite problem.

Layla plopped back down, scooting a little bit closer to me than before. She wasn’t brushing up on my body by accident, but she was in touching range.

“What was it you actually wanted to ask me?” she said.

“John Burnson,” I said. “You said maybe there was something between the three of them. We should find out if there is. If I’m going to fight the old man, I need as much information as I can on them.”

“Hmm,” Layla said, eying me as she drank her second margarita. “I tell you what. I can find out for you. I’m curious myself. Maybe it’ll help me with Craig.”

That she said that told me that she was not as free and independent of that asshole as I had hoped and she had implied earlier. It didn’t surprise me—there were some conversation topics that Layla probably couldn’t even talk about with herself, let alone with a former lover, but that didn’t mean those topics hadn’t happened before.

I swore right then and there that though I did not have particularly strong feelings for Layla anymore—I thought—I would do anything and everything I could to get her away from Craig Taylor. When MCH had a firm standing, I’d get her into the company. I didn’t care if it made things awkward. She needed to escape from that fucking evil man, and I could think of no better separator than by getting her into a new company.

Over the next two hours, our conversation shifted to much lighter topics about sports, traveling, and going back to our alma maters. Two drinks turned into a surprising five, something I hadn’t meant to have happen but had stopped caring about by the time the fourth drink came out. Three was a make or break point, but once I crossed that threshold, what was there to fight?

In the midst of our conversation, the bar slowly opened a dance floor where some couples made their way out to. At first, I said nothing of it, though the thought certainly crossed my mind about dancing with Layla again. I mean… she was incredibly attractive, even if I didn’t have anything for her.

I swore.

Then, after the fifth drink, Layla stood and grabbed my hand.

“What are you doing?” I said, though I wasn’t in a particular rush to fight it.

“Let’s go dance!” she said, her smile wide and colored by the alcohol we had both drank. “C’mon, Chance. We both have some stress to go back to. Let’s just let it go for a little bit, hmm?”

I tilted my head back to think about it, but Layla was having none of it. She pulled me out to the dance floor, and by then, I felt I didn’t have a choice.

Which, again, I can’t say I hated too much.

At first, we danced a safe distance apart, holding hands every so often but keeping space between our hips.

But come on, we were two attractive young adults who still had sexual urges for each other. What did I think was going to happen?