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“Doing what?”
“This.” He gestures at me, at the glass in my hand. “Drowning yourself in booze, pushing everyone away. Especially Naomi.”
I stiffen. “Leave her out of it.”
“Cut the shit.” Connor yanks the glass out of my hand. “If you don’t get your shit together, you’re going to lose her. For good this time.”
“She’s only here because of the deal,” I say. “You know that.”
“Maybe at first,” Sebastian says.
I shake my head. “You’re delusional.”
“Am I?” His gaze sharpens. “You gave up your dream restaurant to play corporate puppet. At least don’t give up the one person who actually gives a damn about the real you.”
“She deserves better,” I whisper.
“Yeah, she does,” Sebastian agrees, brutal as always. “But for some godforsaken reason, she’s chosen you. So get your head out of your ass and start acting like someone worthy of her.”
“You know what your problem is?” Connor asks.
“Please, enlighten me,” I say. “Because clearly this night hasn’t been therapeutic enough.”
“You’re too caught up in your own head.” He taps his temple. “Always have been.”
“And here I thought my problem was daddy issues. Thanks for clearing that up, Dr. I-Hack-Therefore-I-Am. Should I venmo you for the session?”
“That too.” Connor’s eyes flick to something behind me. “Girlfriend incoming.”
Fuck. “How pissed does she look?”
Sebastian smirks. “On a scale of one to castration?”
“Shit.”
FOUR
NAOMI
Sebastian and Connor exchange knowing looks before slipping away, leaving me alone with their drunk, stubborn friend hunched over the bar.
“If you’re here to lecture me, get in line.” Brandon doesn’t turn around, just signals the bartender for another drink.
I slide onto the stool next to him, catching the bartender’s eye. “He’s done.”
“The hell I am!”
“You embarrassed yourself enough for one night, don’t you think?”
“Didn’t you know?” His jaw clenches. “I’m the class clown.”
“Real mature.” I reach for the glass the bartender slides over, but Brandon reaches it first. “For someone who hates being compared to his father, you’re doing a stellar job of following in his footsteps.”
“Low blow.” His fingers tighten around the glass until his knuckles turn white. I could almost believe he’d shatter it to feel something real.
“Truth hurts.”
“What do you want from me?” He finally turns to face me, and god, the raw pain in his eyes makes my chest ache. I’ve seen him drunk before, seen him angry and spiteful. But this… this is different. “Want me to apologize for not being the perfect Milton heir? For not living up to daddy’s expectations?”