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“I just wanted to make sure you’re not doing anything you’ll regret because you’re bitter about Dad.”
“That what you think this is? Me being bitter?”
“Isn’t it?”
“I’m here, aren’t I? Working the job, playing the part.” My fingers drum against the doorframe. “What more do you want?”
“I want my brother back.”
“That brother died with Dad’s expectations.”
“For fuck’s sake, Brandon.” Elijah’s composure cracks. “If you don’t want this, just say so. I can handle it alone.”
“And let the old man be right about me? Not a chance.”
“Is that what you think he wanted? For you to fail?”
“No, he wanted me to be you.” I jab a finger at his chest. “Perfect fucking Elijah, always doing exactly what Daddy wanted.”
“You’re so full of shit.” He knocks my hand away. “Dad wanted you to find your path, not follow mine.”
“Bullshit. He spent years telling me the restaurant was a waste.”
“Because you were using it to hide!” His voice rises. “He wanted you to choose it because you loved it, not because you were trying to spite him or fulfill Mom’s dream!”
The smell of burning pancakes grows stronger, and something clatters to the floor, followed by Naomi’s muffled curse.
“You don’t know what he wanted,” I say.
“Neither do you, apparently.” Elijah straightens his jacket. “Because you never bothered to ask.”
I step back. “I’ve got pancakes to save and a beautiful woman in my kitchen. So, unless you want to join us for breakfast?”
His nose wrinkles. “I’ll pass.”
Good. I wouldn’t have let him in anyway.
“Thought so.” I start to close the door. “See you Monday.”
“Wait.” His hand shoots out, stopping the door.
I glare at him. “What?”
“Don’t screw this up because you’re too busy self-destructing.” His eyes soften a fraction. “Just think about what I said, okay?”
I don’t respond and close the door. Fucking Elijah, always thinking he knows best.
Except… maybe he does. A little. Not that I’ll ever admit it.
Breathe in, breathe out. Don’t think about Dad. Don’t think about the restaurant. Don’t?—
“Brandon?” Naomi’s voice snaps me back to the present. “Is everything okay?”
Did she hear us? I’m not sure how much someone is able to hear from the kitchen with the stove on.
“Just the usual brotherly love,” I say.
She frowns, spatula in hand. “What did Elijah want?”