Page 40 of Undercover Shadow

“It’s none of your business.”

“Wrong. As your lifelong best friend, it’s as much my concern as you are.”

“Not now. I’m busy.”

“Drinking yourself into oblivion isn’t busy.” He crossed to the sideboard, pouring himself two fingers. “It’s pathetic.”

“Fuck off, Con.”

“No.” He settled into the chair across from my desk, still holding both his glass and the bottle of whiskey. “You told me you and Nightingale had a friends-with-benefits arrangement.”

My hand stilled on my own glass. “So?”

Rather than in front of me, he set the whiskey bottle on the table beside him. “It was a lie.”

I should’ve known he’d figure it out. Con had watched me lie to targets, to assets, to enemies across three continents. But never to him. Not until Nightingale.

“What’s really going on?”

I stared into my glass but remained silent.

“You’re both miserable. Why?”

The question hung between us. I could deflect. But Con wasn’t going to let this go.

“My parents,” I finally said.

Con leaned in his chair, waiting.

“I can’t become them. I won’t put her through what they went through. What they did to each other—” I stopped. “You remember.”

“Of course I do. I’ve known you since we were eight. I watched it all.”

“Then, you know why?—”

“What I know is you’re terrified.” He leaned forward. “But you’re not them, Tag.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because they never tried. They gave up at the first sign of trouble and turned it into warfare.”

I knocked back the rest of my drink and stood to reach for the bottle, but Con’s hand got there first.

“Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

“Bollocks.” He poured me another measure anyway. One finger, not three. “Because she’s Idris’ sister? Or because you’re in love with her?”

My throat closed, and I couldn’t respond.

Con’s face changed. The frustration bled away, replaced by something I liked even less—understanding. “So what happened at Dunravin?”

“Nothing that matters now.”

“Try again,” he said as he poured more whiskey into my glass.

I stared at the amber liquid, wondering how many more drinks it would take before I stopped seeing the hurt in her expression. That I’d caused.