Page 83 of Holding On To Good

“The kind who doesn’t bug the hell out of me?”

Miles grinned.

Urban wondered if it was too late to get his order to go. He hadn’t asked Miles to meet him here. Or to join him for dinner. After dropping Ian off at Kat’s, Urban had decided to stop at Binge for a quick meal.

A quick, solitary meal. He wasn’t in the mood for company, but he hadn’t wanted to go home yet, either. Hadn’t wanted to be alone in that big house.

When his brothers were still living at home, there’d been times when he would’ve given his right nut just for half an hour of peace. Would’ve seriously considered giving both of them if it meant he had an entire evening by himself. He used to dream of the day when his siblings were grown and on their own. When his responsibility to them was over.

When he’d finally be free.

Now that day was on the horizon, so close he could see it. And instead of jumping off the boat and swimming toward it, he wanted to turn the damn thing around and sail away.

He’d spent so much of his life—his entire adult life, really—taking care of his family, he wasn’t sure who the hell he was without them.

Wasn’t as eager as he had been to find out.

“Something happen at work?” Miles asked. And while it came out casually, Urban knew better.

With Miles, there was no such thing as a simple question. His brother always had an agenda. Was always fully in cop mode—seeking answers, digging for the truth.

Fishing for information.

“No,” Urban said, picking up his beer.

“You sure? Because if something happened—”

“It didn’t.”

“—or is wrong—”

“There’s not.”

“—you can tell me. Cops are like priests, you know.”

“Priests don’t make sinners write up their confessions then use their own words against them in a court of law.”

“Semantics. Besides, we’re brothers. This” —leaning forward he gestured between them— “is a sacred bond.”

Urban started to get up.

“Where are you going?” Miles asked.

“If you’re not going to sit at the bar, I will.”

Miles held up his hands. “You don’t want to talk? Fine. I’ll just sit here. In silence. While you glare a hole through the table.”

Urban didn’t trust his brother to go through with that—Miles wasn’t known for keeping quiet. But if he sat at the bar, the chances of someone else trying to engage him in conversation were high.

At least he could ignore his brother.

And if Miles didn’t like him glaring a hole through the table, he could sit somewhere else. Urban had been there first. Had finished half his beer and ordered his meal before Miles came in on his dinner break and sat down, despite Urban’s insistence that he wasn’t in the mood for company.

He finished his beer. Would’ve ordered a second but that would’ve been a little too close to that wallowing Miles had accused him of.

“You were acting this way last night, too,” Miles pointed out.

Urban set his empty glass down. “I thought you were going to sit in silence.”

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