Page 3 of Luke

"So we're on for dinner?"

"Actually, no. I need to go home."

Silence followed his words, then Pete said, "Did I hear you right? You need to go home? You—the man who told me you don't even know where home is anymore? What's happened?"

His chest felt too tight to speak the words. "I'll talk to you about it later."

"Are you all right, Luke?"

"I honestly have no idea."

* * *

Luke arrived in Los Angeles a little after five on Tuesday, the first of September. It was a beautiful Southern California day, not a cloud in the sky, temperature in the eighties, and a shitload of traffic on the 405 freeway. He tapped his fingers impatiently on his thighs as the taxi slowly made its way toward the Santa Monica exit.

He'd been traveling for almost twenty-four hours, and while he needed a shower, a shave, and at least a few hours' sleep, all that would have to wait. He had to meet his aunt first. He needed to learn more about his father's death and find a way to come to terms with it all.

The shocking news still didn't seem true. He was used to being away from his father and the rest of his family for months at a time. He’d spent most of the past ten years traveling, keeping only a small studio apartment in Los Angeles as a home base. For the amount of time he used the place, it probably didn’t make sense to pay rent and utilities, but he’d been too busy to consider putting his things in storage. And in between trips, he did need to be in LA to work with editors, producers, and film promoters.

He hadn't seen his father in probably two years, and aside from a few texts and emails every now and then, there had been little communication between them. He and his dad had always lived very separate lives. In fact, there had been many times in his life when he wasn’t sure his father even knew of his existence. As the fifth of seven brothers, he'd definitely been lost in the middle of the pack.

His oldest brother James had had the advantage of being born first, not that his solo existence had lasted more than two years. James had been quickly upstaged by the twins Gabe and Hunter, and then Max. Luke had followed, with his two younger brothers, Knox and Finn rounding out the family.

His dad used to say his mom had been determined to have a girl, so they just kept on trying. Unfortunately, she'd never gotten a sweet daughter, just seven wild boys.

Kathleen Brannigan had been a good mom, he thought, feeling an older ache in his chest. There weren't many things he remembered about his mother. She'd died when he was seven years old in a car accident, but in his head he could still see her putting a wriggling worm on a hook as she taught him and Knox how to fish. She definitely hadn't been afraid to get her hands dirty.

A sigh moved his chest as sadness ran through him, a pain made worse now by the loss of his father. Even though he and his dad hadn't always seen eye-to-eye, he'd never thought it would end like this—no words, no warning, no nothing.

His phone vibrated with a text, and he was happy to have a distraction from his thoughts. It was Knox, asking him where he was.

Getting off the freeway, he texted. Ten minutes.

After leaving the congested freeway, the taxi made its way up the Pacific Coast Highway to the popular beach city of Santa Monica.

As the cab pulled up in front of the bar where Knox worked, Luke couldn't help but think of the irony of its name—The Wake. Having grown up in an Irish family, he was not unfamiliar with the tradition. Even though his father hadn’t wanted a service of any kind, he probably wouldn’t mind if they did some reminiscing at a bar.

He paid the cab, then grabbed his duffel bag and backpack out of the trunk and made his way into the building. At a little before six, the bar had a good crowd going, the scarred, weathered tables filled with a mix of surfers, bikers, tourists, and beachgoers, looking for a cool-down after a hot day at the beach. The Beach Boys played over a state-of-the-art jukebox, perfect for the SoCal vibe.

Knox tended bar and Luke smiled to himself, watching as his younger brother leaned across the bar, flirting with a busty redhead wearing short-shorts and a tank top. With his dark hair and brown eyes, Knox had no trouble getting the girls. Not that Luke did, either. He just didn't stay in one place long enough to hang on to any of them.

He set his bags against the wall and slid into the seat at the end of the bar.

Knox tore himself away from his redhead and walked over to greet him.

"About time you got here," Knox said, a hint of shadowy pain behind his words.

"I got here as fast as I could."

"Aunt Claire is on her way over. So are Gabe and James. Not sure if Hunter will make it. We'll see who shows up."

"Has everyone been notified?"

"Aunt Claire spoke to everyone but Finn. She had to send him an email. Hell of a way for our baby brother to find out his father is dead, but I guess he's flying off some carrier somewhere in the world. I texted him and emailed him, but I haven't heard back."

He wasn’t surprised. Finn was a pilot for the US Navy, and he was not an easy man to reach. But while he might be the youngest, he was probably the toughest one of them all.

"How's James doing?" he asked. It was no secret that of all the Brannigan brothers, James was probably the closest to their dad. "He must be pissed that Dad didn't tell him he was sick—unless he made an exception for James?"

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