Page 4 of Luke

"Not according to Aunt Claire—we were all left out of it. Dad didn't want us to watch him die. I guess that was considerate of him."

"I'm sure he thought so."

"You don't?" Knox challenged.

"I need a drink."

"Me, too," a man said as he slid onto the stool next to him. "You look like shit, Luke."

He tipped his head to his older brother Gabe. Gabe looked a lot better than he did in dark-gray slacks, a white button-down shirt, and maroon tie. He could always count on Gabe to have things together. He’d been running a very successful real-estate development company the past five years, and today he looked every inch the successful businessman.

"Just got off a plane," he said.

Gabe gave him a half-smile. "You’re always getting off a plane, Luke. What can I buy you?"

"I'm buying," Knox interrupted. "And we're not drinking beer tonight." He pulled a bottle out of the glass case behind the bar. "In Dad's honor, we have Bushmills 21 single malt, his favorite."

"Very appropriate," Gabe said, as Knox poured the whiskey into three glasses.

"Who wants to make a toast?" Knox asked.

"You go, Luke," Gabe said.

He swirled the whiskey in his glass as he looked down at the amber liquid. "I can't think of anything I want to say." He paused. "Last time I had this whiskey was on my twenty-first birthday."

"With Dad?" Gabe asked. "He bought me a drink on my twenty-first birthday, too."

He shook his head. "It was supposed to be with Dad. He had invited me to dinner, but business came up. I was already in the restaurant bar waiting for him when I got a call from his assistant that he was sorry but he couldn't make it. I was about to leave when the bartender said my father had told him to buy me a drink—this drink. I had another four after that. I don't remember the rest of the night." He took a swig of the whiskey. It was damn good. Of course, his father wouldn't drink anything but the best.

He set the glass down, realizing his brothers were looking at him with varying degrees of concern.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to cry," he said dryly. "I'm just exhausted."

"And pissed," Knox commented.

He couldn't argue with that. But he was saved from making further explanations by the arrival of another Brannigan brother, his oldest sibling, James. Like Gabe, James wore dark slacks and a dress shirt and looked like he'd just come from signing one of his many business deals. If anyone could compete with his father, it was James.

"Let's move this conversation to a table," Knox said, motioning the group toward the back of the bar. "I'll get Eban to fill in for me."

Luke settled in at the table with his back against the wall as James, Gabe, and Knox filled the other chairs. Knox set down the bottle of whiskey and started to pour James a glass, but his oldest brother held up his hand.

"None for me," James said.

"Seriously?" Knox asked, raising an eyebrow. "We're toasting to Dad."

"I have work to do later."

"It's one drink," Knox complained.

James shrugged. "It's rarely one drink where you guys are concerned."

"Don't throw me under the bus with these two," Gabe complained.

Luke smiled. He rarely missed home, but he did miss his brothers. He pushed his empty glass across the table. "I'm happy to be on the bus. I'll take another shot."

Knox grinned back at him and poured him some more whiskey. "Dad liked being on the bus, too. He enjoyed his whiskey. One of the few things we had in common."

"I'll drink to that," he said, clinking glasses with Knox. "But what I can't drink to is the fact that Dad kept us all in the dark about his illness and that he's still calling the shots on exactly how we should mourn him. He'd probably hate that we were here together talking about him."

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