Page 60 of The Love Destroyers

It’s not him. It’s an Uber Eats delivery driver with a pint of English Toffee ice cream for me, along with a note—

Game on, Emma. We’re going to get him. xoxo, Your brother-in-law

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

SEAMUS

It’s Friday morning, Leap Day, about ten o’clock, and in half an hour, I’ll be road-tripping with Nicole to Charlotte.

But right now I’m sitting at the kitchen table in my brother’s cabin, drinking the only cup of coffee I’m allowed to have today. I’m in much better shape than I was on Monday, after sleeping most of the last few days away, but I have a low-grade headache.

An Emma headache.

I wanted to go see her again last night. I wanted it as bad as I wanted a cigarette.

I had one the night before last, when I was wrestling with whether I should go over to her place.

What can I say? I’ve never been good at self-denial. Not like Declan. But yesterday I was the king of it. Because I didn’t have another smoke, and I didn’t give into the compulsion to climb walls to get to her, even after she placed her palm over my tattoo on Wednesday night and talked about herneeds. That takes strength, doesn’t it?

I’ve also tried to follow the guidelines she sent me about taking care of my brain—way more thorough than anything the hospital saw fit to tell me. Most of the time, it feels smotheringwhen someone tells me what to do, but I like that she wants to look out for me, same as I’m trying to do for her.

Truthfully, I’ve been thinking about her nonstop, remembering the way she felt the one time I had the pleasure of kissing her against that wall, a memory that’s been burned so deeply into the grooves of my brain that it seems to chase every other thought away.

“That battle-axe packs a mean right hook, huh?” my brother says, sitting down across from me. He’s a landscaper, with an unpredictable schedule, and his first job is in an hour.

“Yeah, man,” I say. “And if she heard you say that, you’d be the next one with a lump on your head.”

He laughs and sits back in his chair, waiting on me to explain my presence. Declan’s always doing shit like that. He’s probably the most patient man alive, when it comes to anything but Claire. He’d marry her tomorrow if she didn’t want a real-deal wedding. Not a big wedding, but she wants the dress and the cake and all those things most women deem essential.

Sighing, I say, “I’m gonna need you to do something for me, brother.”

“Oh?” he says, leaning back. He watches me with a speculative expression, so much like our father it hurts to look at him. They say loss gets easier with time, and in some ways it does. Memory is an imperfect thing, and we’re programmed to survive. But grief is the jump scare of emotions. It steps out of hiding when you expect it the least. At the same time, thinking of the resemblance between them makes this easier.

I take a deep breath, then jump in before I can chicken out. “I’m trying to quit smoking. Cold turkey. It started at the beginning of the year, but I’ve had a few relapses. I figured it might be good to have someone…you know…hold me accountable.”

He looks surprised, but he nods. “Of course. I’m glad you’re doing it. But what brought this on?”

I shrug, trying to look disaffected. “Who knows. Maybe the years of nagging you and Rosie have been doing finally worked. You know I’ve got a hard head.”

He watches me with that stare I know as well as my own. “Doubtful.” He waits another few seconds before speaking, the better to increase my anticipation, I guess, then says, “Did you meet a woman?”

My first thought isoh fuck, he’s a wizard.

But before the second thought can come through, he continues, “Rosie said you and Chuck went to lunch with some women earlier this week.”

Relief gushes through me, because he doesn't know about Emma. But I’m not as relieved as I thought I’d be. Maybe part of me came over here with the intention of talking directly about Emma, but I chickened out when confronted with my brother’s ten-mile stare.

“Yeah, that was nothing,” I say. “We brought flowers to the hospital, and we met this woman who’d had rotten luck. I felt bad for her, so we grabbed some sandwiches for her and her family.”

He blinks at me. “Flowers?”

“Yeah, the old lady sent me the contents of a flower shop on Tuesday morning. Maybe she was worried Rosie would get pissed at her for conking me on the head. The ladies didn’t want them, but we found some guys outside who’d forgotten about Valentine’s Day and were willing to take them off our hands.”

He laughs and shakes his head, studying me with bemusement. “Who are you and what the fuck did you do with my brother?”

“Killed him and took his place. How am I doing?”

“That was nice of you,” he says. “Really nice. Getting lunch for them. The flowers. All of it. Is Chuck rubbing off on you, or is someone else behind your pay-it-forward streak?”

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