Page 7 of The Love Destroyers

He takes a sip from the cup, acting protective of it, before saying, “Claire’s mother. I’m starting to think she’s not coming back.”

Anyone with a CliffsNotes version of the story could have told him that. According to Claire, his wife left them years ago to join a cult in the Pacific Northwest. She’s been banging the swami for years, but on paper she’s still Chuck’s one and only.

“Yeah, buddy,” I tell him. “I think you might be right.” My mind flits to Emma. “I know one hell of a divorce lawyer if you’re ready to do something about it.”

No, Emma’s not practicing, but she clearly needs a win. Giving someone advice might be good for her. It’d definitely be good for him.

He drinks more of his hot chocolate. “I’m going to send her a letter about the wedding. They think phone calls, emails, and text messages add to the earthly weight of their souls, so letters are the ticket. I hate to make ultimatums, but if she doesn’t commit to coming to the wedding and supporting Claire, then that’s it. It’s over.”

If it’d been me, that would have been it years ago, but again, this guy is a marshmallow. So sweet, the world is full with people who’d love nothing better than to hold him over an open flame and then crunch in.

“I’d agree with you there, my friend,” I say. “I’ll introduce you to Emma at the wedding tomorrow. She’s the groom’s sister. You can get the ball rolling.”

“Thanks,” he says, then lifts the mug as if making a silent cheers. “You’ve been a good friend.”

“Something not a lot of people would accuse me of,” I say with raised eyebrows.

“Maybe you haven’t been around a lot of people who need that kind of a friend.”

I’m not sure whether he’s implying I’ve chosen shitty company or shitty company naturally gravitates toward me, but I nod distractedly. I’m starting to feel the nicotine itch badly. “Thanks, man. You have fun with your—” I get up and wave ahand to encompassThe Nannyand the hot chocolate. “You go crazy with it.”

I mean to stay out for only a couple of minutes, but I’m feeling on edge. So I have a couple of cigarettes and take a walk around to the back deck, with its view of the rolling Blue Ridge Mountains. It’s dark, but stars speckle the sky here in a way they never do in New York, and I feel a strange yearning I can’t put words to.

When I get back inside, Chuck is asleep on the couch, curled up, and it’s so fucking wholesome I actually find myself pulling a blanket over him and turning off the TV.

I feel a presence and look up to see my brother on the landing at the top of the stairs, staring down at me with a disbelieving look that almost makes me laugh. Declan’s only a year older than me, but to hear him talk, it might as well be a decade. He still sees me as a misbehaving kid. A little brother. Our parents passed away when we were barely adults, and he launched himself into the head-of-the-family role with so much intensity you’d think he had competition for it.

Declan gestures for me to come up, and when I get to the top of the stairs, he pulls me away from them—and into my room, flicking on the light switch. “Did you just tuck in Claire’s father?” he asks.

“I did, yeah,” I say, then nod toward my unmade bed. “And did you bring me in here to tuck me in? I figured you’d prefer to spend your night between your woman’s thighs.”

He glares at me from down the nose I’ve punched before. To be fair, Declan’s punched me too. Nearly broke my nose when I was fifteen after I accidentally trampled some of his plants. Then again, I’ll be damned if you can find two brothers who haven’t gone at each other at least once. Doesn’t mean we don’t love each other. I’m man enough to admit that I love my brother andmy sister more than anything, even if it sometimes feels I got preassigned as the family fuckup.

“Not funny,” Declan says.

Shrugging, I tell him, “You were born with a broken sense of humor. It’s not your fault. Rosie and I try to make accommodations.”

“Why’d you leave the rehearsal dinner for so long?”

Oh, for God’s sake. Leave it to Declan to notice. He probably figures I was dealing drugs out of the back.

Maybe I would have been, back in the day.

Time changes a man, though. These days I’m not much interested in making a buck or creating a reputation for myself as a badass. I’d rather get a drink at the pub and have some laughs. Or spend time with a fine-looking woman.

“I was having a smoke.”

“For half an hour?”

I raise my eyebrows, studying him, “You want a log of every time I take a shit too?”

He huffs out a sound that barely qualifies as a laugh. “I’ll pass. I’m just—”

“Wally’s going through with it, but I told him I’m out.”

I’d told Dec a bit about the trouble at the garage—how Wally and a couple of the other guys were approached on the sly about going on the take.

I’m not sure why I told him exactly, given I knew how he’d react. Worried. Judgmental. Like a parent, even though we’re so close in age, no one can ever tell which of us is older. Maybe I told him because I wanted to be held accountable, to make sure someone forced me to do the right thing.

---