Page 85 of The Best of Us

Ugh, great.He was going to see me red-eyed and on the hot mess express. “Hi.” I hiccuped, a reaction to quickly downing a bourbon meant to be slowly appreciated.

“Where are you?” Easton asked, a distressed expression crossing his face along with a worried tone.

“Give me a second.” I muted the call, went to my bedroom, and closed the door. I sat on the bed, unmuted it, and told him, “I’m not home.”

“I can tell.” From the looks of it, he was in his hotel room at The Sapphire, which was the location of Carter’s new base of operations. I didn’t know the whole story about the hotel and its acquisition, and Easton said it was better if I didn’t, so I never pressed. “Why do I feel like I need to sit as well?”

“You’ll probably shoot up to your feet the second I tell you where I am and why, so you might as well stay standing.” I slapped my hand over my mouth to catch the next hiccup, the bourbon now working its way to my stomach to burn me there. Guess I should have taken a few extra minutes to eat something first. This conversation was going to be interesting.

“You’re scaring me, Letty.” He pulled out his nickname for me, which he reserved only for emergencies. This qualified.

“Do you know who Constantine Costa is?” The bourbon loosened my lips, allowing me to cut to the chase.

“I know of him, but we’ve never met.” His eyes went wide with worry. “But why doyouknow his name?”

The sigh that tumbled from my lips contradicted the gravity of everything. It was also probably thanks to dear ol’ Dad’s bourbon and my lack of nutritional fortification. “Because Colin stole his wallet, and Constantine tracked us down.”

“You’re shitting me. Did he hurt either of you?” He was already on the move. Ready to hop on a plane and come to my rescue.

“See, told you it was better to remain standing.” I lifted an innocent shoulder, and he didn’t appear mildly amused. “We’re fine. We’re at his house now, actually.”

He stopped walking and brought the phone in front of his face. “I’m sorry, but what?” He jutted his chin forward as if inspecting me. “Have you been drinking?”

“What? Noooo.” I squeezed one eye closed at the lie. “Okay, I had a little. Needed to take the edge off before I go over the edge.” I shook my head, unsure if what I’d said would also send him over said edge.

He blinked rapidly. “I think I need to sit after all.” He went over to a desk and dropped down, then propped the phone up so he wasn’t holding it. “Why are you at that man’s house?”

In hindsight, I should’ve had more alcohol before this call. “Guess who’s Colin’s dad.”

The man went pale in real time. That, or my bourbon-brain imagined it. Liquor really did hit me fast. “C.” That was all he said. That one initial. Connecting dots.

I nodded.

“I don’t believe this.” His gaze lowered to the desk as he stroked his stubbled jawline. “Colin knows?”

“He figured it out shortly after Constantine risked his own life to save him.”

That news sent my overprotective brother back to his feet, and his chair fell. “Explain.”

So, I did. To the best of my ability, at least. Everything from the wallet to the rave and why we were staying at Constantine’s home.

“I feel like the lights are on, but no one’s home in my head,” he said when I finished my story. “This is insane.”

“Tell me about it.”

He fixed his chair and sat. “Carter knows him.”

“I’m aware.”

He pushed at his forehead as if a headache was stirring.

“He filled me in on why Carter doesn’t like him, too.”

Easton dropped his hand to his lap, surprise flickering across his face. “Did he mention they had to work together about a year and a half ago? And by ‘work’”—he used air quotes—“I mean what I do. Did he tell you he does what I do?”

“Kind of, sort of. I didn’t know he ever . . . well, with Carter.”

The lump at the back of my throat was relentless and wouldn’t go down. The feeling was suffocating.

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