Page 156 of The Bodyguard Situation

I sit on the edge of the stone bench and stare at my sister’s name, letting the quiet stretch on for minutes. No one else is here. Just me and my grief. I miss her every day. My sister was one of my best friends.

“You were always better at seeing people for exactly who they were,” I whisper. “Even when the rest of us didn’t.”

I never told anyone what I knew about her and Brody. Not even Asher. Not because it was some great secret, but because Eden didn’t need or want an audience. And Brody? He never tried to be anything but there for her.

When she died, I told myself I’d do one last thing for her—protect him. I refused to let him ruin his fucking life and made sure he had the space to become whatever version of himself she had seen when she looked at him. It was the version of him the rest of us hadn’t seen yet.

That’s why I helped him. That’s why I’ve kept my mouth shut. That’s why I’m here. Because my sister is still the only person who’s ever made me want to be better.

Brody placed every goddamn petal on this grave and has for five long years.

I exhale and run a hand over my face, wiping away the emotions that creep in around the edges. I’m late for Weston’s party, and I’m sure he’ll call me dramatic and say I was begging for an entrance. Billie will say I’m an attention-seeking man-whore while Carlee makes note.

Let them.

They can have a fancy party because, right now, I’m taking this moment. Right now, I’m not Nicolas Banks, ex-hockey player, golden boy, or notorious screwup. I’m just a big brother who cares about and loves my family deeply, even in death. And that’s enough.

* * *

By the timeI arrive at Weston’s penthouse, everyone’s already a drink ahead and half a scandal deep. Billie’s at the far end of the room, arguing with a man in a linen suit about the ethics of themed weddings. Harper is tucked under Brody’s arm like she’s never known anything but peace, and Weston’s making the rounds like he owns the floor—because he does. Easton and Lexi have their hands full, and I don’t expect to see them out and about for a while.

I enter, just enough to be seen by everyone, then stop. I like grand entrances. They make people nervous, but not me. I’m immune.

Carlee glances up from her phone the second I cross the threshold, eyes narrowing like she’s caught a headline forming in real time.

“Tardy,” Carlee calls out with a simple shake of her head, but she’s grinning.

“Tragic,” I reply. “Did you miss me or just my ability to fix the vibe?”

She doesn’t answer. Just smiles that quiet, terrifying smile that saysI know more than you think.I’m not too quick to dismiss it.

Billie sees me and immediately narrows her eyes when I’m close to them.

“You’re late,” she says as I join the group.

“Was lighting a candle,” I tell her. “For my sins.”

Weston raises his glass. “That’s rich, coming from a man who hasn’t repented since … well, ever.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t ruin my growth arc,” I reply.

Harper walks over and arches a brow. “You good, stepbro?”

“Yuck. No more stepbro.” I shake my head. “But I’m better than good,” I tell her.

It’s not a lie because somewhere out there is a woman who knows exactly what I sound like when I stop pretending. A woman who, if she were here right now, would see straight through me and my bullshit.

I snatch a drink from a tray, and I excuse myself, making rounds with different groups because that’s what I do. I’m a social butterfly, and I smile here, laugh there, dodge three loaded conversations and one not-so-subtle proposition involving a tech heiress and a rooftop in Ibiza.

Billie corners me near the bar, wineglass in hand. She gives me a look that could fillet someone if she focused. “Where have you been?”

I smirk. “Out of town. Needed a break.”

“From what? Attention?”

I sip my drink. “From expectations.”

She narrows her eyes. “You found someone, didn’t you?”

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