Page 96 of My Brother's Best Friends

“It’s too late now, anyway,” I conclude. “It’s over. There’s no turning back.”

29

OSCAR

Amonth drags by when I’m nursing a broken heart.

I study the whiskey cradled in my palm, amber swirling through the cut crystal. Its bold bite, earned from years in charred oak, can’t chase away the memory of the woman who slipped through my fingers.

Sunlight pours through the living-room window, molten gold that glints off the city’s steel-and-glass skyline. Kellan strides in, a frown carving a deep groove between his brows.

“What are you looking for?” I ask him.

“My watch.”

“Which one?”

“The one I got from you for Christmas last year.”

The watch flashes in my mind—I saw it on his wrist only days ago—but the past few weeks have blurred together: client meetings, endless work, and maybe too much whiskey poured as a nightcap to dull the ache.

My brothers are just as lost.

Just as disoriented.

It’s as if we’re unmoored without Makayla.

“Oscar!” Kellan shouts.

“I haven’t seen your damn watch!” I call back.

Sensing his glare, I lift my gaze from the Scotch and find raw sadness swirling in my brother’s eyes. This isn’t us. We’ve never faced this kind of desolation, and we have no roadmap for nursing our bleeding souls.

“I’m sorry—I’ll buy you another,” I say, the weight of inanimate things suddenly meaningless.

Kellan sighs. “It’s not about that. It’s… You know what, it’s fine. I’ll find it.”

He wants to keep fighting, to cling to the brotherhood we’ve built with Bryan over the years. I’m not sure that’s possible. Callie froze us out after the resort fiasco, and Bryan isn’t thrilled with how things ended with Makayla either.

On the sidelines, wallowing in her own petty desperation, Melanie still fires off the occasional text, claiming she wants “to talk.” As if that will ever happen after what she pulled.

“What did Bryan say about tomorrow’s conference?” Alex asks as he joins us in the living room. He doesn’t look too happy—can’t say I blame him. The way he keeps checking his phone tells me everything I need to know.

“Forget the conference. Who are you hoping to hear from?” I ask.

Alex shoots me a sheepish look. I can’t help smiling. “It’s worth a shot.”

“It’s been a month. She hasn’t answered a single call or text. I think the message is pretty clear,” I say.

Kellan shakes his head. “I’m not giving up on her, either,” he says. “We have to try again.”

“Bryan won’t tell us anything,” Alex adds.

I let out a dry scoff. “Are you surprised? He’s protecting his sister. Honestly, I’m grateful he didn’t sell his stake in the company. At least we still work together. Maybe we can rebuild the friendship in time—let’s not blow up an already fragile dynamic.”

Alex draws a deep breath and pours himself a Scotch. I watch the way his confident facade wobbles, doubt shadowing every measured move, like he’s questioning whether he should be doing this—or anything at all.

It’s my brother’s freeze response to failure.

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