Page 65 of The Sculptor

Duke has stopped cutting and is now standing in front of me, motioning for the phone—which is in vain. Again, I agreed to sit out a round, and that round is over.

It’s my turn.

Stepping back, I flash Duke an apologetic smile. “Thank you, Vance. I would have invited you to the wedding if I had known we were having one.”

Duke makes a noise low in his throat, and I take another step back just in case he considers lunging for the phone.

“That sounds like something my brother would do.”

He swears, but there’s no bite behind it, more like frustration, which is understandable. His brother is freaking stubborn. It would drive a person to drink or scream. Vance probably has done both.

“Listen, Ramsey. I don’t know what’s happening, but I’d like to understand why Harrison is losing his shit, looking for Duke.”

He sounds genuine.

“I need to know if he needs my help.”

“Duke wants to keep you out of it,” I tell him instead.

“Well, that’s too fucking bad. Duke doesn’t get to keep me out of it. What has Harrison done now?”

I swallow, looking at Duke. Sometimes we have to make hard decisions for the people we love. Duke said he’d fight for his brothers just like they’d fight for him. It’s time we gave them the chance to prove it.

Stepping toe to toe with my husband, I hand over the phone. “The season for grieving is over,” I tell him. “Bury the past and take the future you deserve.”

His brothers are part of who he is.

It’s time he removed the barriers between them.

Duke

“Ilike what you’ve done with the place,” I say with a smirk, appreciating the full effect of seeing Remington kicked back in a plastic chair just outside Vance’s extravagant front entry, smoking a cigarette. “It really brings out the dollar store vibe in the neighborhood.”

Remington blows out a ring of smoke and chuckles. “Your brother thinks so, too.”

I bark out a laugh. “I bet he does. How many chairs have you been through? Ten? Twenty?” Because there is no way Vance doesn’t toss these cheap plastic chairs in the trash on the regular.

“I couldn’t tell you.” He grins. “I stopped counting after fifty-two.” Taking another hit from his cigarette, he adds, “At this point, it’s a game between us.”

“One Vance loses, I’m sure.”

I’m not upset in the slightest that Remington gives my brother such a hard time. One, Vance deserves a little aggravation in his orderly life, and two, I think he enjoys it.

Remington flashes me a devilish look. “Considering I buy these chairs with your brother’s credit card, I’d have to agree.” Remington chuckles. “That moody fucker is too fun to mess with.”

At the mention of Vance’s mood, I grimace. “Is that why you’re out here? Because he’s in a mood?”

He arches a brow. “You mean, am I out here because you pissed off big brother so bad that he broke a vase and needed to bang out his aggression on Halle before you came over?”

That sounds like a yes.

I nod tensely, and it only makes him laugh. “That, and Hal won’t let me smoke in the house.” He shrugs like neither thing bothers him.

“I thought Halle didn’t want you smoking at all?”

She’s always hiding his cigarettes.

He flashes me this look of amusement. “Unlike you and your brothers, pussy doesn’t control me. Even the sweetest ones.”

---