Page 16 of Letters of Faith
Except I don’t feel like that man. I feel like the kid whose anger got him into more fights than he could count and who would have ended up in juvie if it wasn’t for his two best friends. Georgia and Nate saved me from a path of self-destruction, and I owe them both for that.
If I had told Georgia I needed her tonight, she would have forgotten her own needs, and too many people ask her to do that already. I won’t be another one.
So, I’ll sit here and drink until I’m numb instead.
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Sunlight pierces into my eyes at the same time an ache runs down my shoulder blade. Groaning, I try to sit up to figure out why I was dumb enough to fall asleep on the floor last night instead of going to bed, but my stomach lurches with the movement. With precise movements, I lower myself back down and try to think around the headache jackhammering into my eyes.
Flashes of tossing bourbon back last night run through my mind, and if it weren’t hurting so bad, I’d bang my head against something hard for my own stupidity.
Nights like last night used to happen often. Drinking made things numb, but then I met my dad, and I found out my mom didn’t tell me about him because he was an alcoholic. I decided that day I wouldn’t be like him, but last night was a moment of weakness—a slip into someone I don’t want to be.
There’s a knock on my office door, and I wonder for a moment if I could make it in prison because I might kill whoever is banging on the door.
“Go away,” I growl, but the banging continues.
Peeking one eye open, I glare at the door before stumbling to my feet again.
My stomach lurches into my throat as I put one foot in front of the other until I’m standing at the door staring at the knob.
It takes all my concentration to make my hand connect with the knob, alcohol still hindering my movements.
When the door opens, Brooks, my little brother, stands on the other side.
There’s no denying that he’s my brother. If it wasn’t for the two years between us, we could have been twins—right down to the way the dimple on our face pokes in when we talk.
I slip my face into a careful mask—careful not to let my surprise show.
“You look awful,” Brooks quips as he shoves his way into my office.
“Yes, make yourself at home,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my voice.
Shutting the door, I try not to wince at the noise. Brooks lowers onto the couch and spreads his arms across the back.
He studies me as I walk over and sit in the chair behind my desk. I feel like death, and I’m sure my appearance is not far behind. There’s a film in my mouth that I’m dying to wash out, but I won’t reveal any more weakness to Brooks than I already have.
He hasn’t earned that position.
The last time he was in my office, he sat across from me at my desk and was here for an interview. I thought he knew we were brothers, but to my surprise, he didn’t. And while he might not have been there to take advantage of the hard work I’ve put into this company, I still don’t trust him. He’s called me several times since then, but I haven’t answered. I have a family, and while that family has gotten smaller over the years, first my mom and then Nate, I would rather have people around that I can trust, even if that’s only one now.
“Where is your watchdog?” Brooks asks.
When we found out about my dad and then Brooks, Georgia was offended that either of them would ask me for anything before actuallyknowing me. I didn’t need her to defend me, but there was a spark in her eye when she put Brooks in his place at his interview. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her stand up to someone—and it was on my behalf.
“Clearly not here if you got in. Ever heard of scheduling a meeting?”
Brooks’s eyes, which are the same color as mine, narrow into slits.
“Ever heard of picking up the phone?” he retorts.
Steepling my fingers under my chin, I throw him a smirk.
“Look at that, we’re already fighting like brothers,” I say. Then, dropping the smile, I narrow my eyes into a glare and get to the point. “What are you doing here?”
I learned to be intimidating at a young age. It was necessary to survive this town, but to his credit, he doesn’t seem fazed. Brooks sits, his mouth spreading into a grin as I continue to glare.
Irritation prickles along the back of my neck. Between that and the hangover, I’m tempted to pummel that smile right off his face. My fists clench against my legs as I wait for him to answer.
