Page 1 of Just My Type
PROLOGUE
NOAH
THREE YEARS AGO
Fuck, I have to pee.
Badly.
Like, if I don’t find a bathroom soon, I’ll probably wet my pants have to pee. And while I often find myself in the center of attention for all manner of ridiculousness, peeing in my suit pants at the post-funeral reception for my oldest brother Jordan’s fiancée seems over the top, even for me.
I glance over at Jordan, who is slumped in his chair, one of his hands wrapped around a tumbler of whiskey and the other resting flat on the table, his shoulders a tight, tense line. My mom leans down and speaks quietly to him, and whatever she says has Jordan’s breath hitching, his free hand curling into a tight fist.
My own heart clenches, my eyes burning as I watch my brother struggle to hold onto his control. He hasn’t broken yet. Not since the night Allie died. And he won’t. Not here, at thisbar, surrounded by his friends and family. It’s why my other brothers Elliot and Cooper and I decided to stay here in Pittsburgh with Jordan for a couple of weeks instead of going straight back to Boston.
Because the breaking will come later, and when it does, we’ll be here. Jordan will need us, and the Wyles brothers never leave one of their own in need.
But first, I really have to pee.
Glancing over at Elliot and Cooper, I tip my head towards the hallway where the bathrooms are and slide my eyes to Jordan. In the wordless communication of brothers, they both nod. A silent gesture ofwe’ve got him.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I stand, squeezing Jordan’s shoulder as I walk past him and back to the bathroom.
If I didn’t have to pee so badly, I would probably take a minute to appreciate the cozy, homey vibes of Fireside, the bar Jordan’s college best friends Ben and Jeremy built from the ground up right after they all graduated. Jordan and his friends are a tight, close-knit group, and this bar has always been a special gathering spot of sorts for them. Right now, his friends are scattered around in small groups with matching shell-shocked expressions as everyone tries to absorb the enormity of this loss.
“Can we leave now? Jesus, Hannah, you barely even knew the dead girl. Why are we still here?”
The male voice that manages to sound both bored and condescending stops me in my tracks just before I turn the corner to the bathroom, my stomach twisting at this asshole referring to Allie Hayes, the love of my older brother’s life and the closest thing I had to a sister, asthe dead girl.
“Allie was one of my sister’s best friends, Brett. Hallie is devastated, and I want to be here for her. It’s what sisters do.”
Hannah.
I met Jordan’s friend Ben’s sister-in-law, younger sister of Ben’s wife Hallie, earlier this morning before the funeral. Thepretty brunette with a long ponytail, forest green eyes, and a reserved sort of energy about her spoke to no one but her family, giving almost all her attention to Hallie. The protective way she had her arm wrapped around Hallie’s waist, as if she was propping her up in her grief, spoke to me, because I was doing the same. I noticed how Hannah never left Hallie’s side. I noticed how she took care of her sister with an efficiency that my chaotic nature didn’t quite understand but appreciated nonetheless.
I just noticedher.
Probably wrong to notice a pretty girl at a family funeral, but being just on the wrong side of inappropriate is very on brand for me.
And right now, I notice the pleading note in Hannah’s voice. The way she seems to be begging this guy to let her support her sister instead of telling him to fuck right off with his gross display of assholery has a weird sort of dread pooling in my gut. My protective instincts, already on high alert from supporting my brother through his darkest hours, scream.
Something isn't right here.
“Hallie has all her friends. She doesn’t need you.Ineed you. You’ve been so wrapped up in your little romance book writing hobby that you’ve barely had any time for me lately. Today was supposed to be our day, but instead, you dragged me to a funeral, and now I’ve been sitting in this bar full of depression and sadness for an hour. Enough is enough.”
My brain clocks and files away the wordsromance book writing hobby,but it’s the contempt in this guy’s voice that takes center stage in my mind and has my rage spiking so fast that my feet start to move before I realize it. But before I can turn the corner, Hannah speaks again, stopping my forward motion.
“Just another hour, Brett. Please. Then we can do whatever you want. I promise.”
At the absolute defeat in Hannah’s tone, my hands curl into fists, and this time I do turn the corner. I’m still partially hiddenby the wall dividing the main bar from this back area, so I can see them, but they wouldn’t notice me even if they weren’t so wrapped up in whatever it is I’m witnessing right now.
When I peek around, what I see has me freezing all over again.
Hannah is standing against the wall, a tall blond guy in front of her with one hand planted by her head and the other gripping her waist. If I hadn’t just heard what I heard, I would have assumed this was a romantic pose, but my eyes take in all the little ways this is the opposite of that.
Hannah’s hands, flat against the wall, pressing so hard that the tips of her fingers turn white.
The rigid line of her shoulders.
