Page 73 of Ours to Lose
That if I hurt her, I’d wrap his fists for my beating myself.
“What’s that guy’s deal anyway?” I asked. Christian’s grudge against Aubrey felt beyond your typical work rivals.
Evan scoffed. “Aubrey’s a better chef, and he’s never been able to handle it. He tried to take it out on her personally, and the more his attempts rolled off her shoulders, the pissier he got.”
“I don’t trust him around her,” I said, recalling the way he’d moved in front of her at the restaurant.
“Me either,” Evan said.
Our agreement hung between us like an olive branch. A single thread of connection among a pile of frayed string.
Maybe the rest could be tied back together. Or even just some. They’d never be as seamless or as strong as they were before, but that wouldn’t matter. Not if it meant I could still have a little piece of my brother.
“Hey, is one of you guys swinging by the catering kitchen after this?” Jase asked as he stepped out of the kitchen again. He held up a white postage envelope. “This got mailed here by mistake, but it’s for Arden Catering.”
I glanced at Evan, giving him the choice. He nodded toward the bar. “I have dinner to take home.”
My chest expanded in recognition of what he was giving me. Not his full trust, but a step toward it. A chance.
I’d fucking take it.
When I gotto the prep kitchen, the lights were off, but I checked the door anyway. Locked. I texted Aubrey.
Me:You finish work early?
Unless she had an event on Friday, she was usually here pretty late prepping for the weekend.
Aubrey:Stayed home. Sick day.
I frowned at my phone.
Me:You need anything?
Aubrey:I’ll be okay, but thanks.
Knowing her, she’d be too sick to lift her head from her pillow and would still say she didn’t need help. I pocketed my phone and headed for the subway.
A half hour later, I was at her building with a plastic shopping bag full of seltzer, Gatorade, and boxed noodle soup in hand.
Me:Buzz me up?
Aubrey:Door code is 5167
I punched it into the keypad and climbed the stairs to her place. The door to her apartment was already unlocked, and I wondered if Evan and I needed to add door locking to our list of safety concerns.
“Aubs?” I set my gym bag by her front closet and the grocery bag on her kitchen counter, then made my way into her bedroom.
Tucked into a mountain of pillows, Aubrey lay in the center of her bed, curled under a mess of blankets. Her lights were off, but the setting sun cast enough of a glow through her window for me to make out her messy bun, baggy sweatshirt, and miserable expression. As much as I hated to see that last one, I couldn’t help but find her adorable.
“Hey,” I said softly as I approached the bed. “You down for the count?”
She made a face and groaned. “Period cramps. I’ll survive.” She squeezed a pillow to her belly. “It’s usually only one day of wanting to rip out my uterus before it eases up.”
A pinch of discomfort creased her brow, and my urge to go to her won. I kicked off my shoes and crawled into the bed behind her. “Anything I can do to help?” I asked as she settled against my chest. “I brought Gatorade and soup, but maybe you don’t need those.”
“No, but this is nice.” She shifted the pillow in front of her to make room for my hand on her stomach. “I could have gone to work,” she admitted. “Normally, I’d pop three Advil and deal with the cramps, but my next event isn’t until next week, and I wasn’t up for another disappointing day.”
I made tiny circles against her sweatshirt with my thumb. “Evan told me about the blog review. Christian said some stuff?”
