‘Are you going to take the proverbial?’ He glowered at Malachi.
Their brotherly banter was inevitable, joshing each other, but for a moment, Malachi didn’t say anything.
‘Maybe next time.’
That was unexpected.
‘Yeah, then,’ Sol admitted. ‘Anouk.’
‘Something is going on between you both?’
Malachi didn’t need to spell out that ‘something going on’ meant more than just him and Anouk having sex. His brother had mocked him for his playboy reputation plenty of times in the past.
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘Serious?’
Was it? If it wasn’t, would he even be here? Doing this for her? He didn’t care to examine that too deeply.
‘Maybe. She’s the reason I came here today, at least.’
His brother studied him, cool and perceptive.
‘What do you need?’ Malachi asked at length.
‘You have people who can track stuff down for you, right?’
Malachi inclined his head.
‘I want you to track down all you can on this man.’ Sol flicked through his phone and found the notepad where he’d copied down the details from the scrap of paper in Anouk’s picture frame, leaning forward to spin it across the desk to his brother. ‘He died thirteen years ago, but he used to live there.’
Wordlessly, Malachi read the screen and made a note of the information. He didn’t even question it and, not for the first time, Sol wondered how different his life would have been if he hadn’t had his brother.
Anouk was right. Their relationship with their mother might have been destructive and damaging, but the two brothers had always believed in each other, loved each other. In their own fierce way.
How was it that she—a relative stranger—had understood even when he hadn’t really been able to see it? He doubted Malachi had either.
What was that saying about not seeing the wood for the trees?
‘Do you think you can do this without hurting her, Sol?’ Malachi demanded suddenly.
‘Sorry?’ Sol was instantly on alert.
‘Settling down with Anouk. Do you think you, the perennial playboy, can do that?’
‘I’m not settling down,’ Sol denied.
‘Then why care? I mean, I get that you care about your patients, and the kids at the centre. But I’ve never known you to care about a woman enough to ask for my help.’
‘She’s...different.’ He chose his words circumspectly. ‘But that doesn’t mean there’s anything serious between us.’
‘Right.’
Malachi pushed his chair back abruptly and stood up, moving to the window to look out, and it struck Sol that they were so alike, he and his brother.
Perhaps that was why, when he felt the disapproval radiating from Malachi’s stiff back, Sol knew it wasn’t actually directed at him. Rather, his brother was censuring himself. Which was why he took the plunge into the dangerous waters of asking personal questions.
‘Who is she, Mal?’