The Secret (Winslow Brothers 3)

I didn’t realize the magnitude of that until a few weeks ago, when we were in Vegas for Jude’s bachelor party, and he drunkenly revealed to me just how right Miss Cleo was—she’d predicted a bet would change his life, and that’s exactly how he met Sophie.

Needless to say, my head’s been upside down and tucked inside my ass ever since.

And now, you feel like the only way to un-fuck your head is to go straight to the source…

I inhale a deep breath, shove my phone into my back pocket, and close the distance between me and the tattered building. The instant I step over the threshold, a large bell rings above the door, and I’m hit with the smell of dust and candles and incense. The same dark burgundy curtains adorned with gold ropes from almost a decade and a half ago highlight the room, and clichéd knickknacks I saw only once before through bachelor-party-buzzed eyes fill my vision.

It’s as if I’ve been teleported back in time.

What the fuck am I doing? I shouldn’t have come here.

I start to turn back for the door, hell-bent on scrubbing Staten Island from my memory entirely, but four words stop me in my tracks.

“I’ve been expecting you.”

That voice. Holy shit, I remember that voice.

I look around the room with wide eyes that would rival Bugs Bunny when he spots Wile E. Coyote, looking for Cleo and her frighteningly green gaze, but she’s nowhere in sight.

“Take a seat, Ty.” The raspy female voice fills my ears again, and this time, I can pinpoint its location. Behind a set of velvet curtains that lead toward a mysterious back room, the woman I’m looking for taunts my stomach into tying itself in a few more knots.

After several long moments, Cleo, the infamous fortune-teller, appears. Her distinct green eyes meet mine immediately and without timidity, and I swear on everything, my balls just about jump inside my stomach.

Fuck, this is weird.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bite,” she teases, and it’s disconcerting how this woman hasn’t aged a day since I last saw her. Beneath a velvet hood, the same mane of thick black hair hangs past her shoulders. Her eyes feel too wise. And her mouth showcases the familiar dark lipstick that my twenty-year-old self remembers. This isn’t the work of Botox or fillers or any of that shit. This is something biological—something creepy as fuck.

She gestures with her hand toward two chairs that sit in front of a table with a silk tablecloth, and for as much as I came here of my own volition, I still hesitate to follow her command.

“Oh, my favorite professor.” A confident smile that just barely lifts the corners of her lips accompanies her words. “I think you and I both know you didn’t come all this way to not ask me all those questions that are floating around inside that handsome head of yours.”

It’s unnerving as hell that this woman knows my name. Remembers my name. And somehow holds the knowledge of my profession.

But she’s right. I didn’t drive over an hour to Staten Island just to be a chickenshit.

On a sigh, I take a seat across from her. The room is quiet besides some kind of fortune-teller-themed soundtrack of wind chimes, and the floor almost seems as though it’s vibrating. That might be because my knee is bouncing much, much more than normal, but I don’t fucking know. All this feels supernatural.

Whenever Crazy Cleo holds eye contact, I can’t help but avert my gaze. I don’t know what it is about this woman, but I feel like she can see too much—like she’s inside my head.

“It’s okay.” She smiles again. “Your internal thoughts are sacred, my child. I don’t judge what I hear, and I only listen when I feel it’s necessary to help you.”

I shut my eyes for a brief moment, mentally questioning how I managed to get myself here.

Easy, bro. You paid over ten dollars in tolls. Time to man up.

I meet Cleo’s eyes again. Her hands now rest gently on the table.

“You don’t disappoint, my dear,” she says with a little grin. “I knew you’d only get better with age.”

Is she flirting with me?

If that’s the case, I can’t blame her. I am one good-looking motherfucker, but it’s a little strange, considering all the circumstances.

“How are you and your brothers?”

“Well, they haven’t aged as well as me, but you and I both know, this face right here sets the bar pretty high.”

A soft laugh escapes her throat. “Your confidence is something to be admired, my dear.”

It’s also probably a coping mechanism, but hey, no need to get into the details of that.

Her eyes glow with wisdom, and her mouth crests up in a knowing smile. “Remington, Flynn, and Jude are lucky to have someone as invested in their lives as you are.”