The Secret (Winslow Brothers 3)

Searching and scraping through my bag, I finally close my fingers around the card-stock rectangle I’m looking for.

Pulling it out quickly, I plug the numbers into my phone and hit the button to call.

Ty

I stare at my television screen, mindlessly scrolling through channels and wondering when in the fuck my life turned to such shit.

When you fell in love, bro.

Oh, right. When I decided to fall in fucking love. That’s when it all went to hell.

My phone vibrates from the couch cushion beside me, and I hate how my pathetic heart kicks up ten notches. But the hopeful bastard goes back to his slow and steady rhythm when my eyes meet the screen and find a text from my brother Remy instead of any godforsaken salvation.

Remy: Last-minute family dinner tonight. Meet at Winnie’s house.

I roll my eyes and look up at the ceiling of my living room. Yeah, no. Fuck no.

But then my phone vibrates three more times with texts from my siblings.

Jude: Soph and I will be there.

Flynn: Count us in for four.

Winnie: Dinner will be ready at 8.

Once I read everyone else’s messages, I shoot a quick text letting them know I’ll be MIA.

Ty: Can’t come. Busy.

I toss the phone back down on the couch beside me, but it doesn’t even wait ten seconds before annoying me with the most annoyingly upbeat cocksucking ringtone in the universe—Pharrell’s “Happy.”

When in the hell did I think that fun-loving, Pollyanna, unicorn shit was a good idea? I mean, no offense, Pharrell, but I’m kind of in the middle of being depressed here.

I tilt the screen toward myself with a tiny fraction of hope, and then I curse and send it to voice mail when I see Incoming Call Remy flash across the screen.

Fuck that, bro.

It’s only after being subjected to the fucking shitdicked ringtone five more demon-dial times that I decide to answer and let Remy deal with the consequences. “What do you want?”

“Cancel your plans,” he says. “Be at Winnie’s by eight.”

“I said I was busy.”

“I don’t care,” he retorts. “Your ass better be there.”

“Well, you’d better start molding a fucking replica, because Rem, I’m not coming.”

“Mom wants to introduce us to some dude named Howard.”

“What?” I sit up then. “Seriously? She’s still dating that clown?”

“Just be at Winnie’s by eight.” He punctuates his words by ending the call with a click.

Dickhead.

I check the time on my phone, and when I see it’s already six, I huff out a sigh.

“Can’t these assholes understand I don’t feel like being around people right now? I don’t want to meet Howard. I don’t want to meet anyone.” Fuck. It’s like love works out for everyone but me.

When the only answer is my own quiet misery, I decide to get my ass off the couch and hop in the shower.

If I don’t get some sort of control over my emotions soon, family dinner and the newly introduced Howard are about to get one hell of a show.

At a little after eight, I walk into Winnie’s brownstone. Normally, I love the sounds of chatter and laughter on family dinner nights, but tonight’s familiar sounds only spur annoyance.

I would rather be anywhere but here.

I walk into the kitchen and search the room for the one unfamiliar face that’s supposed to be here, but I only spot Jude and Flynn chatting at the island, each one holding a swaddled baby in his arms.

Winnie, Sophie, Daisy, Aunt Paula, Lexi, and my mom are busy with the food. Each one engrossed in whatever task they’ve been assigned.

Wes and my uncle Brad are on the back terrace, Uncle Brad mostly just watching Wes handle whatever meat he has on the grill.

No one notices my presence.

“Glad you made it.” Rem claps a hand onto my back. Apparently, he’s the only one who sees me.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “I mean, you didn’t give me much choice, Stalin.”

He grins, unfazed by my characterization of him as a dictator. It annoys me that it rolls off his back so easily. It makes me push the limits even more.

“Where’s the old geezer I’m supposed to meet? Is he here, or did you run him off like you did Charlotte?”

It’s cutting—ruthless, even—I know. But the pain inside me is so all-consuming, and growing by the second, the only thing to do with it is to lash out.

His eyes narrow, and I brace myself for the fist to my face I know has to be coming. I’m not scared, though. Quite frankly, a little time unconscious sounds like a relief.

Rem laughs, the sound downright evil around the edges. “I’m going let that shit slide…once. And it’s only because I know you’re in a fuck-awful place—a place I’ve been before.”

How the fuck would he know what’s going on with me? I haven’t told anyone, and I’m not going to. I don’t need to drag myself through the mud of all those emotions again. No fucking thank you.