ChapterSeven
When Ronan’s phone rang and he saw Brendan’s number, he debated answering. He could count on one hand how many times his big brother had called him in the last decade. Given that they’d seen each other this morning, this wasn’t a good sign.
“What, Brendan? Miss me already?”
“Oh yeah. Maybe we can get together to braid each other’s hair.”
“Funny.”
“Guess who I just got a text from.”
Fuck. He didn’t want to hear. He’d seen Chloe give her phone to Brendan.
“Chloe McCarthy. When I saw her earlier today, she said we should get together for drinks and catch up.”
“Stay away from her.”
Brendan hummed in that irritating way their mother did when she thought she knew something. “I would, but I promised to give you a message. She said that the Cahills are looking for a reason to fire you.”
Motherfucker. That girl didn’t listen for shit. Not when she was sixteen and not now.
“How you managed to piss them off a week into your promotion is a feat. I underestimated your ability to anger all the wrong people.”
Ronan took a deep breath and ignored his brother’s condescending comment. “What else did she say? I haven’t screwed anything up.”
“She sent a text, so there was no context. But I’ll ask when I meet her for a drink at eight.”
“I told you to stay away from her. She doesn’t need to be caught up in this mess. Definitely not with you.”
Brendan laughed. “Like she’d be better with you?”
“Fuck no. But I didn’t break her heart.”
Brendan dropped into silence. It might’ve been a cheap shot, but he didn’t care. Except for running a little wild as a pre-teen, Brendan had always been on the straight and narrow. He’d done what was right for him. He didn’t intentionally hurt Chloe.
“I’m just having a drink with an old friend. Nothing else. And she reached out to me. I didn’t track her down.”
“Then pick me up. I’m going with you.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m FBI. I know how to ask questions.”
“But I’ll be there to make sure you don’t pressure her into doing more. Drawing her deeper into this mess we’re trying to unravel.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty. I’m supposed to meet her at Last Shot. You know where it is?”
He remembered the crappy bar where they’d had a beer. Where she’d told him to fuck her. “Yeah.”
They disconnected and he kicked the bucket of tools he had sitting in the middle of the room. After visiting his mother this morning, he had planned to start working on his kitchen. He’d bought this foreclosed house before moving back. He’d told himself it was an investment, a way to move on. But since then, the only rooms that he’d completed were the master bedroom and bath.
He worked long days and drank too much at night. He’d been thinking more and more about selling it. He wasn’t the kind of guy who owned a house. But fixing his mother’s porch made him feel accomplished in a way his job didn’t. It was time to make progress here.
Brendan’s call fucked with his head, though. He couldn’t decide if his brother was trying to fuck with him by making plans to drink with Chloe. Even though they didn’t have anything going on between them—no matter how much they thought about it—Brendan had no business with her.
He grabbed his sledgehammer and went to work knocking down everything in his path.
By the timeseven-thirty rolled around, Ronan was running late. He’d made a mess of his kitchen, which he was now regretting, but he felt better physically. His head was clear enough to face Brendan and Chloe. He’d just gotten out of the shower and was half-dressed when there was a knock on his front door. Figured Brendan was exactly on time.
He answered the door in his jeans. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”
Brendan stepped into the living room. “Interesting look you have going here,” he said, pointing to the single chair in the room. “I guess you don’t do much entertaining.”
“If I do, it’s not happening in here. The place needs a lot of work. Gimme five.” Ronan turned the corner and went into his room to finish dressing. He heard his brother moving around. Part of him was embarrassed. Construction was the one thing he was good at, but his house was a mess.
A moment later, Brendan was leaning against the doorframe to the bedroom. “Did a hell of a job on the kitchen.”
“I just did that today. Time got away from me.”
“You should call Declan. I think he’s looking for work. He’ll be cheap labor.”
“I thought he had a gig at a bar or something.” Last he’d heard, their little brother was bartending. Declan had bounced through so many different jobs, Ronan couldn’t keep track.
“Well, you know how it goes with him.”