“Meaning you don’t want to discuss it too deeply.”
Leave it to the middle Prince to nail him. “Look, we can talk it about another time. Just think about it.”
“I’m done thinking about it,” Rory said, his forehead creased. “Yeah, I stay at Olive’s place a lot, but that’s our house. And where the hell would this leave you, A?”
“Anywhere else.”
Rory and Jamie traded a glance. “This is about Jiya,” Jamie sighed, pushing up his glasses. “You really think distance is going to make it any better?”
Until Jamie made the accusation out loud, Andrew didn’t realize Jiya’s proximity did play a huge role in selling the house. What was he going to do? Watch through the front window every time she came to visit with her husband and kids, for the rest of his life? Yeah, he wanted to put his brothers at a safe distance from what he’d agreed to do for Handler, but selling the house and moving might very well save his sanity where Jiya was concerned.
If that was even possible.
Andrew shouldered past his brothers to take an impatient girl’s order, then returned to the speed rack to make her a gin and tonic. His brothers were waiting with their arms crossed, their resemblance more on display than usual.
“Go back to work,” Andrew growled. “We can talk about it later.”
“Oh no, we’re in it now,” Rory said, taking a toothpick from the box behind the register and pushing it between his lips. “Have you talked to Jiya about your idea to sell?”
“Why would I do that, Rory? She’s dating. She will eventually be married to someone else.” He stopped to clear the agony from his throat. “Whether or not I sell the house is not her problem. It can’t be.”
Rory snorted. “So you’re kicking us out and pushing her away. That sound like healthy behavior to you?”
“You’re going to talk to me about what’s healthy, Rory? Jesus. You’ve had your shit together for all of five minutes.”
“That’s one hundred percent true. So learn from my mistakes.” Rory pointed at Jamie, who was being way too quiet. “Hell, learn from his. We both almost let the past keep us from being happy and you’re about to take that same fucking fall.”
“It’s not the same. My past is…” No longer banished to the past.
It was in the present and actively fucking him.
“That cop still following you?” Jamie asked.
“God,” Andrew laughed bitterly. “I knew you were being too quiet.”
Rory went still. “What cop?”
“It’s nothing—” Andrew started.
At the same time, Jamie said, “A cop has been following Andrew. Or at least he was until a couple of weeks ago. Kind of got a little busy with the whole break up, make up and wedding after that.”
“Is he hanging around because of me?” Rory asked, his complexion gray.
“No,” they both answered firmly.
Rory relaxed somewhat. “Then what is it about…”
When their youngest brother trailed off, understanding and apprehension dawning in his eyes, all three of them looked over their shoulders reflexively. Andrew was not having this conversation. Not in the Castle Gate. He didn’t even want to talk about what he’d done, let alone while standing inside these four walls. He was proud of this place and refused to let ugliness touch it. Let the stink get all over him. Just not on the bar. Not on his brothers or Jiya. Please God.
“Listen to me, don’t bring it up again. Not what happened. Not the cop. None of it.” He looked them both in the eye. “Forget what you know, all right? Please.”
“Andrew,” Jamie said, grabbing his arm when he tried to walk away. “Tell us what’s going on.”
Andrew took a breath to center himself, before shaking off Jamie’s hand and forcing a laugh. “I think maybe I just need a breather. Rory, can you close?”
They both reared back like they’d been slapped. Andrew never knocked off early or failed to close on his scheduled nights. Nonetheless, Rory nodded, dazedly, and Andrew wasted no time escaping their concerned stares by ducking under the hatch. He collected his keys and cell phone from the back office—and went out to get shit faced.
*
Andrew had forgotten that alcohol brought on the nightmare.
Numbing his brain should have staved off the echoes from the past, but the whiskey he’d consumed by himself in some random dive bar that night had the opposite effect. Andrew might have been drunk, but he was lucid enough to know what was coming. The dream was always the same, after all.
He walked in through the front door of his house, brushing rain off the shoulders of his leather jacket. It was only ten o’clock and his mother was usually still up, so he’d been surprised to find the house dark. But it only remained that way until a lightning strike brought everything into focus and snapped like a camera flash. What? No. He’d seen that wrong.