Rush

I imagine Emma will need to settle up her life in Seattle before she starts working at Cabbott.

I glance at the screen of my laptop and the information that I’m gathering in a document to send off to one of Cabbott’s lawyers. She’ll plug the details into a standard contract for Emma to sign.

I decided on the salary we’ll offer and the perks.

It’s the location of the job that I’m stuck on.

I want her in San Francisco. I want to continue what we’ve started. Maybe, last night was the first step toward that.

“I’m fine,” I say. “How are you, Emma?”

“Tender.” Her hand dives to cover her mound. “Last night was intense.”

“In a good way.” I wave her over. “Sit in my lap.”

She pads over on her bare feet. With a yank on the hem of my shirt to pull it down, she settles on my lap. The only thing separating us is the boxer briefs I’m wearing.

Her hand falls into my hair. Running her fingers through it, she smiles. “I know last night wasn’t easy for you. I mean the sex was easy.”

I let out a chuckle. “Pleasing you is easy. I’d do anything to make you feel good.”

“I want to make you feel good too.” Her lips brush my forehead. “Your body and your heart. I want to make every part of you feel good.”

Including my conscience?

When I glance up and into her eyes, I see that she means everything she just said. “When we first met, I wondered if you knew about Apollo. I wondered if Drake had told you.”

Her fingers trace a path across my forehead. “He didn’t say a word. I had no idea that your brother had passed away.”

The words are as peaceful as Apollo’s death was.

What came after was the brutal part.

“He moved to Manhattan six weeks before he died.”

Her breathing stutters. “He moved into this apartment with you?”

Fuck. I wish that had happened. I wish every goddamn day that we would have had time here together.

“I was living in a walk up on the Lower East Side.” I close my eyes, willing the wave of memories to retreat.

I rented the apartment when I first settled in New York. It was a month-to-month two bedroom with a sticky lock on the door and a refrigerator that couldn’t keep anything cold.

I had money in my pocket, but fear kept me from spending it until my younger half-brother wanted something.

“Apollo came to Manhattan after he was accepted to Fordham University.” I take a breath. “The kid was an ace at baseball. That was his ticket to the scholarship he earned.”

Right after Apollo died, everyone who visited my grandfather in San Francisco to offer condolences, rushed him through his memories of Apollo. They wanted to know what took his life. The death of someone so young is often more about that one moment than all the time they spent living.

“What position did he play?”

The question catches me off guard. I’ve never been asked that. Drake never bothered to ask that.

Emma is putting value in who Apollo was; not on how he was taken. “Pitcher.”

“Some would argue that’s the most important position on the team.”

That lures a smile to my mouth. “Pol would agree with you.”

“Pol,” she repeats his nickname. “Did he like it when you called him that?”

“He fucking loved it.” I tilt my head back to steal a breath. “His dad left before he was born, so it was my grandpa and me that raised him. I was Rush, and he was Pol.”

There’s no question about my parents waiting to be asked. Drake must have told Emma that my father was killed in a motorcycle accident was I was three. My mother left when Pol was a year old. She fucked off with some random she met who had a fat wallet and a dislike for kids.

My grandfather stepped in and saw to it that my brother and I had everything we needed.

I’ve returned the favor the past few years. He lives a half-mile from me in his own beach house. It’s smaller, but it suits him fine.

It’s the ocean that is the draw for both of us. It’s where we feel closest to Pol.

Silence settles between us, but it’s comfortable. Emma rests her head against mine.

I want her to know what happened to my brother as much as I want to forget.

“I went to work early one Tuesday morning.” I squeeze her tighter, wanting to keep her in place while I get the words out. “When I came home from work that afternoon, he was gone. He was still in his bed.”

She presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’m so sorry, Case.”

“He was supposed to go to Fordham that day for orientation, but he never made it.” My voice cracks. “Pol died in his sleep of a seizure.”