Chance (The Fosters of New York 1)

"You thought I'd tell you that you did the right thing," I correct him. "That's why you told me first and not Gabriel or your parents. You thought I'd back you up and reassure you."

"No." He shakes his head slightly. "I thought you'd see the value in what I did. I know you worry about him falling back into his old habits. I thought it would scare him if he was arrested."

"It broke him." My hands leap to my chest. "It hurt him. You're his brother. He's supposed to be able to count on you."

"I'm supposed to be able to count on him." He straightens his legs and I wonder briefly if he's going to jump to his feet. "He can't hide behind his addiction forever. It's not an excuse."

I stare at him as I try and absorb the words. "He's not like you, Caleb. He's nothing like you."

"You keep telling me that," he spits the words out through clenched teeth. "I'm sick and tired of hearing about how wonderful my fucked up brother is."

"He's not fucked up," I seethe as I slam my palm into my desk. "He's human. He's not perfect. He's just trying to make it through life. That's it."

His shoulders fall back into the chair. "You've picked your side. You actually picked his side."

I want to scream. I want to shake him until the boy I used to know floats back into view. "I chose to be a friend to Asher. That's all I've done."

He pushes himself slowly to his feet. I watch as he buttons his suit jacket and straightens his tie. "After what you went through with Tom you'd think you would have learned your lesson. I'm done trying to help either of you. If you want Asher, he's all yours and you can both stay the hell away from me and my business."

My bottom lip quivers but I don't respond as he pulls his gaze from me before he opens my office door and disappears down the bustling corridor.

Chapter 16

"Who knew Caleb Foster was such a raging bitch?"

I have to physically push my hand into my lips to keep myself from spitting out my dinner. I turn to look at Graham. He's holding a glass of wine in one hand and a fork in the other.

"You're not actually considering talking to him again, are you?"

I shrug my shoulder while I chew quickly.

"I don't know. We've argued before."

"Arguing is one thing, Rowan." His index finger flies into the air towards me. "You two didn't have an argument. He just lost it. That's an entirely different thing."

I can't disagree. It's been more than a week since Caleb stormed out of my office. I was tempted to call him the next day to smooth things over but my pride wouldn't allow it. Instead, I'd busied myself on a new project at work and had dragged Ivy to a Broadway play and yoga class a few times. If I can keep my mind occupied, I can keep it from wandering to thoughts of Caleb.

We've gone weeks, and even months, at times without talking but we've never left things in such a difficult place before. Whenever we've argued in the past, one of us has reached out to the other within a day or two. It's not happening this time and even though part of me is in full-on panic mode over the idea of never talking to Caleb again, I can't bring myself to call him or send him a text. I know if I do, I'll be pulled back into his feud with Asher. I need to move my life forward and if that means creating distance from the Foster brothers, I'm going to stay on that path.

"I'm going to start work next week," Graham handily changes the subject and I'm grateful for the unexpected shift.

Since we've been roommates, Graham has spent most of his days sitting in the apartment, wallowing in the grief of his divorce. I haven't asked too many questions about his career goals mainly because each time I've brought up anything to do with his life before he left New York, he immediately dives into a conversation about his marriage. He's always made certain that his part of the rent was in my hand before the first of the month, which is the only thing that really matters.

"That's great," I offer cautiously. "Where are you working?"

"Here and there." He flips his hand in the air between us. "I'm actually going to be a personal assistant."

"Where?" I stop myself when I see him cock a dark brow. "Or is it who? Who are you working for?"

"Libby Duncan," he almost screams her name out as he claps his hands together. "I'm the new personal assistant to Libby Duncan."

I'm not a theatre buff. I don't line up to grab tickets when a new play or musical opens. I've been to two Broadway shows in the past six months and both of those have been with Ivy. Libby Duncan was the star of one of them and after the performance I watched as Ivy warmly embraced her. They're friends and I'm guessing that's how Graham got the upper hand in landing that sought after job.

"Ivy took me to see her in that new musical," I begin before I realize I can't remember the name of the production. "She was incredible. She's really talented."

"She's the best." He lifts his wine glass in the air. "It's a grueling job but I'm up for the challenge considering I get to watch her perform in eight shows every week."

I can't help but smile. This is the first time I've seen any excitement on Graham's face since he moved in with me. "It sounds like it's going to be a blast."