Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Nash
The Brass Lantern is loud tonight. Basketball game playing on the TVs above the liquor shelves, someone arguing about fantasy stats near the dartboard, and a couple in the corner who seem to think fighting is foreplay.
Cal Monroe glances up from behind the bar, polishing a glass like he’s got a personal vendetta against fingerprints. He nods once in my direction.
“If that look gets any darker, we’re gonna lose the lights entirely,” he says, already reaching for the whiskey.
“Guess it’s a good thing you don’t rely on mood lighting.”
Cal snorts his approval, filling a glass and sliding it my way. I claim the booth in the back, the one near the ancient jukebox that still has no right playing anything recorded by Grayson Kincaid. The leather’s cracked, the table wobbles, and the lantern-style sconce above the booth flickers.
Bennett shows up five minutes later, fresh off shift. He stops at the bar to order a beer, then slides into the booth across from me, and raises a brow.
“All right, big brother. What’s got your scrubs in a twist?”
I take a long drink before answering. I came here to clear my head, not spill my guts. But Bennett’s always had a way of worming into places he’s not invited.
“Rough week,” I mutter.
“You called me to a bar at ten o’clock on a Wednesday with twenty minutes notice. That’s not ‘rough.’ That’s ‘I’m spiraling and don’t want to say it out loud.’”
I glare.
He grins.
“If you wanted gentle, you woulda called Mom. You called me,” he says with a flare of his hands. “I’m here, so let’s cut the shit.”
I lean back in the booth, thumb tracing the rim of the glass. “I offered Lucy the spare room. She moved in last week.”
Saying it out loud almost feels humiliating. It was a short-sighted, impulsive decision and that is not how I live my life. Bennett’s reaction says he agrees.
He pauses mid-sip and cocks his head. “I’m sorry, what now? Moved in?”
I nod.
“That seems bold. Or sudden. Suddenly bold,” he finishes, raising his beer with a satisfied smile.
“What it is, is temporary. Just until her ankle’s strong enough for her to get home.
It makes logistical sense.” I pause, then decide to stroke his ego to distract him from digging farther.
“You were right. I’m too busy. Having her in the house makes it possible to follow through on my promise.
As it turns out, I did not unlock a bonus day between Tuesday and Wednesday. ”
Bennett snorts. “Right. Because logistics explain the look on your face right now. And the fact that you kept the whole thing secret for a week. Or that you made a great big change in your routine without mulling it over first.”
I ignore that. Stick to the facts.
“Stella’s couch wasn’t cutting it. Lucy’s family is a mess. This was the cleanest option. Logistics, man. That’s all.”
He tilts his head. “And?”
I hesitate.
“If that was all we wouldn’t be here for an emergency drink when I know you have to work at the crack of dawn tomorrow.” Understanding flashes across Bennett’s face and I brace for whatever comes next. “Holy shit. Did something happen between you and Lucy?”
My silence is apparently answer enough.
“Wow. Nash and Lucy.” He sits back in the booth, eyeing me with a confusing blend of judgment and mirth. “Twelve-year-old me never saw that coming.”
I scrub both hands over my face. “We kissed. Just once. It was heat of the moment after too much wine. We agreed not to do it again.”
But I’ve wanted to every day since.
“And how’s that little boundary experiment going?” my brother asks with a full helping of your answer is irrelevant because I already know.
“It was going just fine, thank you very much. But tonight, I walked in on her in the tub and it’s suddenly not going that great anymore.”
Bennett blinks. “Define ‘walked in.’”
“She slipped. I heard her fall. Thought she was hurt and instinct took over.”
“Shit, man.” Bennett leans back, hands behind his head like he can’t decide whether to play good cop or bad cop. “This is so much better than I imagined. This is premium content.”
“Shut up.”
Cal strolls by just then, setting Bennett’s favorite on our table—an overflowing basket of fries. They smell like garlic and good times. A staple of evenings at The Brass Lantern.
“You boys good?” he asks, voice like a gravel road.
“The more Nash talks, the better I get,” Bennett answers with a cocky grin.
Cal studies me, like he sees the whole damn story in the slouch of my shoulders. Then he gives a short nod and walks off again, muttering something under his breath about the Kincaid genes being just as much a blessing as a curse.
Bennett laughs into his beer like I’ve made his week.
“I’m serious, Ben.”
“I know. That’s why it’s funny.”
I glare like he’s ten again, but his grin says he’s immune.
After a minute, I shake my head. “It’s not just that. It’s her. It’s everything. She’s… I don’t know. She’s like sunlight after a week of storms. You forget how much you need it until it touches you. You told me a couple weeks ago that I was frozen, and I said you were full of shit. I was wrong.”
Bennett’s smile fades.
I look down at my drink. “And now she’s in my house.
Laughing in my kitchen. Dancing during rehab.
Making pancakes and saying thank you and calling me on my bullshit.
We talk, Ben. We spent an entire afternoon at the pier, just listening to music and talking and…
” I flare my hands and close my eyes. “Being with her feels right in a way it shouldn’t. ”
My brother studies me, quiet for a beat. “Hold on,” he says, folding his arms on the table, “this sounds more serious than I thought. This sounds like something I shouldn’t be laughing about.”
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter. I can’t do anything about it.”
“Because…?”
“Because a million reasons. Because she’s only here for a few weeks and she’s vulnerable, her life is so broken and me? I’m—” I exhale. “I’m tired, Bennett. I’m so tired I can’t always tell if what I’m feeling is real or just me desperate to feel anything again.”
Bennett watches me carefully. “There’s only one way to find out.”
I lean forward, elbows on the table. “You think I should pursue something with a woman ten years younger than me, living in my house, who I just walked in on naked after telling her getting involved was a bad idea because, and I quote, ‘I know better?’”
He grins. “When you say it like that? Hell yes.”
I groan.
“Listen,” he says, more gently this time, “you’re overthinking. As usual. But let me lay it out. Lucy’s not some lost puppy. You think she doesn’t know what she’s doing when she flirts? You’re not exactly Fort Knox. If I can see what she does to you, so can she.”
I say nothing.
“Are you taking advantage,” Bennett continues, “or are you in too deep, too soon? You moved her in, Nash. Didn’t you know you were attracted to her when you made the offer?
You’re not a man who acts without purpose.
I have to think part of you knew this would happen.
Maybe, and I’m just spitballin’ here, maybe part of you actually hoped it would happen. ”
I take a long sip. Let the whiskey burn my throat. Behind Bennett, at the far end of the bar, a guy in a flannel shirt leans toward a woman with hopeful eyes, two drinks in hand. She gives a tight smile, says something I can’t hear, and walks away without taking either one.
The guy watches her go, clutching those drinks as rejection drowns out hope.
Brutal. And possibly prophetic.
Bennett clears his throat, breaking through my thoughts. “You don’t have to do anything right now. Believe it or not, you don’t even have to map the whole thing out. But maybe stop torturing yourself like you’re the villain in a story that definitely has another side.”
I glance at him. “What would you do?”
He grins. “I’d kiss her again. See where that leads.”
“Not helpful.”
“Realistic. You can tell yourself you're not gonna fall for her all you want, but that doesn't change the fact that you already have. We don't get to choose how we feel.”
“Maybe you don’t.”
Bennett leans back, stretching. “You should bring her to Sunday dinner.”
My stomach tightens. “Lucy?”
“Yeah. Mom hasn’t seen her since she was, what, twelve?”
I stare like he’s lost his mind, but that doesn’t stop him from continuing.
“She’d love to see her again. Plus, getting you guys out of the house might be good, take the pressure off.”
I arch a brow. “Dinner with you, Grayson, Gideon, and our mother is your idea of less pressure?”
He grins. “Only one way to find out.”
I stare into my glass.
I shouldn’t picture it.
Shouldn’t imagine her fitting in like she’s always belonged.
But the image comes anyway—fully formed, vivid, dangerous.
Lucy laughing across the table, her boot propped up, her hair pulled back, eyes sparking as she trades sarcasm with Bennett and war stories with Grayson and Gideon about Los Angeles and life with the rich and famous.
She’d fit. God help me, she’d fit.
I drain the rest of my drink and set the glass down harder than I mean to.
“Bring her,” Bennett says again. “Or don’t. But quit acting like you’ve committed a crime by caring about someone.”
“I’m not sure I know how to do this.”
He shrugs. “Do it anyway.”
I flare my hands in question—because what kind of answer is that?—as Cal appears at my elbow, quiet as a ghost. He nods at the empty glass in front of me.
“Want another?”
I shake my head.
He studies me for a beat, then sets a small white takeout box on the table.
“Grilled cheese,” he says. “Kitchen had an extra. Figured maybe you’d take it home to the girl.”
I blink. “I didn’t say anything about a girl.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Cal offers a lopsided smile, already walking away.