Chapter Seven
Brogan
Brogan leaned forward, hands flat on the cracked Formica table of the Blue Star Diner. The coffee in his cup had gone cold, untouched. Across from him, Andrew sat with his arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes dark with warning.
“I need Joe’s address,” Brogan said, voice rough.
Andrew exhaled, shaking his head. “Not happening.”
Brogan’s pulse pounded against his chest. “It’s important I talk to Archie.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Andrew said. “He doesn’t want to see you. He made that pretty damn clear.”
Brogan clenched his teeth. “I need to explain. You don’t get it, Jade—”
Andrew’s eyes flashed. “I don’t care about Jade,” he snapped. “Archie does. And you know what? He threw him out. In one day, Brogan. What explanation do you think changes that?”
Silence hung heavily between them, thick with the weight of things left unsaid. Brogan dragged a hand over his face, inhaling hard through his nose. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—accept this. Not without trying.
Andrew stood, turned around, signaling the end of their conversation. “Let it go.”
Brogan didn’t move as Andrew walked to the kitchen area, the diner’s half door swinging shut behind him. The hum of conversation buzzed around him, the clatter of plates, the scrape of silverware. It didn’t matter. None of it did.
Brogan stalked toward the exit, ignoring the server’s glance as he stepped into the parking lot. His van sat under the flickering neon of the diner’s sign, the glow painting harsh streaks of light against the windshield.
He climbed inside, the seat creaking under his weight. His hands trembled as he grabbed his phone, pulling up the address he already knew Andrew wouldn’t give him.
Joe.
That’s where Archie was.
Brogan’s chest tightened. Whatever Jade had done—whatever he’d said—it had shattered something between them.
But Archie was special. There was no way in hell he was going to let him walk away.
He had never fallen for anyone this fast. Those deep feelings appeared when they first met.
It wasn’t anything he could pinpoint that hooked his feelings. It was odd, but in an amazing way.
Not like this.
He started the engine, then he pulled onto the road. The drive felt longer than it was, the weight of everything pressing down on him.
When he finally reached Joe’s house, he saw it immediately.
Archie’s motorcycle.
Parked right there in the driveway.
Brogan swallowed hard.
This was it.
He wasn’t leaving without saying what needed to be said.
Brogan sat in his van, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles blanched white. The house in front of him stood quiet except for the faint glow of light in the window. Archie was in there. So close, yet completely unreachable.
This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Archie should’ve never let Jade inside his home. Jade probably lied his way inside.
He exhaled hard and shoved open the door, boots crunching against the gravel driveway as he strode toward the house. His heartbeat thudded in his ears as he knocked—firm, impatient.
The door opened, and Joe stood there, expression already guarded. He knew why Brogan had come.
“I need to talk to Archie,” Brogan said, voice raw.
Joe didn’t flinch. “No.”
Brogan’s jaw tightened. “Joe, come on, man. Just let me in.”
“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” Joe said flatly. “I’m not dragging him out here just so you can get your closure.”
Brogan stepped forward, hands clenched at his sides. “This isn’t about closure.”
Joe’s eyes flickered with something like pity before hardening again. “It doesn’t matter what it’s about. Archie wants nothing to do with you.”
Brogan shook his head, breath coming faster. “You don’t understand. This isn’t—”
Joe took a step forward and shoved Brogan back, firm and final. The push sent him stumbling a few steps, the cold air biting at his skin. Then the door slammed shut. Locked.
Brogan stood there, staring at the wood, the silence pressing down on him like a weight.
Slowly, he turned and walked back to his van, mind spinning. He climbed into the driver’s seat and yanked out his phone, thumb hovering over Archie’s contact. Then he called.
No answer.
He called again. And again.
Still nothing.
He dropped the phone onto the passenger seat and scrubbed a hand over his face, chest tight, stomach twisted in knots.
Archie wasn’t listening.
Brogan inhaled deeply, started the engine, and pulled onto the road. The tires scraped against the pavement as he drove, each mile stretching out in front of him like some kind of punishment.
By the time he reached home, the weight hadn’t lifted. He killed the engine but didn’t move, just sat there in the dark, staring at nothing.
He wasn’t ready to give up.
But for the first time, it felt like he might have to.
He had a few beers while he paced back and forth in circles, then decided he needed to find out what Jade had said to Archie for him to move out in a flash.
This tangled mess was Jade’s fault. Brogan gripped his phone so tightly it nearly slipped from his fingers.
The motel. Jade was at the damn local motel.
He didn’t waste time thinking, just muttered, “I’m coming over, so what room are you in?”
“Room three.”
The drive was short, but each second stretched under the weight of his fury. His foot pressed harder on the gas than it should have, his jaw locked so tight it ached. Jade had made up lies. Had forced Archie out. And for what? Some twisted satisfaction?
By the time he pulled into the parking lot, his hands were shaking with adrenaline.
He climbed out, marched straight to the room number Jade had given him, and knocked—no, pounded—his fist against the door.
It swung open, and Jade stood there, unruffled, like he had been expecting this. Like he wanted it.
Brogan shoved past him into the room, voice shaking with restrained rage. “You lied,” he spat. “You forced him out!”
Jade shut the door behind him, folding his arms, cool as ever. “He didn’t belong there, and we both know it.”
Brogan’s chest tightened, breath coming hard and fast. “You don’t get to decide that. You had no right!”
Jade sneered, stepping closer. “He had a day to pack his things—just like I told him.”
Brogan’s hands curled into fists. “You should’ve never—” He exhaled, shaking his head, barely able to find the words under the burning anger rising in his throat. “You ruined everything.”
Jade rolled his eyes. “Ruined what, exactly? Your little fantasy where he stays forever?”
Brogan’s pulse pounded, and before he could stop himself, the words flew out: “Don’t ever contact me again.”
Jade gave a short, bitter laugh. “You think you can order me around now?”
“I think,” Brogan said, voice low and biting, “you should get on the first plane back to Dublin and stay the hell out of our lives.”
Jade’s expression hardened. “Oh, so now it’s now our lives with that server boy?”
“That’s right. He’s not just a roommate, so go back to Dublin.” Brogan may have stretched it out to get rid of Jade.
“You can’t tell me where to go.”
Their voices escalated, anger bouncing off the motel walls, loud enough that neighbors had surely heard. But neither of them cared.
Not until a knock came—followed by the door swinging open.
Rafael.
The officer stepped inside, gaze focused, voice firm. “That’s enough.”
Brogan’s breath was unsteady, hands still clenched. Jade barely seemed fazed.
“Go home,” Rafael ordered, not leaving room for argument.
Brogan swallowed down everything he wanted to say—everything still burning under his ribs.
He pushed past Rafael, stepped out into the chilly night, and left without another word.
But the anger, the betrayal—it followed him all the way home.