Chapter 11
WREN
A shiver runs through me at the rasp in Darcy’s voice, and I’m starting to see his point. Maybe brothers shouldn’t share those kinds of details because I’m pretty sure it’s not a bad shiver coursing through me. It’s a good one.
I might have been able to shake off what I thought was attraction when he stood up for me, but an actual physical reaction? Our family dynamic might be fucked-up, but that’s taking it one step too far.
Or a hundred steps too far.
For the rest of the day, we work side by side, not touching, but the joking around and talking about our sex lives are gone.
If he knew how I reacted to his voice … I suppress a shudder. Gross.
“What time can we clock out?” he asks.
“I guess I’ll let you have an early mark. You worked hard labor all day, and this is the first time you’ve complained about it, so you’ve earned it.”
“Thank god.” Darcy’s tight shoulders relax. “I swear I’ve used muscles I didn’t know existed, and I’m excited to go home and soak in the tub.”
“Oh, the day’s finished, but it’s not over.”
He deflates. “What?”
“You have to come have beers in a seedy bar where the drinks are cheap and us riffraff can afford it.”
“I have to?”
I nod slowly. “It’s the law.”
“A construction-specific work law?”
“Now you’re getting it. Come see what it’s like for the other half to live.”
He looks like he’s about to tap out—to ask for leniency—but he doesn’t. “Let’s do it. Where do we wash up first?”
I pretend to look confused. “Wash up? That’s cute.”
Poor Darcy looks like he wants to die.
“Come on.” I wrap my arm around his shoulders, and he tenses. I hope to fuck it’s not because he saw me react to him earlier, but I pretend I don’t notice it. “Let’s get those drinks.”
“Yes, please.”
Shit. Even that sounds wrong coming out of his mouth now.
What is wrong with me?
We meet some of the other guys at our regular joint, some of who weren’t working on my friend’s house but on actual paying jobs.
“Who’s this? Newbie?” Tucker asks when Darcy and I bring over more pitchers of beer for the table.
“This is my … Darcy. This is Darcy.”
“Ooh, new boyfriend?” Bane asks.
Darcy and I share an awkward snicker.
“You want to take this?” I ask Darcy.
“I take it none of these guys watch the news?”
“Not businessing news, no,” I say. I glance at my work colleagues. “I’m the bastard son of Darcy’s father. We’re basically twins born a few weeks apart.”
A silence falls before there’s a loud “Awkward” that comes from Tucker.
The curious eyes glancing between us don’t stop.
Sure, he’s not that much shorter than me, but the idea of us being anything resembling twins is ridiculous. Hell, we don’t even look like brothers.
Maybe that’s why I reacted the way I did before. When his voice was all low and raspy, he seemed like the furthest thing from my brother as you could get.
But he is my brother.
And I have to remember that.
One teeny tiny reaction to him was an instinct. He’s a guy, and he’s hot. We’re building a friendship. My body just hasn’t got the message family is off-limits.
“I need to drink,” I say, and everyone at the table laughs.
It’s only then I realize they think it’s because I found out I have a brother and this whole other family, not because I’m looking at said family in a way I shouldn’t.
I pour myself a drink and down it so fast, I might be sick. Though, that has nothing to do with the beer and everything to do with … him.
My brother.
Fuck.
“You okay?” Darcy asks.
I force a smile. “Great. Super good. Yes. Fine. Amazing even.”
He looks confused. “Mind if I …” He points to the jug of beer I’m still holding, and I realize I never gave him any. Oops.
“Sorry. Sure. Of course.”
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks again while pouring himself a drink.
“Yep. We should go play darts. Come on.” I grab hold of his shirtsleeve and drag him toward the back of the bar near the pool tables.
The place is empty because of how early it is, which is good. I’m assuming my brother, prim and proper Darcy Ritcherson, has no idea how to play this game.
It’s for everyone’s safety this area stays free from crowds.
Darcy picks up the darts from the board and brings them over. “Who goes first? The oldest?”
I put my beer down and grab the darts out of his hands. “The prettiest.”
“You wish. You and the other two got Father’s harsh nose.”
I ignore him and take my shot. I aim for the triple twenty, but it lands below it. Damn it. I turn to Darcy. “How did you luck out on skipping that gene?”
I expect him to dismiss it by saying he has superior genes or something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he glances between me and the dartboard.
“Take your next shot. Bro. Fast game’s a good game and all that.”
Something like suspicion trickles down my spine, wondering why he’d deflect a question like that.
It’s possible he’s self-conscious about not looking like the rest of us, though I don’t know why he would. I’m definitely not exaggerating when I say he got the better nose. I suit my hard edges, but there’s no denying Darcy is the pretty one of us four.
I decide to drop it.
For now.
“All right.” Being a smart-ass, I don’t take my gaze off him as I throw my next one.
His eyes twinkle. “Way off.”
“Damn. That would’ve been so cool if I hit the bullseye.” I glance at it and find my dart at the very bottom of the board, not even inside the scoring circle.
Hey, at least it isn’t in the wall.
“One more shot. Better make it count,” Darcy taunts.
This time, I do hit the bullseye, but only because I wasn’t aiming for it.
“Not bad, little brother, but watch how the elite do it.”
“The elite, huh?” I fold my arms.
And being the show pony my brother is, when he keeps eye contact with me and throws the dart, it lands right in the bullseye. He does it so casually too. Like he does everything.
To look at him, yeah, he screams money, but the way he conducts himself screams sophisticated yet down-to-earth. Like how he was pointing out the difference between old money and new money. He’s lived the life of a wealthy person since he was born, so he knows how to carry himself.
This cheap beer–drinking darts expert is a new side to him.
“How?” I blurt.
“How else do you think we rich kids passed the time at Oxford? Drinking age limit in the UK is eighteen, by the way. I had four years of practice, and that was before I went for my master’s in business.”
“Ooh, fancy brother going to rich people school with probably royalty and shit.”
“Close, but no. The royals send their kids to St. Andrews in Scotland. I was accepted there, but … I’m a Ritcherson. We’re so much better than St. Andrews.”
“Better … than … royalty?” I scratch my head.
“We’re worth more.”
“More? Than … royalty?”
“You don’t know much about the royal family, do you?”
“I’m an American. I don’t need to. I know the whole Ritcherson bloodline clause in our dad’s will read like he was under the impression the family was like royalty, but?—”
“We’re media royalty, darling.” Darcy’s putting it on pretty thick, and I know it’s for show, but … damn.
Just when it seems I find even footing with Darcy, he goes and reminds me exactly how different our lives have been.
“More beer?” I hold up my empty glass. “Weirdly, I have better aim when I’m drunk, and I obviously have to lift my game.”
“Maybe if I get drunk enough, my game will suffer the right amount to make us even.”
“Oh, it’s on.”
See, this is how brothers should act. Daring each other to get drunk and promising to kick their ass at darts.
Totally normal brotherly behavior. No inappropriate bodily reactions. No talking about sex.
We’ve got this.
* * *
We so don’t got this.
And by this, I mean the ability to walk. Or stand properly.
We’re drunk off our tits because “Darcy Ritcherson is a lying liar who lies!” No matter how much we drank, he never got worse at darts. I got better and then went past the limit of alcohol to hand-eye coordination. It wasn’t pretty.
I don’t realize I’m yelling down the semi-quiet streets until Darcy tells me to be quiet.
“Sorry, noise police,” I whisper. But even that must be yelled because he shushes me again. “You did not just shush me.”
“I so did shush you, and if you don’t quieten down, I’ll leave your arse out here.”
I giggle uncontrollably. “Arse. You said arse .” I pinch his cheek. “Your accent is so cute.”
He pulls out of my grip. “And now I’m going to let you find your own way back to your place instead of offering my guest room for the night.”
I glance around, realizing we somehow got to the business district, and we’re right near the office. “You live here?”
“Well, up here, but yes.” He points to the next block.
“So close to work?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
I sway on my feet. “I guess nothing, but doesn’t your life feel like it’s all work?”
“Funnily enough, since taking you under my wing, I’ve probably done less work than I have in my entire employment history. I don’t do things like today. I don’t take days off.”
“You should.”
We get to his building, and he pulls out keys from his pocket as he nods to the overnight security in his lobby. “You’re very sweet, but if you haven’t realized, running a company is no easy task.”
My mind is fuzzy, but the solution seems simple to me. “You do know you have three brothers who could pick up the slack if you didn’t want to do everything yourself. Isn’t Junior dying to get a bigger role?”
Darcy hits the Call button on the elevators. “He wants my role, and I’m not giving it up without a fight.”
We stumble inside the elevator, and I shake my head while holding on to the small railing. “It’s crazy to me that it’s all or nothing and neither of you are willing to share the responsibilities.”
“Of course you don’t get it,” he mumbles. I don’t think he means for me to hear, but I do.
I shut up because I think I’ve hit a nerve, and we’ve been getting along so well.
By the time we reach his penthouse apartment that has a view overlooking Elliot Bay, I’m dragging my feet.
“Bed,” I murmur.
“This way.” Just how I grabbed his shirtsleeve back at the bar, he does the same to me and drags me into a small room with a bed. That’s all I need.
The plush bedding is soft, and I’m practically asleep by the time my head hits the pillow. Which is why when I hear, “I wish I could tell you the truth,” I have no idea if I’m dreaming.
Or what it means.