29
Close to the edge
Rafferty didn’t have to go looking for his twin. Sullivan was waiting on the veranda of the Main House when he returned.
“Where’ve you been?”
The wariness in Sullivan’s voice hit like a slap. That familiar, searching stare — identical to Aidan’s — made his stomach churn.
No one fucking trusted him.
How the hell was he supposed to trust himself?
“Why?” he snapped.
“I’ve been on edge all night,” Sullivan said. “My life’s solid, which means yours is in chaos. And since you’ve shut down our connection, here I am, asking you — what the hell’s going on?”
Rafferty rubbed a hand down his face, bone-deep exhausted — not just from lack of sleep, but soul tired. “You’ve got no right digging around in my mind.”
Sullivan cocked his head, eyes narrowing. “Something’s off. If it’s not drugs, then what the fuck is it?”
Rafferty held his ground, even as that piercing gaze threatened to peel him open. “Counseling,” he said. “Fucking therapy. Baring my soul to a stranger to glue my shit back together. Like fucking Humpty Dumpty.”
For a beat, Sullivan just stared at him. Then his shoulders eased, and he let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped for weeks.
“Therapy,” he said quietly. “That’s … good. That’s really fucking good.”
Rafferty didn’t answer, eyes fixed on the veranda floorboards like they might crack open and swallow him.
Sullivan stepped closer, voice softer now. “You don’t have to say anything else. I’m just … relieved you’re doing something.”
Rafferty gave a humorless laugh. “Not like I had a line of better options.”
They stood there in silence for a moment, the air thick around them.
Then Sullivan said, “You know, even with the wall up, I still hear you.”
Rafferty’s gaze lifted sharply. “What do you mean, hear me?”
Sullivan tapped a finger against his temple. “In here. It’s not words. It’s … pressure. Static. Like a storm building. I know when you're close to the edge, even when you don’t want me to.”
Rafferty swallowed hard, throat tight. “Then you must’ve been deafened lately.”
“Yeah,” Sullivan said, his voice rough. “Yeah, I have.”
Rafferty leaned against the railing, arms crossed. “I’ve been spending time with Brandy-Lyn.”
Sullivan blinked. “Brandy-Lyn? My Brandy-Lyn?”
“She’s not your Brandy-Lyn. But … yeah.”
There was a pause. The air between them changed — sharpened, like a wire pulled tight.
“She’s been … good for me,” Rafferty said. “So have her kids. They don’t look at me like I’m broken.”
Sullivan stared at him, censure hardening his features. “You’re still crawling out of hell, Raff. This isn’t the time to start something with anyone — let alone with Brandy-Lyn. That’s just … messed up.”
“Nothing’s happened,” Rafferty went on. “I’m not that much of an asshole. I need to get my shit together first. That’s why I started therapy. But—” He looked up, eyes raw. “I’ve fallen for her.”
“Don’t,” Sullivan snapped.
“I’m not asking for your blessing.”
Sullivan’s jaw tensed, pulse ticking.
Rafferty exhaled slowly, steadying himself. “It’s been twenty years, Sully. She moved on. Married, had kids. Built a life without you. And you’re engaged now, so I’d hope you’ve left those feelings in the past.”
“Of course, I still have feelings. I loved her once. I hurt her. And now we’re tied together as business partners, even if it’s from a distance. This isn’t just some old flame you’re flirting with. She’s still part of my world.”
“And I want to be part of her world,” Rafferty said, voice quiet but firm.
Sullivan stepped forward, a vein jumping in his neck. “Raff, you’re an—”
“An addict?” Rafferty straightened. “No. I am a recovering addict. Let’s get that right.”
Sullivan didn’t respond, but the tension between them was a live wire.
“Yes,” Rafferty went on, his voice steady despite the fire behind it. “It’s hard. But I’m going to therapy. Sit in a church basement week after week. I’m doing the work. Because I want something more. Something real.”
He paused, the words settling between them.
“And I want that with Brandy-Lyn. And she deserves whole. Not the wreck I still am. Not some half-healed version of me. And there’s still the danger with Kamila about.
So yeah, I’m not rushing into anything. But I’m not walking away either. Not unless she tells me to.”
Silence fell again as his twin held his gaze, searching, seeking to discern the truth of his words.
Finally, Sullivan said, “If you hurt her — if you mess this up …”
“I won’t,” Rafferty cut in. “I already know what it feels like to lose everything.”
Sullivan looked at him, long and hard. Then he turned and walked into the house without saying another word.
Rafferty slumped against the pillar, the weight of it all pressing down on him. So much for mending fences. Now both his brothers were aligned against him.
And he never got to tell Sullivan that he missed him.