CHAPTER 48
Declan
My front door slams open, allowing a rush of icy air into my house. I don’t even look up. I know who it is. I’m surprised it took them this long. I’m surprised they even waited until sunrise.
About an hour ago, I thought about getting up from my kitchen island swivel chair. I considered deadbolting all my doors and windows to prevent the invasion, but I just didn’t have the energy. Not that it would stop them.
That’s the thing about my brothers. They’ll do anything for me, even if I lock the doors and beg them not to.
All four of them wander into my kitchen.
“What’s this?” Cal picks up my coffee cup and sniffs. “Just coffee. And stone cold.”
“Since when are you drinking that cold-brew hipster shit?” Finn asks.
“You know I hate that swill,” I mutter, staring at my hands.
“Somebody give him a real fucking drink,” Evander grumbles.
Special K hops up on my kitchen counter and starts banging the heels of his cowboy boots against the cabinet face.
“If you want to bash in some custom maple cabinets, do it at your own place,” I tell him.
“My cabinets are pine,” Special K says, still knocking his heel against the wood. “I prefer a more traditional ranch motif.”
Everyone laughs. Everyone but me.
Evander digs into his back pocket, pulls out his wallet, and smacks it down on the island. “I’ll give you a hundred bucks, right this second, if you can tell me the definition of the word ‘motif.’”
“Maybe I’d rather not,” K says.
“Motif my ass, you mo-fo.” Evander snags his wallet and shoves it back into his pocket.
Finn rinses out my cup and pours scotch into it, then slides it down the marble toward me. I reach out and snag it before it slides off the end and onto the floor.
I don’t want scotch. I don’t want anything. Nothing but Summer.
“Hey, why did the chicken cross the road?” Special K breaks up the silence from behind me. “Anybody?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Cal asks, baffled.
“It’s a joke,” Special K says. “I’m cheering Declan up. Nobody else is doing it.”
“Then by all means, please. Go ahead.” Finn makes a grand, sweeping gesture toward K. “The suspense is killing us.”
Finn smiles at me. Everyone’s trying to offer their support, but I know Finn feels especially on the hook to help.
We’ve become super close since we came up with the StellaR Tech idea a few years back.
I’ve spent countless hours with Finn trying to get the company up and running.
Days spent together on zero sleep, refactoring and debugging code and doing regression testing.
Weeks struggling with risk assessment and mitigation, algorithms, and prototype rollout.
Finn is brilliant, dedicated, and as stubborn as they come. We couldn’t have achieved any success without him.
And since the moment he walked into my kitchen, he’s been studying me. Looking for the tiniest crack he can exploit. A way to get close enough to fix what’s broken in me.
There’s no fixing this kind of pain, and he knows that. Finn lost his first wife in childbirth, and he was never the same.
Maybe one day I’ll turn to him for guidance. Not today.
“Here it goes,” Special K says, scratching his blond head. “Wait. Where was I?”
“Are you kidding me?” Evander snarls. “We all know why the motherfucking chicken crossed the motherfucking road.”
“It’s my first joke. Be gentle with me,” K says. “Making everyone laugh is usually Declan’s territory.”
K’s right. I make people laugh. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do that again.
My brothers study me, searching for a sign that all this stupid shit is helping. The meaningless back-and-forth. The standing around just in case I crumble to the floor and curl up into a ball.
If I wasn’t so miserable, yeah, I’d probably appreciate it.
I sigh. “All right, Kevin. Why did the chicken cross the road?”
Special K scratches his head, again. “I think I forgot the punchline. I’m pretty sure it was funny, though.”
Finn laughs. “You fuckered that up quite nicely, little brother.”
“You deserve to get your ass kicked for that,” Evander says.
Special K arches an eyebrow at him. “I’m twice your size and way better at hand-to-hand. Besides, a broken jaw wouldn’t look too good with your fancy suits.”
“Now, now, ladies,” Cal says.
Kevin’s not twice as big as Evander, but he’s definitely the tallest and bulkiest of all five of us. And that’s saying something. But honestly, if they don’t shut up, I’ll have to choke out every one of them.
Without warning, Evander rushes Special K and drags him down from the counter.
“Enough!” I jump to my feet, clapping once, loudly. “Thank you all for stopping by. You’ve really cheered me up. That chicken joke was a banger. Y’all can get the fuck out now.”
“No way,” Cal says. “We’re not leaving you like this. No man left behind.”
“Declan’s right.” The booming voice comes from the other room. “Get the fuck out.”
Dad slowly strolls from the foyer into my kitchen. All he has to do is point to the door, and like Moses parting the Red Sea, my badass Navy SEAL brothers file out.
“Sit back down,” he says to me. “I’m making you hot chocolate. Your mother always made you hot chocolate when you were out of sorts, remember?”
I nod, sitting at the island.
“Always seemed to work,” he says.
He’s right.
Mom died when I was eleven, but I remember how the woman could perform miracles with a mug of hot chocolate and a cold washcloth. That was especially true after one of the Travis boys beat the shit out of me. As they often did.
I don’t argue with Dad—he can do whatever he wants in my house. I never argue with my father. I’ve pissed him off royally through the years with all my fucking around and finding out, but I never once contradicted him or gave him lip. None of us MacLaine boys did.
James Andrew MacLaine is that kind of father—a moral compass made of reinforced steel, a ramrod-straight man who always showed us true north.
Growing up, he gave us enough rope to get ourselves into some knotted-up messes, but he always waited to make sure we got ourselves out. He never gave us step-by-step instructions on how to save our own skins, but he never stood by and watched us hang ourselves, either.
I’m wondering if that’s why he’s here now. I wonder if my dad thinks I’m in such a bad spot that I’m about to slip the noose around my neck and kick the chair out from under me.
“First, a saucepan,” Dad says, going through my cabinets.
“To the right of the stove,” I tell him.
“Right of the stove. Smart. Very smart. That’s where I would put it, but I’m just an old boomer. Microwaves have taken the place of stoves for your generation. Found it!” He straightens, pan acquired. “All right, then. Milk in the refrigerator, and…”
“Sugar and cocoa in the pantry next to the fridge.”
He opens the pantry. “Not much in here, Declan. Definitely a bachelor’s place.” My father pulls out a plastic bag and holds it up, grinning. “Honey mustard pretzel pieces. My favorite. Can I have some?”
“Knock yourself out.”
“Got any NutterButters? Your aunt Phyllis took mine away. She’s always hiding my shit.”
“Sorry, but I’m fresh out, Pops.”
He opens the pretzel bag and tosses a handful of pieces into his mouth.
“Phyllis doesn’t let me eat these, either,” he says with his mouth full.
“If it were up to her, all I’d eat would be raw broccoli and kiwi fruit with an occasional skinless chicken breast thrown in for excitement.
I worry she’s trying to kill me.” Crumbs are falling down the front of his shirt.
“I’m taking those damned cholesterol pills.
I don’t need the diet police staking out my kitchen, right? ”
He brushes off the pretzel crumbs and sets to making the hot chocolate. First, he warms the milk on a low flame, stirring constantly, his back to me. “You know, I heard some news about you and Summer.”
I straighten, frowning.
“I heard she dumped your ass so she can focus on her health situation by herself.”