Chapter Three
Marlow
This was a mistake.
I backed out of the restaurant, nearly hitting a man with the door.
“Don’t worry, I’m good,” he said.
I didn’t even look up, let alone mumble an apology. I ran completely out of fucks nearly two years ago. No way would I change for a stranger when I couldn’t give my family the courtesy.
“Wicked.”
I gripped the handles of the stroller and picked up my pace.
“What the hell was that back there? Are you determined to ruin anything related to your brothers and their weddings?”
“Shut up.”
“Oh, that’s real nice.” Patrick fell in step beside me. “Why did you even show up if you were going to act that way? It was worse than awful, even for you.”
“Then why are you chasing me?”
“Because I don’t want you to alienate the people who give a shit about you.”
“Don’t act like you’re one of them,” I spat, pausing when I approached a crosswalk.
“I didn’t mean me.” His words were acid. I deserved them, but they burned no less.
“Mind your own business.”
“They know you. Or they thought they did. Your offer to work for Holt was the equivalent of an olive branch. But that attitude”—he waved his hand behind him—“it’s not going to cut it.”
“When did you become the moral authority? You’ve defended murderers, rapists, husbands who kept their wives as sex slaves.” I flashed him an insincere smile.
“I’ve never denied any of that.” When the man on the crosswalk signal lit green, Patrick continued with me. “Wicked, you’ve made your feelings about me perfectly clear. Frankly, I don’t give a fuck. But those people around that table are family to me. You can’t treat them like they’re nothing.”
“They’re my family. Not yours.”
“Start acting like it.”
I halted. Heat sizzled between us. Hate and lust in one giant clusterfuck.
“Get over it, Marlow. Don’t be a bitch, Marlow. Be strong for Blake, Marlow.” I mimicked all the implied advice thrown at me over the years. “I’m a good mother. I’m honest. And if they or anybody else doesn’t like it, they can go screw themselves.”
I deflated as soon as the rant escaped me. None of them understood. And no one was going to tell me how to behave. If they’d been through what I had, they’d be this hard too.
“Honesty is appreciated. Could you maybe sugar-coat it a little?” He flashed me this lop-sided grin that I itched to return.
“No,” I said flatly.
His face fell, and he shrugged. “If you want them to forgive you, you better do something drastic.”
“Why do I have to do anything at all?” I cried. “I told them I didn’t know she would show up in Wyoming. That’s on them if they don’t believe me.”
“It’s on you,” he said evenly. “Hiding a relationship with your estranged mother for years is definitely all on you.”
“What’s so wrong with having a relationship with my mother? My brothers are just jealous.” Even as I said it, I knew it was so much more than that. I knew exactly why choosing her over them was wrong. Lesson learned the hard way.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Play stupid.”
“Take your stupid and go back to dinner.” I took off down the sidewalk again without a real direction.
Patrick didn’t know anything. Or he knew too much was more like it.
“My stupid is going in the opposite direction,” he said under his breath, giving me a pointed look.
“We both made a mistake.” I stared straight ahead, though my face got hot.
“No need to remind me every chance you get.”
“If you weren’t everywhere I go, I wouldn’t.”
“You keep it up and you won’t have to worry about it anymore. Your brothers won’t want anything to do with you.”
They already didn’t. Because I couldn’t keep my mouth closed. Couldn’t stop lashing out.
“What do you want me to do?”
“A starting point would be getting through one meal without insulting the shit out of somebody. C’mon, Marlow. Holt announcing his engagement was a softball. All you had to do was say congratulations. You didn’t even have to smile. You could’ve done that grimace thing you’re so good at. Everyone would have considered it a win.”
I scowled.
“No. That’s not the look I’m talking about.” He cocked his head to the side, and my frown deepened. “Hmm. Getting closer.”
“How the hell can anyone possibly stand more than three minutes with you?”
“I could say the same of you.” He put his hands in his pockets. “Because I like Baker and Holt, I’m going to tell you how to fix it.”
“Can’t wait to hear this,” I said under my breath.
“You really want to help them? Don’t say it. Show them. Go to the garage ready to work. Volunteer for whatever they need done.”
No way would that work.
“That’s your grand plan?”
“It’s a first step. When you get there, you can’t complain. Can’t insult them. Tell them you had a shitty day, so you didn’t have a great reaction to their news tonight. That you’re happy for them.”
“Basically become someone else.”
“Be the person you used to be.”
I dug a finger into his arm. “I was never that person. You act like I was Miss Sunshine.”
“The times I saw you, it seemed like you were.” He remained casual while I continued to get worked up.
“No way.”
“When’s the last time you really smiled?”
I knew the exact second. Thinking about it made my knees weak.
“Not because of you.”
He winced, but quickly recovered. “Your dad misses Blake.”
“Why don’t you share something personal I can guilt trip you about?” I suggested.
I was doing the best I could. No one seemed to understand I’d lost my life but had to keep living. What was I supposed to do with that?
He held up both his hands. “I tried. I swear I did,” he said to the sky.
“You’ve done your good deed for the day. Run along now.” I flicked my wrist in a shoo motion.
He shook his head, blew out what was most probably a frustrated breath, and for a moment, I felt my anger shift to pain. I hated how everyone did that around
