Page 4 of 10 Signs You Need to Grovel

“You’re early,” I tell E.

“Happened to be in the neighborhood,” he says with false cheer.

Liar.

He slides out of a booth near the back, approaching me like I’m the rabid bear who tore into the bar top. The guy must’ve been hiding in here, waiting on me, ensuring I couldn’t ditch him. And hey, I get it. I’ve done nothing but prove to my family I’m volatile and unreliable.

Fixing that starts now. “It’s good to see you.”

He startles, like he expected to be hit, not greeted. “You look better, except for the subpar ink, which still sucks.”

I smirk. “You look like you still can’t catch a football.”

He laughs haltingly. “Guilty, but I can run you into the ground.”

He can. Where I hit the gym to work out my angst, my youngest brother is a runner. He also wears his emotions on his sleeve. When we were kids, I’d rib him mercilessly for drawing instead of playing sports, tease him about his given name—Edgar Eugene Bower—and goad him into fights over his ongoing Delilah Moon infatuation. Still, if I got injured in a football game or received a bad grade in school, E would get this look on his face like he was absolutely crushed. Like he couldn’t stand seeing me hurt or disappointed.

Today his face is all taut lines, like he’s dreading telling me something.

I run my tongue over my cracked tooth. “You need to talk about our sperm donor?”

“He’s a dick.” He rakes a hand through his brown hair, his eyes darting over my shoulder.

“Not a news flash.” Following his eyes, I glance behind me. No one’s there, and I didn’t agree to meet him to play games. “You’re not here about him, E. If you came to give me shit about ignoring the family and pushing you guys away, save your breath.” I rub at the twinge in my chest. “You’re right. I’m tired of missing you all. I want to do better with you, but don’t ask me about Sadie. I’m not going looking for her.”

Been there, done that. E doesn’t know I found her, but after the cartel got wiped out, he badgered me about searching for her. Told me to beg her for a second chance. I don’t have the energy to discuss that heartache again today.

“That’s great,” he says, but he doesn’t light up the way I expect. “Mom will be thrilled. As am I.”

Unsure what’s up with him, I nod to the bar. “Let me make you a drink. We can hang out.”

Move this reunion along. Fun brother-bonding time, here we come.

“Um, no.” He tugs at the back of his hair again, his eyes still shifty. “I mean, yes, I want to stay. But no to the drink. You were right before—about me not needing to talk about Dad. I’m here about something else.”

I know E’s tone. The nerves in his twitchy moves. He’s about to tell me news I don’t want to hear. I gnash my teeth, feeling like I’m standing on a sinking ship. “Let’s just have a drink. Whatever you want to discuss can wait. I want to hear about your life. What you’ve been up to.”

I start for the bar, sweat gathering along my neck. I can’t handle another Bower disaster today. How the hell am I supposed to be fun when I’m constantly getting stuck under avalanches?

“We can’t put this off, Des.”

“Sure we can.”

“I honestly wish we could, but it’s not that simple.”

The compassion in his voice has my feet faltering, and I forcibly hold in a growl. Can’t catching up be reason enough to see each other?

“I really don’t have time for drama. Let’s just hang out.” I march for the bar, determined to have a nice visit with him.

“I’m not here about Dad,” he repeats.

I keep strutting, not bothering to turn around.

“It’s about Sadie.”

The air jets out of my lungs. My throat tightens. I swivel toward him, panic mounting. “Is she okay?”

“She . . . yeah.” He nods and swallows slowly. “She’s good.”