The speaker onstage droned on, slurring his words, and the audience laughed at his jokes, everyone else drunk enough to find them funny.
“Well, I want to get out of here before the NOPD parade comes down Bourbon,” Jack reminded me, and then turned to fiddle with his phone.
I’d forgotten about the parade.
At midnight on Mardi Gras, the New Orleans Police Department – in their fleet of horses, dogs, ATVs, cars, trucks, and officers – walked the entire length of Bourbon, clearing the streets, an act that signaled the end of Mardi Gras and the beginning of Lent.
Partygoers filtered down the side streets only to return as soon as the police had passed by. We had gotten a hotel room on Decatur for the night to avoid traffic back to school in Uptown, but we needed to hurry if we were to get through the crowd before the police blocked our route.
“Come on,” he urged, making his way out the doors while I began to follow.
“So, ladies and gentlemen!” the loud voice boomed behind me. “Please help me welcome a man who I hope will soon be announcing his candidacy for the United States Senate next year!” Everyone started clapping as he shouted, “Mr. Tyler Marek!”
I spun around, my eyes rounding as I saw the man who had just pinned me against a wall outside step onto the stage.
Holy shit.
“Damn, I didn’t know he was here,” my brother said, coming up to my side.
“You know him?” I asked, glancing at my brother before turning back to the stage.
“You’ve never heard of Tyler Marek?” he scolded. “He owns the third largest construction company in the world, Easton. Rumor has it, he’s running for the Senate next year. I wish I could’ve met him.”
A politician?
Jesus. I’d stepped into that one.
I should’ve been embarrassed. These people were clearly his friends – or associates – and the ball was, at least in some small part, in his honor. I’d insulted the food, the attendees, and while everyone seemed to know exactly who he was, I’d had no idea.
I tightened my wrap around my body, seeing him give the crowd a playful look I was already familiar with.
And just then, I stilled, seeing his eyes catch mine, and heat rose in my cheeks at the slow, self-satisfied smirk spreading across his face.
He started to speak, but I no longer cared to listen.
If you leave, there will be nothing holding me back when we run into each other again.
I arched an eyebrow at him and then leaned over to the empty round table next to the exit and blew out the small candle sitting there. Smoke drifted up, filling the air with its pungent scent.
And without a backward glance, I left the ballroom, my brother following behind.
TWO
EASTON
Six months later
My brother was my best friend. Not many girls my age could say that, but it was true.
Most siblings fought at one time or another. Competition and grudges form, and you run the risk of treating each other like shit because you can. Family is family after all, and they’ll forgive and forget.
But Jack and I never had that problem.
When we were young, we trained together and played together, and as adults, nothing had changed. He had never not wanted to be around me, and I often joked that he liked me more than I did.
And he would agree, always hinting that I was too hard on myself, but he was the same way.
It was a learned behavior in our home, and we didn’t do anything half-assed. Although at the time I’d resented our parents pushing us as hard as they did, I supposed it nurtured qualities that would help us in any field we pursued in our futures.
“Come on.” My brother heaved at my side, pulling to a stop and shaking his head at me. “Enough,” he ordered.
I halted, sucking in air as sweat soaked my back and neck.
“Two more laps,” I pushed. “You could’ve made it two more laps.”
He gulped air and walked over to the edge of the path covered by the canopy of old oaks lining the trail in Audubon Park.
“It’s August, Easton,” he bit out as he put his hands on his hips and bowed his head, trying to catch his breath. “And we live in a semitropical climate. It’s too hot for this.”
Grabbing the T-shirt out of the back of his mesh shorts, he wiped the sweat off his forehead and face.
I followed, pushing the strands of hair that had fallen out of my ponytail back over the top of my head. “Well, now you don’t get your smoothie,” I grumbled, bringing up the bribe I’d offered to get him out here on a Sunday morning.
“Screw the smoothie,” he shot back. “I should’ve stayed in bed. School is already kicking my ass, and I need the rest.”
He dropped his T-shirt to the ground and gestured toward me.
“Go on,” he urged. “Lie down.”
I walked over in front of him, knowing better than to argue. He’d had enough and wanted to get the workout over with.
I dropped to my ass and lay down with my knees bent, while he stepped on top of my toes, safe inside my sneakers, to hold me in place.
Crossing my arms over my chest and clutching my shoulders, I tightened my stomach muscles and pulled up and then shot back down until my shoulder blades hit the grass. I pulled up again, repeating the crunches over and over as my brother stood above me texting.
He was always working – texting, e-mailing, organizing – and it always had to do with school or something related to his future.
He was driven, committed, and controlled, and we were exactly alike.
According to studies, firstborn children were reliable, conscientious, and cautious, and my brother was certainly all of those. As a middle child, I was supposed to be a peacemaker and a people-pleaser with lots of friends.