“Shame. We had a good thing going, him and I.”
Andrew’s brow knit. “Like a business thing?”
“That’s right. We’ll talk another time, about working out the same arrangement between you and me.” He leaned to the side and tipped his hat—at Jiya, Andrew was sure—and the rage danced back into his throat, crowding his windpipe. “Time to pay the fucking piper, son.” Before Andrew could process that statement or what it could possibly mean, the cop opened the door and slipped out into the balmy night, snickering as he went. “Congratulations to Jamie on his nuptials.”
Andrew stood paralyzed for several moments, his stomach roasting on a spit.
His father had made a business arrangement with a cop?
What kind? The man’s hatred for cops had been notorious, thanks to them being called to the Prince household countless times over the years to resolve domestic disputes with their mother.
Andrew would find out what kind of deal they’d had. Because it sounded like Handler wanted the same deal with Andrew. And he sounded pretty confident that he had the right leverage needed to make Andrew do just about anything.
“Hey.” Jiya’s knuckles brushed Andrew’s. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” Acid lined his mouth when Jiya forced him to look her in the eye. Lying to her was like having nails driven into his gut. “That was nothing.”
She scoffed. “Tell that to your face right now.” He tried to respond, but he kept swallowing instead, over and over. Jiya stepped closer. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”
His nod was vigorous, but he still couldn’t respond. What would he say?
He was saved from having to find out when the Castle Gate lights cut out, painting their surroundings in black.
*
A song about the rocky road to Dublin cut off and “Pour Some Sugar on Me” pumped without warning over the loud speakers.
One second, Andrew’s expression held enough dread to fill a bathtub twice and the next, he’d visibly shaken it off. Gone back to his regular self. Jiya watched it happen the same way she’d witnessed him talking to the cop. Staring at a blurry picture and waiting for it to take shape into something that made sense. The conversation between Andrew and that man hadn’t been a friendly one. Something about it had disturbed Andrew.
But it hadn’t surprised him. He’d left the group to speak with the officer as though he’d been waiting for his arrival.
At that moment, she wanted her and Andrew to be standing at their bedroom windows, speaking across the sandy patch of lawn. He was less guarded late at night, when they were the only remaining people awake in Long Beach. Or so it seemed. When they spoke at the window, he didn’t have to wear any of his many hats. Bar owner, lifeguard supervisor, oldest brother, the family adhesive. He only had to be Andrew.
Now, before her eyes, he donned his oldest brother hat, a smile tugging up on edge of his mouth at whatever the new song playing meant. He leaned down and kissed Jiya on the forehead. “Hold that thought, sweetheart. The stripper is here.”
“Oh boy.”
“Interesting choice of words.”
Jiya took a sip of her vodka tonic and pressed her back against the wall, watching Andrew tuck behind the bar and flicker the lights on and off, his low crack of laughter at odds with the stricken man she’d been face to face with moments ago. Bar patrons were starting to realize something was afoot. They turned in their stools, drumming their hands on the bar…just in time for Rory to wheel a giant cake out of the back office.
She did a spittake, vodka burning the inside of her nose.
Rory and Andrew had gotten a stripper to pop out of a cake?
“Why am I even surprised?” she muttered to no one, fighting a smile. After all, these were the same brothers who’d gotten T-shirts made for her eleventh grade academic decathlon that said Up against Jiya? Wouldn’t want to be ya. When there was something to celebrate, they took it seriously. For her. For each other. That was their mother’s influence. Back when the Prince brothers were growing up, she’d always found a way to scrape enough money together to have a party, even if it meant dressing up like a clown and ordering pizzas to the backyard. If it bothered Andrew that their father was never in attendance, he never showed it until he and Jiya were alone.
As the giant cake was wheeled through the bar toward Jamie, he met Jiya’s eyes across the room. “What the fuck?” he mouthed. “Help me.”
She pretended to check her watch.
Poor Jamie. He looked so betrayed.
Jiya gave him a look that said, there’s no stopping this train, dude.
Really, there wasn’t. If he tried to make a run for it or Jiya tried to sneak him out the back door, the entire bar would probably chase them down and drag them back, kicking and screaming. Andrew stopped flickering the lights when the massive, white cake—with blue, plastic frosting was in front of Jamie. He drained his beer, probably wishing the floor would swallow him whole.