I force a smile to my face, stand up a little awkwardly as he walks over. In my peripheral vision I’m aware of people turning to look at him. He’s not famous. While he might be well known in England, here in America he’s nobody, but Barrett could never really be a ‘nobody’. His charisma and charm is a clearly discernible force.
A second later he’s at the table, his hair ruffled, his skin tanned, smelling like sunshine and an alpine forest and something else so addictively good I want to groan.
‘Hey.’ My voice is hoarse. I lean forward, intending to brush a kiss against his cheek, but he stiffens so I make it the quickest kiss in history, barely touching him before pulling back. ‘Thanks for coming.’ I gesture to the seat opposite.
He slides into it, nodding as he does so. ‘Of course.’
The waiter appears then, her eyes drifting to Barrett so often that I get the drift. She’s interested. She thinks he’s hot.
‘What can I get y’all?’ Her accent is from the Deep South, her smile twinkling.
‘Double espresso,’ I say without missing a beat.
She nods, turns back to Barrett. ‘And for you, Barrett?’
Great. They’re on a first-name basis. The smile he gives makes my stomach loop. It’s not like it’s a special smile; he’s not trying to impress her. It’s a reflexive shift of his lips, but it’s so full of genuine courtesy and kindness that I feel hollowed out inside. ‘I’ll grab a beer. Thanks.’
‘Courtney,’ she reminds him with a flirtatious laugh, leaving without another glance at me.
‘Well, you’ve certainly made an impression,’ I drawl, the words unmistakably catty.
He doesn’t rise to the bait. ‘What can I do for you, Avery?’
Straight down to business, then. I swallow, reaching for the mineral water to buy time. ‘I don’t want to meet them.’ I drop my eyes to the table top. ‘I’m not ready.’
Silence.
‘But I want to know a bit more about them, and I thought you could tell me some stuff.’
A pause. I wait, and then risk a glance at his face. He’s watching me in a way I can’t interpret, his eyes impossible to read. ‘Of course.’ The words are gravelly. ‘What would you like to know?’
* * *
I spend the next hour telling her all the little things I can think of about Jagger, Theo and Holden. I tell her about the time Jagger broke his arm climbing a tree to the top. I tell her about their college life, I tell her about their birthdays and their heartbreaks and their successes; I tell her all the things only I know. But I save the biggest one for last.
I tell her finally about Holden Hart, and the shocking discovery a little while ago that he wasn’t, in fact, Ryan Hart’s biological child. I tell her how it took him a good year or so to come to terms with that. How he pushed everyone away and made life generally hell for his loved ones until the tipping point about a year ago.
‘What happened?’ She’s on her second double espresso. I wonder how she’s not jittery as hell.
‘He realised family is about more than biology. It’s a choice—who do you want to be in your life, how do you want to live it? He was fighting to be alone, but his brothers wouldn’t let him. They wouldn’t let him go.’
I see her mouth contort, her eyes hovering on the table top so I want to reach across and grab her chin, levelling her face to mine, but I don’t. I don’t want to touch her because I’m terrified I won’t be able to stop and more and more I’m coming to realise that she doesn’t want me to comfort her; she doesn’t want anyone’s pity, comfort—nothing. She wants to go it alone.
‘I can’t see them letting you go either, Avery.’
This startles her. She finally looks at me and I feel what she feels—terror. I understand it and I want to fight it with her. I want to stand by her side while she deals with that, but that too is the last thing she wants.
‘Why?’ It’s a strange question.
‘Isn’t that obvious?’
‘Not to me.’
‘You’re their sis
ter.’
‘I’m just...’