CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I was keen to go home while the sun was shining—for once. That’s why I didn’t stay to clean as thoroughly as I usually did. I still put a load of towels into the dryer and opened a couple of boxes of products and put everything away, wishing my coworkers would do a little more to pick up the slack around here.
The alley was busy when I left. Bradley was helping a customer load a king-size mattress into the back of a truck when he waved to me, friendly as ever.
I pulled out my phone to open Instagram when my brother’s name popped up on the screen.
“Austin, what the hell is going on? Are you okay?” I didn’t bother withhello. I had no time for formalities.
“I’m fine. It’s fine. Really, Kare, it’s not that big of a deal. It was just a fight.”
“A fight? With who?”
He sighed for a second. “Some guy. I don’t know. I was out somewhere and this guy was giving a girl at the bar shit.”
I rolled my eyes and pressed my body against the bushes lining the alleyway so a church van full of kids could pass.
“So you’re telling me that this whole thing stemmed from your chivalry?”
Austin was good at spinning things. He would make a wonderful publicist for a messy celebrity—or a horrible husband.
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he said, laughing.
His voice was calming—it was like hearing an old song you had forgotten you loved. I’d really missed him.
“Right. So how much trouble are you in?”
“I don’t know.” He paused.
I thought I heard the flick of a lighter. “Dad bailed me out . . . which sucks, because now I’m going to owe him money.”
Unbelievable. I wish I had his ability to look the other way and not worry about things. He knew he would figure it out—or someone would figure it out for him—before it got too serious.
“Yeah, because owing Dad money is your biggest problem.”
“I didn’t kill anyone, okay? It was your standard bar fight.”
I laughed. I couldfeelhis magic working. I was starting to feel almost okay about his arrest, and the ink on his paperwork wasn’t even dry yet.
“How did you manage to get into a bar? We’re not twenty-one for another month.”
This time, it was his turn to be amused. “You’re not serious.”
“Yes, I am!” But I was joking, sort of.
There was this thin line between me worrying about my brother and just wanting to have fun with him. I was by no means a stickler, or super-responsible, but I was light-years ahead of my twin. The difference was incredibly noticeable. I was the worrier and he was the free spirit. Only in this case was I like our dad.
I knew my loser uncle was taking Austin to bars with his gross older friends, probably introducing him to women who downed too much alcohol, wore too much makeup, had too much experience . . . too much everything.
“You’re a worrier. You and Dad.”
I groaned. I didn’t want to worry. I didn’t want to be the nagging older-by-six-minutes sister. And I certainly didn’t want to be anything like my dad.
“Don’t lump me in with Dad. Come on. I don’t want you to be in trouble. That’s all.”
I was almost home.
“Yeah, wouldn’t want to mess up this bright future of mine.” It was meant to be funny, but a hint of sadness filtered through.