–Grant: I say he shoots for ten.
–Sebastian: Or twenty.
–Nicholas: Is this a ring or a club she can swing around?
I scroll down, skimming the banter. It only makes me more morose. I don’t resent that Emmett is happy with Amy. He deserves to be happy. All of us do, after the shit we had to put up with as children. But I wish I could be happy. Or at least not so pissed off and angry and hollow inside.
Knocks come from downstairs. Must be the damn reporters. Took them long enough. Maybe it was hard for them to find my address. This place is owned by an LLC I created, for privacy reasons. But if you’re determined, you can trace it back to me.
My phone pings.
–Grant: Open up. We know you’re in there. We see your cars.
–Huxley: It’s just us. And Nicholas.
Ugh. I don’t want to see anyone, even if it’s my brothers. But I suck it up, go downstairs and open the door. Sure enough, the three of them are standing there. Grant is carrying a box of pepperoni pizza, and Huxley and Nicholas have six-packs of beer hanging from their fingers.
“What are you doing here?”
“We decide to check up on you. And bring you lunch. You’re welcome.” Grant walks in, followed by Huxley and Nicholas.
“I figured you’d need some beer. I know you’re not teaching in the afternoon,” Huxley says.
“Come in, come in, I was just dying for you to visit,” I say, closing the door. If I wanted to imbibe, I’d pick something stronger than beer.
Grant places the pizza on the dining table. Huxley puts his six-pack down next to it and Nicholas stows his away in the fridge.
“Your fridge looks like shit, man,” he says. “Need to stock up.”
Huxley opens the pizza box, takes a fistful of napkins from the napkin holder on the table and passes them around. “Noah wanted to stop by with us, but couldn’t because he suddenly had to fly to South Africa for some reason. Emmett’s working—he has to work like a fiend to get time off for his wedding and honeymoon. Sebastian had to go to Virginia. Apparently his grandmother is having some health issues.”
I hold up a hand. “I am not falling apart,” I say, trying and failing to keep exasperation out of my voice. “And I don’t need a trio of babysitters. You really don’t have to do this.”
“People who aren’t falling apart don’t turn their cell phones off for the entire weekend,” Nicholas says.
I glare at him. He’s so annoying when he’s correct.
“Why don’t you have some pizza?” It’s phrased like a suggestion, but Huxley means it as an order.
“And beer,” Grant says. “Pizza and beer solves everything.”
The sight of pepperoni makes me lose my appetite. One, it sounds uncomfortably like paparazzi. And two, the last time I had pepperoni pizza, Sierra and her sex toys and I ended up having mind-blowing sex in her living room.
“Why are you looking at the pizza like it’s topped with cockroaches?” Huxley’s tone vibrates with irritation.
“It’s from your favorite pizzeria,” Grant says.
“Thanks. Couldn’t tell that from the box. Look, it’s not the pizza. I just don’t have any appetite right now.” I reach for the beer, though. It’s cold and I’m thirsty. In addition, one beer never hurt anybody, especially when they’re in a mood as foul as mine.
“Why don’t you and Sierra open up more fully? Work things out,” Nicholas says.
“What makes you think I haven’t opened up?” I retort.
My bothers exchange a look. “Because we know you…?” Nicholas says. He swigs his beer. “I’ve never seen you spend so much effort to try to make a woman happy. She’s obviously special.”
“And love conquers all,” Huxley says, making a heart with his hands.
“If love conquers all, why do I feel so bad? And I definitely don’t feel victorious.”