criminal records.” From inside, Jay waved and so did Pricilla. “Go for a ride with me, Lexi.”
Lexi gave Mr. Safe a hesitant wave back, and Marc had his answer.
He shouldn’t have felt disappointed. But he did. “I guess I was wrong about people changing. Have fun on your date, cream puff.”
“What can I get you? The regular?” the bartender asked.
Every Thursday night for the past eight years, ever since the youngest DeLuca brother, Trey, became of legal age to partake in public, Marc and his brothers had met at the locals-only bar, the Spigot. After a couple rounds of pool and a couple more rounds of beer, they would come up with a couple really satisfying ideas on how to catch and castrate their sister Abby’s SOB of a husband.
Six years ago Richard, who suffered from wandering-dick-and-sticky-fingers syndrome, got caught having an affair. Shortly after, he disappeared—taking with him twelve million dollars and their sister’s heart. The four brothers had sworn to get both back.
Tonight was a Wednesday, though, and Marc hadn’t come to shoot a game, the shit, or otherwise. He’d come to unwind—alone. He’d managed to avoid a meeting with his brothers, claiming that the first shipment of wine for the Showdown was expected to arrive, which it had. It had also taken three extra guys and an afternoon of paperwork to get the cases settled properly in the wine cellar.
Okay, so maybe the paperwork took a little longer because he still couldn’t get his mind off what Lexi had said yesterday. More specifically, what Lexi hadn’t said. She’d stood there silent while he justified how he’d chosen to live the past ten years—to her!
The more he thought about it, the more irritated he got.
So he’d grabbed his keys, locked up the office, and found himself standing at her back door, ready to explain just how much he’d changed. And apologize for his parting remark.
Then he realized that he didn’t do explanations—or apologies. They were too close to the truth, which made things too serious—another thing he didn’t do. He also reminded himself that this was Lexi, the woman who’d been married to his best friend. The same best friend who had not only helped Marc get through the single most painful experience of his life, but had stood by his side as Marc spun himself out of control. Jeff had never judged Marc for his reckless behavior after his parents’ deaths, like his brothers had. Never told him to grow the fuck up and get serious about his future. No, Jeff had understood that Marc needed to lose control before he could find it again, needed to deal with the pain of losing his parents in his own way.
So instead of knocking he kept walking, straight through town, straight through the bar, and straight through his second drink.
He’d barely started on his third when two familiar and, by the looks of them, pissed-off Italians flanked him on either side. Not bothering to hide all their big-brother bullshit, Gabriel and Nathaniel, the oldest of the DeLuca boys, elbowed and pressed in on him as they took their seats at the bar.
“You want to tell me what the hell you were thinking?” Gabe said in greeting.
Since Marc wasn’t sure exactly what he was being accused of, though he was pretty sure he was guilty on several counts, he remained silent. When he picked up his beer, purposefully tuning out his brothers and tuning in to the ball game playing on the plasma screen behind the bar, Nate slid the day’s issue of the St. Helena Sentinel in front of him.
Marc looked down at the headline advertising the St. Helena Summer Wine Showdown and felt himself relax. They weren’t here about Lexi or Natasha or the fact that two contenders had almost pulled out of the Showdown because his “qualified” assistant had forgotten to send them the proper paperwork.
“You’d better start explaining, and fast, since I’m about two seconds from kicking your ass, stealing your beer, and moving the Showdown to the family winery.”
“I heard that the second trimester’s rough,” Marc said, biting back a grin and sliding his beer toward his oldest brother. “I didn’t know all the nagging and hormonal crap was contagious, though.”
Gabe shot him a look that was intended to intimidate him into compliance, but all it accomplished was making Marc laugh. Even after their parents died and Gabe stepped up to run the family winery and raise his younger siblings, he’d always managed to keep