or something . . .”
“Bullshit, you aren’t going anywhere, especially if she’s here in the city.”
He was right about that, I needed a distraction so I didn’t end up at her doorstep drunk off my ass. “You think they’ll let me come back to work early?”
“That would be a no,” Bridge said immediately. “But you do have a few weeks to get your stalker skills on. She’s not going back to LA until later this year. She goes between both cities, just in case you weren’t aware, and I wish I wasn’t aware, but apparently Izzy follows her on Instagram.”
I almost threw myself against a blunt object. “Of course she does.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
I stared into the bottle of brown liquid wondering how much alcohol it would take to numb the space between my ribs that wouldn’t stop hurting. “Talking won’t make it better.”
“Make what better? Because the way I see it, we arrived to save a day that didn’t really need saving. Your hair was a mess, her mouth was swollen, color high. Oh, and you had only pants on and looked way too happy to see me. The last time you smiled at me like that was never, so what happened?”
I let out a rough exhale and ran my fingers through my hair. “I’m a hopeful idiot, that’s what happened.”
“Hopeful?”
“We had sex.”
“NO!”
“I’m seconds away from shoving you out my window, you’ve been warned.”
He grinned. “I figured as much, the entire house was like this cozy little—” He stopped when I shot him a glare. “So what’s the plan? Are you going to call her?”
“I don’t have her number.”
“Why?”
“Because it never came up? Because maybe to her it was a one-time thing? Because she just buried her boyfriend less than a year ago, and I’m not stupid enough to think I could compete against a dead guy when I couldn’t even keep my own fiancée away from my brother. I don’t know, Bridge, you tell me!” I didn’t realize I was pacing until I looked down. Shit. I took another swig straight from the bottle and waited for him to say something.
What came out wasn’t what I expected. “You’re different, Julian. Everyone knows that. You’re . . . not the same guy.”
“This conversation, not making me feel better, Bridge.”
“You know what I mean.” He stood. “The coma changed you, you work your ass off, you rarely go out, you’ve bailed on every company event, including the gala. You do two things: go to the gym and work, and then sometimes when you’re feeling crazy you go to the gym twice in one day.”
“I’m trying to get bigger than you so when I do kick your ass it hurts.” I glared over the bottle.
He rolled his eyes. “I already told you that I’d gladly let you throw punches if you’d just react to something—anything. You’re alive, but you’re not living, man, you may as well have died with Mom.”
I charged him, bottle in hand. “Take it back!”
“No.” He eyed me up and down. “I won’t.”
“Son of a bitch.” I clenched my teeth and set the bottle down, then collapsed onto the couch. “Why are you here again?”
“Well, I was here to make sure you were okay and bring you your favorite whiskey, and then when I saw you drinking alone I got concerned, especially since you seemed actually happy at the cabin . . . with her.”
I swallowed slowly. “I was.”
“Then that’s your answer.” He said it like it was so simple. “Seek her out, get her number, take her to lunch, live a little.”
I nodded. “Maybe.”
“Fight for what you want, Julian.”
“Like I didn’t fight for Izzy? Is that what you mean?”
“Don’t put words into my mouth. You fought for her the only way you knew how, by fighting our father in order to protect her, to protect all of us. Let it go and move on. You deserve it.”
Then why didn’t I feel like it?
Why did I feel so defeated and like I didn’t stand a chance?
I shrugged, earning another sigh from Bridge as he walked toward the door then called over his shoulder, “You know you could always just slide into her DMs.”
“The fact that you just uttered that sentence makes me want to go back in time and prevent the universe from creating it.” I laughed. “You don’t just slide into a girl’s DMs on Instagram, that’s like sending a dick pic.”
“Even better!” Bridge agreed. “That’s the spirit, show her what she’s missing.”
“How am I the