No Good Mitchell - Riley Hart Page 0,91
thumb across it. “Since I watched my big bro walk away from his dreams…and himself.”
“I thought I’d done the right thing, sacrificing it all for my family, and now I’m just so fucking mad at everyone. But mostly mad at myself.”
“Well, I fucking hate your guts, and I’m down here trying to cheer you up, so at least you know you can be mad at me and it don’t change a thing.”
I finally cracked a smile. “I don’t hate you, Dwain.”
“Hey, don’t start being nice to me now. All those wrestling matches we had when we were younger were the only thing that got people to stop teasing me before my growth spurt.”
I laughed as I reflected on the little scheme we’d devised when he was being bullied in school.
He set his hand on my shoulder, pulling me close.
“I didn’t know life was gonna be this tough,” I said. “Falling in love with people, only to lose ’em.”
“Yeah, it sucks balls. But it’ll suck a lot less when you finally stop trying to take it all on yourself and remember that’s what family’s for.”
I pulled away and glared at him suspiciously. “When did you get so fucking smart?”
“Eh, I read it in a book.”
I laughed, and he returned it with a grin.
Dwain’s sympathy reminded me of just what was so goddamn special and irreplaceable about family. His words did make me feel better, made me realize I needed to get past my stubbornness.
But I knew it wouldn’t make this pain magically go away. There was no quick fix.
And I knew as much as anyone that deep wounds took a lot of fucking time to heal.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Cohen
I was at the home I’d lived in from when I was adopted until I was eighteen years old. It was in Pacific Heights, with a prime view of San Francisco.
We were outside in the back, eating catered food and enjoying the view. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen Mom since I’d been back, but it was the first time I’d seen Dad. He was always busy. Oftentimes it was just her and me when I was growing up.
“Have you put the place on the market yet?” Dad asked before taking a drink of his wine.
“No, sir.” My stomach clenched at the thought of it.
“You don’t have to rush,” Mom assured me. “That’s your history, Cohen. You don’t have to walk away from that.”
I both appreciated her words and wished she’d never said them. I didn’t want to lose Mitchell Creek, but I also didn’t think I deserved it. I didn’t want theft to be my history, but there was no way to get around the fact that it was and there was nothing I could do about it.
“We’ll see.”
“It’s worth a lot of money. If you’re not going to live there or open it, there’s no reason to sit on it.”
I shrugged, not sure how to explain the situation to him. Hell, even if I did, I wasn’t sure he would understand. Dad wasn’t real good at the sentimental stuff.
Sometimes I didn’t understand it myself, but then, I wasn’t sure I was much better than him with the heart stuff either.
We all chatted as we finished our meal. The food was delicious but somehow tasted fake, almost manufactured. Not like the Southern meals I’d had in town. The last one Brody had made for me had been—Nope. I wasn’t going to allow myself to go there. Damn it. I had to figure out how to get him out of my head, out of my heart.
“What are your plans now?” Dad asked.
“I’m not quite sure yet.” I could always go work for him full-time again.
“Well, I’m sure you and Isaac will figure it out. You always do.”
“It’ll just be me. He’s actually planning to go back. He met a guy while we were there. He hasn’t told him how he feels. I think he’s stalling because he feels bad leaving me, but he’s going to.” And he should. At least one of us should be happy. I would never begrudge him that.
“Oh, wow. The two of you have always been a package deal. I can’t quite think of one of you without the other. How are you feeling about all this?” Mom asked, and I shrugged. “What about that young man you were spending time with while you were there? Brody, I think you said his name was.”
“It was just a thing,” I lied, just as Dad’s cell rang.
“Shit. Sorry to cut dinner short.