Until Harry - L.A. Casey Page 0,4

voice of my brother Layton. I hadn’t heard his voice in close to a year, but it was still the same. It was just a little huskier, probably from his bad habit of smoking. That wasn’t surprising, though. He was twenty-nine now and had smoked for as long as I could remember.

“Long,” I replied to Layton without looking away from my uncle.

My father stayed behind me, holding me tightly. I was aware that the close contact was probably going to change after my uncle was buried in the cemetery tomorrow, but I didn’t linger on it. I didn’t see eye to eye with my parents, my nanny or my brothers, but right now I wasn’t thinking of our differences; I was thinking of my Uncle Harry.

“Where is your suitcase?”

I tensed a little at the sound of my mother’s voice, then murmured, “At the Holiday Inn.”

I heard a snarl. “You’re staying in the hotel, and not here?”

I exhaled a tired breath. “Don’t do this now, Lochlan. Please.”

He didn’t listen.

“You’re not staying in a poxy hotel—”

“Lochlan.” Layton’s stern voice cut our brother off. “We’ll discuss it later.”

Silence.

I closed my eyes when I heard the pounding footsteps of Lochlan as he stormed out of the room and down the hallway into the sitting room, slamming the door behind him. I wasn’t surprised that he walked away. Lochlan might be the temperamental brother, but Layton’s word was law. He was the only person who got through to Lochlan when he stepped over the line. I tried not to let my brother, or his outburst, bother me, so I focused completely on my uncle.

“I was waiting for your email,” I crooned to him and waited for his reply, even though I knew it would never come.

My father squeezed me. “It was sudden, sweetheart.”

I felt ill.

“How did it happen?” I asked the dreaded question that was on my mind from the minute I’d read Lochlan’s letter two days ago.

“A heart attack,” my father exhaled. “He felt no pain. It happened in his sleep.”

A heart attack, I silently repeated. That’s what took my uncle.

I gnawed on my lower lip as I glanced at his attire. I couldn’t help but grin as I took in the thick fleece jumper that I’d knitted him when I was sixteen. He’d loved it, and no matter how many times I’d told him to bin it, he’d refused. He’d said it was the best present he had ever received, which caused me to feel bad for him because it was downright disgusting-looking. I couldn’t knit to save my life.

My nanny forced the unholy task of knitting upon me during the summer I turned sixteen. I was more than awful at it, but my nanny didn’t care. She made me do it every weekend with her and her friends, who combined had three hundred plus years on me. If my nanny heard me say that, she would whack me. I inwardly giggled to myself at the silent jab and shook my head good-naturedly.

“Him and that bloody jumper,” I muttered.

Soft chuckles filled the parlour then, and it helped take some of the hurt and tension away for a few fleeting moments.

When I was ready, I took a steady breath, then turned to look at the faces I hadn’t seen in the flesh for six years. The first person I saw was my mother. She looked older than her fifty-four years, but no doubt my uncle’s passing had added to the lines on her still beautiful face. My nanny, who was next to my mother, still looked the same as she had the day I left. My second brother was different. He was muscular . . . very muscular. He’d been overweight the last time I’d seen him, but that wasn’t the case anymore.

“Jesus, Lay, did someone buy you a gym membership?” I asked, stunned.

My father burst into laughter behind me while my mother and nanny covered their mouths and tried to muffle their giggles. My brother smirked at me, but his aqua-blue eyes shone brightly.

“I couldn’t be the fat twin forever, now could I?” he asked, tongue-in-cheek.

I playfully grinned. “I guess not. You look great.”

Layton winked. “You too, sis.”

My lip quirked for a moment, then I turned and looked at my father. His handsome face was the same, just hairier and fuller. His entire body was fuller.

I blinked. “While Layton hit the gym, you hit the pub and chippy. Huh?”

My father gently clipped me around the ear. “Cheeky brat. I’ll have you know a