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In the background, mixed with video game music, you can hear Bash’s voice. “Dream on.”

“We’re in dire need of food,” Connor says. “Think you can spare some for a couple of pathetic souls?”

“Pathetic is right.” Bran’s eye roll is audible through the phone. “You two need to learn how to feed yourselves.” There’s a pause, then, “Be over in twenty. Want Bash to bring the good whiskey?”

“Please,” Connor and I say.

Bran sighs like it’s a huge inconvenience. “Alright, you ingrates. But you owe me. Big time.”

The call ends, and Connor checks something else on his phone.

“You should go after her.” I swirl the liquid in my glass.

“What?”

“Mary. Don’t wait. Don’t second-guess yourself anymore. Go after her.”

“Yeah, I will.” He puts his phone back in his pocket.

Bran and Bash’s loud voices echo through the foyer as the elevator doors slide open. They stop short in the living room entrance, staring at the mess with matching frowns.

“Well, ain’t this cozy.” Brandon’s voice drips with sarcasm and his gaze lands on the shattered glass at his feet. “What the hell did you knuckleheads do now?”

He dumps the takeout on the table, the crunch of glass under his shoes making him curse again.

I open my mouth to explain, but he holds up a hand to stop me.

“Don’t even tell me. I need a drink first.” He heads to the kitchen, muttering something about forks.

With Bran gone, Bash shakes his head and goes to make himself a whiskey with the bottle he brought. The familiar clink of ice and glug of liquor is oddly comforting.

“Here, you animals.” Bran comes back waving forks like weapons.

He shoves some at us before plopping into the armchair across from us, glaring.

“Thanks, Mom,” Connor says.

I grab a food container. Lasagna. Nice.

“Here.” Bash passes Brandon a glass of whiskey.

“So, do we want to know what fresh hell you’ve dragged us into now, or should we start drinking and hope for the best?” Bash stares at us with a raised brow.

Connor and I exchange a look.

“Elijah fucked up with Gemma, and I fucked up with Mary,” Connor says.

“What?” Bash surges to his feet, the tumbler shaking in his grip. “You did what?”

“Real smooth, cuz.” I give him a side-eye.

Brandon snorts, digging into the takeout. “This is going to be interesting.”

“How could you do that to my sister?” Bash slams down the glass and steps closer to me.

I stand up. “I’m sorry. I made a mistake.”

“Sorry?” Bash scoffs. “Gem deserves better than your bullshit.”

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