Page 8 of The Bridges I've Burned

He grinned, taking a seat on the leather sectional next to me. He had an ice-cold beer in his hands as he propped his scuffed black boots on the coffee table. “Made a decision yet?” He motioned to the heavy card stock in my hand.

Macon and Marin are getting married! was written in bold script above a black-and-white photo. It was all very modern and casual with the date and details listed on the back.

The handwritten note that had come with it was unexpected.

Zander,

I know it’s been a while, and I know it’s a big ask. But please come.

Dad is gone for good, and I miss my brother.

Macon

“I didn’t go to the last one. Why should I go to this one?”

Hendrix gave me a sideways glance as he arched his brow at my harsh tone. It was times like this that I really wished I lived alone. A man should be allowed to be petty in his own damn house.

“Don’t act like that.”

“Like what?” I looked out the window and tried my best to ignore him.

A mother pushed a stroller down the street with one hand while typing on her cell phone with the other.

How very LA of her.

“Your brother’s first wife cheated on him. It’s not like he’s going through wives like disposable cups.” Hendrix had done some serious Ocracoke snooping when this arrived in the mail.

Or arrived at the bar, rather.

“Disposable cups?” I turned and quirked a brow. What a random fucking thing to say.

“My dad was ranting about them at the bar the other day. We use them sometimes for big events like St. Paddy’s Day, and, man, he hates it. Goes on a tirade every fucking time about the waste and its impact on the environment.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him.” I laughed, shaking my head. “He knows he can say no, right? It’s his damn bar.”

Hendrix grinned, shaking his head. “You know he’s been trying to take a step back. Hand off the reins and all that.”

A grunt rumbled out of me. “Well, tell him he’s doing an exceptional job.”

“You tell him,” he grunted. “You talk to him more than I do.”

Hendrix’s family owned a bar. Well, they owned a lot of things. But the bar was their baby. It was also where I’d met the Creed family and found a place to call home here in Southern California.

“You should go,” Hendrix said, motioning to the invitation.

“Yes, you’ve made your opinion quite clear. I think I heard you the first dozen times.” I rolled my eyes.

Hendrix knew my family history. We’d been friends for years. There weren’t many secrets between the two of us, and so he knew just how long it’d been since I’d seen my brother.

It’d been years. Fourteen to be exact.

I could still remember the utter shock I’d felt when I turned around and saw him standing in his military uniform, looking completely out of place in Creed’s.

“What are you doing here?” I said, not even bothering to drop the equipment still clutched in my hands.

“I came to see you,” he said simply.

He looked so different. Older, sure, but he carried himself differently. His eyes were sharp, piercing. The buzz cut the army had given him made his features look severe. Cold even. His eyes lingered on the ink that now covered my skin.

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