Page 66 of Done with You

Jordan and his other cop friends weren’t slouches, either, but between the Harty boys and Jace, they looked small.

“Well, it’s nine-thirty now, so we have some time to kill before eleven,” Rex said, finishing his beer, the overhead track lighting gleaming off his shiny bald head. Chase and Rex were bald, while Brock kept his hair trimmed short, military-style, and Heath wore his all blonde and rebellious.

“I just ordered food,” Jace said, having turned away for a moment to speak with a server. “Nachos for the table and a Thai chicken wrap with onion rings for myself.”

“Do you ever get full?” Tyler, one of Jordan’s cop buddies, asked.

Jace shook his head and sipped his beer. “Not while I’m training.”

The two other cops there—Matt and Patrick—shook their heads. “My wife would kill me if I went out for ERT,” Matt said. Patrick nodded. “The training time, always being on call. I mentioned it once in passing and she flat out told me she’d divorce me if I ever did it. That it’s no way to raise a family or have a decent relationship. It’s for single people.”

“There’s a reason people don’t last more than a few years on ERT,” Jordan said. “The demand on your time and body is a lot.”

“I’m happy being a regular ol’ beat cop for now,” Patrick said, which earned him confirming nods from Jordan and Matt.

“Well, I’m currently single and in the best health of my life,” said Jace, seemingly unaffected by their comments. “So, now’s the time to do it. No kids, no woman. Not even a damn houseplant to neglect.” He scratched at his dark scruff that clung perfectly trimmed to his chin. “Thinking I might take the bomb tech training course if I make ERT.”

They ordered another pitcher and chatted while some of them watched the games overhead on the screens.

A pool table opened up, so they divided into teams and played a few rounds while snacking on the nachos Jace ordered and drinking more beer.

Aiden, of course, stuck with his club soda and kept a watchful eye on his little brother and how much he consumed.

By the time ten forty-five rolled around, they were at The Bard and Banker, an English-style pub with mood-lighting, plush fabrics, dark woods, and brass fixtures. It had fancy chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and was set in what had to be a building almost two centuries old. Like The Harbor Club, it had a few different levels, and lots of seating, but since it was Saturday night, it was packed and they found themselves having to almost yell over the music and boisterous laughter of the people around them.

They’d managed to find a table with chairs this time, which was a good thing, because Jordan was almost falling over, he was so drunk. Aiden was getting worried.

“Can I get some water, please?” Aiden asked the server when she came around to check on their drinks. “This guy needs some water.”

“I’m fine,” Jordan slurred.

“You’re drunk,” Aiden said.

“So? It’s my bachelor party. Aren’t I sssssupposed to be drunk?” Jordan leaned over into Aiden and got right up in his face, his beer and nacho breath making Aiden blanche. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Aiden smiled with his mouth closed and patted his brother on the back. “Me, too.” The server brought the water and Aiden thanked her for it. “Here. You need this.”

Jordan smiled sloppily. “I’ve learned that it wasn’t our fault, you know.” He glanced at Brock, then the other three Harty Boys. “Their mum taught me that. That it wasn’t our fault and we need to stop carrying around this guilt.”

Heat flooded Aiden’s chest and he gently—or so he thought—pushed Jordan away, so he would stop breathing on him. But apparently, it was more of a shove, and hard enough that Jordan’s drunk ass fell off his chair.

“Whoa!” Jace and Heath both said, while Chase helped Jordan up. He didn’t fall to his back or ass, but he was struggling to stand up straight.

“What the hell, man?” Patrick said, turning to Aiden.

Aiden swallowed and his eyes darted across the faces of the other men. “I—I didn’t mean to push him that hard. I swear.” Though, he wasn’t going to lie and say that he wasn’t glad Jordan falling off his chair also shut him up. Maybe Aiden did mean to push him that hard? Was it a fear response?

Fear of other people finding out what happened?

“It’s okay,” Jordan said, still slurring his words. “He’s still working through shit.” He focused on Aiden. “I’m sorry. I should … I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“What’s he talking about?” Heath asked.

Jordan glanced at Heath. “Family shit, man. Just ssssstupid Lassiter family shit. Our family is stupid. Our mom was stupid. Or is stupid. I think she’s still alive. Our dad is stupid.” He rolled his eyes. “How that motherfucker is still alive boggles my damn mind. And all the rest of our family that cast us aside is stupid. We’re from stupid, stupid heads.” He focused back on Aiden. “But we’re not stupid, stupid heads. You’re not a stupid, stupid head, Aiden. You’re my brother. The only family … the only Lassie I have. You’re Big Lassie.” He turned to his friends. “That’s what Rayma calls him. Big Lassie, and now I’m Little Lassie.” He dropped his voice to a whisper that wasn’t a whisper at all. “But in the bedroom, I’m still Big Lassie.”

Several of the men snorted and laughed.

But Jordan remained serious. “But you’re my only Lassie, Big Lassie. And you’re not a stupid, stupid head at all. You’re my brother. And I’ve really missed you. We let our grief over what happened come between us. When it should have brought us closer.” He looped his arm over Aiden’s shoulder, but it ended up being more like Aiden’s neck. “And you’re my best man.”

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