Page 76 of Done with You

Aiden rounded on him.

Jordan’s brows hiked up nearly to his hairline, challenging Aiden to contradict him. “You might not have been a raging drunk like him, but you played the belligerent asshole card as if he’d handed it to you himself.”

Aiden stopped what he was doing and gaped at his brother. “What the fuck? I am not. I’m nothing like him.”

“You don’t think so?” Jordan asked, remaining calm. “Because the dad I remember always rustled up an excuse for his behavior. Always justified his anger in some way. Deflected the blame. Made it our fault. Or Mom’s fault. We made him mad. We were the reason he drank. The reason he lost his temper. The reason he was unable to control his emotions or his addiction.”

“I …”

“Now is your chance to tell me exactly what happened. Leave nothing out, so I can have both sides of the story and then cast my judgment. Because right now, Aiden, everyone is out for your jugular. I am the only hope you have of even remaining invited to this wedding.” He swallowed. “And fucking hell, I want my brother there beside me. But if my fiancée says you’re not welcome, then you’re not welcome.”

Aiden held Jordan’s gaze for a long moment. Probably longer than a minute before he let his eyes close, his shoulders drop, and his chin fall to his chest.

“Have a seat,” Jordan said, indicating Aiden should climb onto his bed and prop himself up on the back of the couch.

Aiden did that but he didn’t say anything.

“Can’t help you if you don’t talk,” Jordan said, impatience creeping into his voice, along with his weariness.

“Got suspended,” Aiden murmured. “’bout five months ago.”

He couldn’t bring himself to look at his brother, but he could tell out of the corner of his eye that Jordan’s mouth dropped open.

“Pulled a guy over, he’d been drinking, had his kid in the car and I punched him. The driver, not the kid.”

Jordan shoved his fingers into his hair, and made a loud exhale accompanied by a, “Fuck.”

“Wasn’t the first time I got overly invested in a DUI and they suspended me this time. Other times were just warnings. But someone videotaped me punching the guy and it went a little viral. CCRC did an investigation, I went to court and the judge ruled that I have to go to anger management and counseling before I can return to the force. And even then, I’ll be on probation and not allowed to ride alone for up to a year.”

“Let me guess, Oona was supposed to be your therapist?”

Aiden nodded. “After being on a waitlist for months.”

“So you figured you’d be stuck on a waitlist again—kept from going back to work even longer—because she declined treating you, given your … new kind of a relationship.”

Aiden grunted and nodded. “Just felt like she was holding my career hostage, while only looking out for her own. Didn’t give a shit what this would do to me. How long I’d been waiting to see her. They say she’s the best for PTSD and shit. I could separate what happened the night before, why couldn’t she?”

“So when she declined, you—”

“Retaliated with anger.”

“I see.”

“We’ve, um, also—” Fuck, he felt like a teenager, confessing his sins to the pastor or something. Not that they were a religious family—though his mother did try to get them to go to church for special occasions like Christmas and Easter. “We slept together again, since we’ve been here in Victoria.”

Jordan grumbled something, then pried himself out of his chair. “I need a fucking beer.”

Aiden resisted the urge to say anything snarky about needing alcohol to cope, though it sat hot and bouncy on his tongue. But he was trying to be better. He was already in a scalding kettle of trouble, and the last thing he needed to do was offend his remaining lifeline—his brother.

Jordan returned to the La-Z-Boy with a beer and took a pull from the bottle. “When did this happen?”

“A couple of mornings ago. You and Rayma were at work. Oona slept in, I went for a run, came back, had a shower, she was making a smoothie and …” He tossed his hands up. “We hate fucked.”

“Hate fucked?”

“I don’t know what else to call it. We certainly don’t like each other.”

“Right.”

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