Page 9 of Dare to Fall

My neck heated up, thinking back to Brooke and our marathon last night in my bed. “Yeah, sorry about that. I was overwhelmed with one of the pieces I’m working on for the exhibit coming up.”

He chuckled and gave me a knowing look. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s all that was keeping you busy.”

My brows scrunched together.

“Lucas told me all about Brooke. He sent me some of her pictures he found on Instagram.” He let out a long whistle. “I wouldn’t call you back either if I had someone like her in my bed.”

It had always been a thing between us—an uncanny ability to tell when the other was lying. It was a useful tool when one of us wanted to get the other in trouble with our parents. Thankfully, we had outgrown the tattling stage, and now we just kept each other honest.

“Unfortunately, she was just another woman looking to get in with the Walker family. At least it took her three dates to bring it up, though. Most only last one before they pop the question.”

Garrett shook his head and let out a disgruntled sigh. “Just because they ask about our family doesn’t mean they only want our money.”

“It isn’tourmoney. The money belongs to Mom and Dad. Neither of us have even touched our trust funds,” I said, exasperated.

He rolled his eyes at me. “I get what you’re saying, Garth, but still. Give the women a chance before you write them off at the first hint of trouble.” He pushed my shoulder playfully. “Besides, maybe they’re asking you about your family because they genuinely want to get to know you.”

I scoffed at that. “Is this the same line of bullshit you tell yourself? Because I don’t remember the last time you had a woman around.”

Garrett’s dark-brown eyes lit up. “Or maybe I’m just better at keeping them secret than you.” He shot me a wink.

“Well, shit. Now I need to know.”

“Nope! You don’t.”

“And how the hell is that fair? You con my best friend into giving you all the details, and I don’t get anything in return?” I threw my hands up and chuckled.

“It’s not my fault Lucas is so loose-lipped. You should really tell him to get a handle on that.” Garrett tossed the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder, and I took a real look at my little brother.

Most people said we looked similar. That they could tell we were related. The dark hair and kept beards. Our bodies were even built the same. Broad shoulders that kept us both busy with sports in high school. I had him beat by two inches, though, coming in at six foot three. But he had our mother’s eyes. Those deep-brown eyes that held so much intrigue and too many secrets. And where I shined in creativity, he outmatched everyone with his intelligence and desire to pass on knowledge.

When he had graduated from Northwestern with his PhD in chemistry, we were all blown away. I always knew he was capable of achieving anything he set his mind to, but he went right through to the program without having to earn a master’s degree first. It was nearly unheard of, and it was by far the proudest I’d ever been.

Now, he was the youngest professor ever to receive tenure at Waterview University. His research on Alzheimer’s Disease was changing the way the entire medical profession looked at the aging brain. Shit, I couldn’t even imagine beginning to understand his work.

Magnificent. He was truly magnificent.

“What’s that look for?” His right brow quirked up.

“I was just thinking about how proud I am of you.” I clasped his shoulder. “I don’t tell you often enough, but you’re doing some really great work, Garrett.”

He took a step back, blinking away at the mist in his eyes that was clearly threatening to spill over. Although I was the artist, he was actually the sensitive one, whereas I much preferred to keep everything I felt at bay, locked behind the strong walls of a damn built so thick no one could break it loose.

“Seriously, man. All of us are amazed at everything you’re doing, and I know you’re going to make a huge splash with this latest research.” My hands slipped into the front pockets of my jeans. I was never great at expressing the things I felt. That was usually where my art came into play—a forum for me to figure out the mess in my head.

But for him. My little brother. I would let him know how proud we all were for every dream he made come true for himself and how he took such pride in passing on his knowledge to others. There wasn’t a selfish bone in his body. No desire to hold onto what he created. As long as his work helped others, he’d be willing to give it away for free.

Garrett’s shoulders dropped, his body going slack. The skin around his lips creased as they turned downward. “I’m not sure Dad feels that way.”

My back stiffened at the mention of our father. “Of course he does, Garrett.” I tried to force some effort into the words, some truth I knew we both wanted to be there, but they fell flat.

It had been years now. Years of battling with our father as to which one of us would take over the family business, keep the Walker legacy that our father so expertly built afloat when it was time for him to pass on the torch. As the eldest son, it was naturally my burden to bear. However, the relationship I had with our father became strained when I decided to go to art school instead of working toward an MBA at Harvard.

Art had long fueled my soul, filling every corner of me up in ways that I never knew I needed. As a young man, there was no way in hell I was willing to give up that feeling. I chased it with everything I had, and it had cost me everything, leaving a fraction of the relationship I once had with my father. After I moved to New York to go to Parsons School of Design, we stopped talking altogether. The only time I even saw him was during Thanksgiving and Christmas, despite him traveling to New York several times throughout the years for work.

After making the decision to pursue art, our father’s attention fell on Garrett. He was our father’s last hope to keep his legacy in the family. Our mother intervened when Garrett was declared valedictorian of his class at Northwestern and was offered a professorship within a few weeks of graduating. Garrett had carried the guilt of causing a rift between our parents ever since.

I let out a frustrated breath as I weaved my hand through my hair. “I know things have been tough with him over the years, but he still loves you, even if he doesn’t necessarily understand everything you’re doing and why it’s so important to you. Sometimes you need to be the one who has faith in what you’re doing, even if those around you don’t fully understand it.”

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