Page 3 of Raising the Sun

It was spite that kept me from quitting, not confidence. It was one of the main reasons why I was closer to Wayne than my parents. Unlike them—my mother especially—he’d never once told me to give up the flower shop. He understood how much it meant to me, and he truly believed I was capable of showing everyone who doubted me that I could handle it. He offered his support, knowing that I wouldn’t take it because I was stubborn and thought accepting help would ruin my whole MO, but it was the principle. He didn’t force the easy way out.

He respected my decisions, however irresponsible, and I was grateful for it.

“They just worry about you, Iz,” he said, telling me what, deep down, I already knew. It was just hard to see it that way sometimes. “It’s not that they don’t think you’re good enough. You don’t open up, and all they see is their golden boy struggling and they can’t do anything about it except tell you there’s no shame in waving the white flag.”

“I know, I know. I just…” I scrubbed a hand over my face, already done with this conversation. “The constant negativity, even the good-natured kind, gets so fucking grating. I’m tough enough on myself, I don’t need it from outside sources, too.”

He nodded. “They do love you, though. I promise.”

“Yeah.” It wasn’t intentional, but the discomfort had my gaze drifting to the clock behind the counter, noticing with a start that I had forty minutes until my shop was due to open. We’d been there for an hour and a half already, and awful drinks aside, it had felt more like ten minutes.

Huh.

I’d almost forgotten why our meetings weren’t a regular thing.

Wayne huffed a laugh, drawing my attention back to him. “Look, I know you’re chomping at the bit to get out of here…” He shot me a look when I tried to argue, forcing my mouth to clack shut. “But there was a reason other than missing your crabbit face why I wanted to meet up.” He reclined in his seat to go fishing in his jeans pocket. “I have something for you.”

“I swear to God, if it’s anothercheque—”

He snorted. “Fuck no. I learned my lesson the last time.” I’d put it through my shredder, and had he produced another one, thinking it was safe in a public setting, he’d have been wrong. “No, some guy at work gave me an address, told me to check it out if I ever needed a bit of a boost. It made me think of you.” Finally triumphant in the battle against his skintight jeans, he slid over a crumpled piece of paper, which I eyed sceptically. “Apparently, the guy behind the counter can help with whatever you need. No judgement.”

Not suspicious at all.“I’m not interested in loan sharks,” I deadpanned, before tacking on, “Or therapists.”

“It’s nothing like that, I swear.” He smiled, shifty yet hopeful. “Just go and see. Trust me, it’s nothing dodgy. I’d never put you in danger, Iz.”

I trusted him with my life, but there was definitely something he wasn’t telling me; some important detail that he seemed to be purposefully leaving out for whatever nefarious reason. Well, I wasn’t indulging his whims today. “I deal with shit myself.”

“And that’ll still be the case. This wouldn’t be an instant fix like money or whatever, but…” He flopped against the table, laying the pleading dramatics on thick. “Come on, mate, you’re up to your eyeballs, and you hardly ever seem truly happy anymore. It’s okay to need a little… lift.”

“I’m fine,” I lied, but there were no flies on my brother.

“Don’t bullshit me. I know you better than I know myself, and if you won’t let me help you outright, at least let me involvea third party.” It wasn’t exactly a request, but he did raise a hand as if pledging his honour. “And hey, if you go and decide it’s not for you, I’ll never mention it again. How’s that?”

“I seem to have given the impression this is up for negotiation. My mistake,” I said dryly, with a glare to match.

He shrugged, unbothered, still grinning like a fool. “Gotta do what I gotta do.”

After a beat, and no further response from me, his expression morphed into something soft andaware. I should have hated it, being caught under such an astute gaze, but from him, it didn’t feel quite so condescending. Probably because he was the only person qualified in interpreting my silences and drawing out my internal debates. He no doubt understood clearly that I was fighting with myself, between accepting what he offered because I knew he meant no harm, and sticking to my guns. He always knew, and it made everything that much easier.

“I’m your big brother…” He reached over to pat my hand in reassurance. “And all I want is to get you back to your bright, chirpy self—theyouthat started this business. That’s all.”

I could tell him no and he’d abandon it. I knew that. But something about the desperation in his eyes, even masked by amusement, made me feel a little sympathetic to his efforts. He only ever had my best interests at heart and, I mean, he wasn’t wrong. Even my pig-headed arse could admit that I’d lost a lot of my spark in the last few months, which must have been hard for him—as my big brother and closest friend—to watch.

I sighed.

I’d have felt the exact same in his shoes.

It was for that reason, and that reason alone, that I snatched up the paper, making absolutely no promises as I said, “I’ll think about it.”

I parked on the street, thirty feet from the address on the card.

Call me a bleeding heart, but Wayne would have been crushed if I hadn’t, and since there were twenty minutes to spare until I had to be at work,andI was in the town anyway, why not humour him? For the sake of my eardrums, if nothing else.

Except, had I known more about this place—other than ‘the guy behind the counter will help’—beforepulling up, getting out of my car, and finding the shop entrance, I’d have told him to go fuck himself.

The red sign above the door read, The Magic Shop, and with an eye roll and a grumble of his name, I cursed my brother—probably the best place for it—for making fun of me. He knew my opinion on the supernatural, how I thought it was all a crock of shite, but that was probably why he hadn’t given me any information. He’d kept it vague to get me to the door, and honestly, I should have guessed his ‘offer’ wouldinvolve something along these lines. Contrary to me, he loved anything occult, so I supposed I only had myself to blame.

Though, I’d be blaming him entirely whenever we spoke again.Bloody twat.

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