Page 54 of The Wrong Brother

I lift the glass, the condensation cool against my palm, and take a sip through the straw. The sweetness hits first, followed by the slow, warm burn of the alcohol. It’s exactly what I need.

“You should take it slow,” Zack says, his voice low but firm. “That’s not exactly a light drink.”

I smile at him over the rim of my glass. “Are you always this concerned about what I do?”

“Yes,” he says without missing a beat, leaning back in his chair. “Especially when you’re making choices that might lead to regret.”

My grip on the glass tightens, and I tilt my head, feigning innocence. “Regret? Like what?”

“Like the last time you got drunk.” His gaze locks on mine, steady and unyielding. “Remember what happened?”

Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I refuse to look away. “I remember everything, Zack. You don’t have to remind me.”

“Then don’t make me,” he says simply, his voice soft but laced with meaning.

The tension between us feels like a living thing, curling around the table and pulling us closer. I take another sip of my drink, slower this time, the straw a convenient distraction. When I glance back at him, his expression is calm, but his eyes express something deeper…something I can’t quite name.

“I’m fine,” I repeat firmly, leaving no room for doubt. “I have no regrets.”

“Alright,” he says, his tone even as our food is delivered. I welcome the reprieve from being the sole focus of his attention, but the lingering discomfort pushes me to drink more…and faster…than I had intended.

Chapter

Thirty

ZACK

The moment the waiter clears away our plates, Jenny leans back in her chair, her glass of iced tea nearly empty. She glances toward him with a gleam in her eye that doesn’t sit quite right with me. Before I can say anything, she signals the waiter.

“I’ll have another one,” she says lightly, motioning toward her drink.

The waiter hesitates, glancing at me briefly before nodding. Before he can leave, I speak up. “Actually, no, she won’t.” My tone is firm, leaving no room for argument.

Jenny stiffens, her lips parting in disbelief. “Excuse me?” Her voice is sharp, but there’s a hint of vulnerability beneath it.

I keep my eyes on hers, steady and unflinching. “You’ve had enough.”

She glares at me, her cheeks flushing. “I really don’t appreciate you doing that. I can decide for myself.”

The waiter awkwardly lingers, unsure of whether to leave or stay. I nod toward him, dismissing him with a polite but firm, “Thank you.”

Jenny’s eyes narrow as the waiter walks away. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, Zack.”

I lean forward slightly, lowering my voice. “You’re going to have a raging headache tomorrow, and you'll have to work. It’ll be hell.”

She smiles, crossing her arms. “Your concern is much appreciated but I can handle my liquor, thank you very much.”

“No,” I counter, my tone calm but unwavering. “You can’t.”

Her eyes flash with defiance, but there’s something else there too…a flicker of uncertainty.

“Maybe I don’t want to handle it,” she says softly, her voice dropping to almost a whisper.

Her words hit harder than I expect, the weight of them settling between us like a storm cloud. I lean back in my chair, studying her carefully. The defiance in her gaze falters slightly, giving way to something raw, something honest.

I know what she's referring to, and I cannot believe it. But at the same time, I wonder if I’m just reading incorrectly into the situation. This has to be the case, right?

I take a slow breath, choosing my next words carefully. There is no need to guess or pretend. It has never been my style to do that, and I’m not about to start now.

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