Page 54 of Where Happiness Begins

I don’t give Carter the time to answer before I steal one and chump on it.

“You’re not even done with yours.”

“Yours taste better.”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything more, allowing me to continue stealing from him.

After we left the recording studio at noon, Carter told me he knew this great spot not far from there and led me to eat the best bean burger I’ve ever had in my life. I don’t know why he knew about this vegetarian place, but I sure am not complaining.

“I like what you did with the strings arrangement today. It was…” My words die out as I notice the expression on Carter’s face, so different from what it was mere seconds ago. It looks as if he’s seen a ghost.

I’ve seen him in a lot of bad moods since we met—from his casual “don’t talk to me” air to answering in grunts or not answering at all. Now that I know him, I mostly notice this level of grumpiness when he’s talking to other people. Even so, I don’tthink I’ve ever seen him quite like this. Not even angry or annoyed, but distraught.

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “Let’s just go.”

I frown. “I’m not done eating.”

His hand reaches for mine, but I avoid it, not wanting a touch that could trigger memories. “I’ll get you another burger somewhere else,” he says. “Let’s go.”

“Why?”

“No time to explain.” He tries to get me to stand up again.

“Andrew Carter, will you just sit down and tell me what the hell’s going on?”

His jaw flexes, then he quickly looks over his shoulder as if ensuring no one’s listening before he says in a hushed voice, “I forgot something at the studio.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a horrible liar?”

He sighs, then runs a hand through his hair. “I think my brother just sat down back there.”

My brows climb to my hairline. “Brother?”

I don’t know why I’m surprised. It’s not like we’ve talked much about our families or our lives outside of the little bubble we seem to have built for ourselves at home. Still, I would’ve thought he’d have brought up the fact that he has a brother—or maybe even siblings—at some point during all the months we’ve spent together.

“Yes. Is that enough for you to agree to leave now?”

“Why don’t you want him to see you?” I ask, ignoring him. Then I realize my error. Maybe he doesn’t want to hide from him. Maybe he wants to hideme.

“Because Brandon is—”

“Andrew?”

If Carter’s face was tight before, it just turned into a glacier.

I feel helpless as I see the walls erecting right back up around Carter, all those bricks I carefully took out one by one.

“It reallyisyou,” the guy—Brandon, I assume—says as he reaches us. He doesn’t look anything like Carter, with almost black eyes, straw-colored hair, and a narrow jaw. I can see he’s handsome, in this pretty Ken doll way, but he’s got nothing on his brother. “What are the odds? Seeing my brother during a work trip.”

“Hey,” Carter says, the word seeming to physically pain him.

“How are you doing?” Brandon opens his arms wide, and when Carter doesn’t throw himself in them like they’re in some theatrical family reunion, he wraps Carter in a quick embrace, clapping his back twice with a strength that makes me wince.

“Fine,” Carter says, not even bothering to pretend like he cares how his brother is doing.

“You live here now?”

---