Page 129 of Luck of the Draw

Her scowl melted into a pouty frown with a trembling bottom lip. “Not as bad as that one time you punched my arm.”

His shoulders sank. Something was stabbing him right through the center of his heart. That was her first day here. It was seconds after he’d given them these ridiculously unoriginal nicknames. He was tipsy and tried to playfully punch her shoulder in a verybromanner—in a poorly-thought-out effort to conceal that he’d basically fallen in love with her at first sight—but he was too exuberant and ended up nailing her pretty hard. And not in the way he secretly wanted to.

“I’m sorry, L. For all of it.”

Liza looked at his eyes for a second before her gaze drifted away from his. “I’m going to sit at Café Beignet. You can sit with me.”

“Let me walk you across the street, please.”

She wrapped her arm around his bicep and started walking with him. “I was going to make you do that anyway.”

The café was right across the street from Ophelia’s antique shop, and Liza sat at one of the wrought iron tables outside under the green and white striped awning. Brennan went inside and ordered a black coffee, a decaf herbal tea, and a beignet.

After all, bad news was better received with a healthy sprinkle of powdered sugar.

He carried the items outside and set them on the table, then took the seat across from Liza.

“Please don’t be mad at me, L.” He nudged the plate holding the beignet and the herbal tea closer to her side of the table. “I already know how badly I fucked up.”

Liza—who had collected herself while he was inside getting the items—took one look at her beignet and tea, and the tip of her nose turned pink while her eyes welled up again. She sniffled and mumbled through a quiet sob, “Why are you like this?”

The question had always made him smile, and even with all the shit going on, this time was no different. “You know why I’m like this. I thought we were done with this question.”

A tiny laugh broke through her hitched breathing. “Well…” She shook her head, and the tears revved up again. “I’m not mad at you. I mean, Iammad at you, but it’s more like…like…” Another couple of sobs slipped out, and she lowered her face to cover her eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Brennan shifted his chair around the table to sit in front of her, then grabbed the arms of her chair to turn it to face him. Hunching forward to rest his elbows on his knees, he extended his open palm to her, allowing it to hover between them, offering it to her if she chose to take it. Just like he’d done since the very first day they met.

Liza was always crying about Connor back then. Brennan was always comforting her. They did thispas de deuxfor months while Brennan was deeply committed to his role as matchmaker for his two friends. He’d comforted her while she was crying so many times that he learned when she needed to be held and when he needed to simply offer his hand. She didn’t always take it, but it was there if she needed it.

A stretch of seconds passed, and Liza set her hand in his. “I’m just upset in almost every way possible right now. You dropped a freaking bomb on me just now, so I’m a mess, and I’m going to be more of a mess than normal because of these damn hormones, so I can’t explain the details or psychoanalyze myself for you right now.”

He rubbed his thumb back and forth across the back of her hand. “You don’t have to do either of those things. There was no good or easy way to broach this topic, and I knew you were going to be upset, but, L., she needs you to—”

“No, B.” She pulled her hand out of his and pointed at his face. “She needsyou.” She braced her hands on the arms of the chair while she sat up straight and crossed her legs. “Let me ask you something else. When did you make arrangements with this place?”

Brennan sat up and eased one elbow onto the arm of the chair, resting his jaw on his forefinger and thumb. “Last week.”

“And you went to the police yesterday. So you made these arrangements when you had no idea there would only be a minute possibility of you not dying next week. Right? You made these arrangements expecting to just go on with life after you sent her on her merry way. Right, B.?”

He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “L…please don’t—”

“You’re in love with her, and you’re sending her away,” Liza declared, pointing at him again. “Don’t even try to act like I’m not right—”

“You are,” he clipped. “And yeah, I made these arrangements not knowing I was going to do this shit with this Lucky Luciano wannabe because it’s what sheneeds. It doesn’t matter if I’m in love with her.”

Liza scoffed. “You are so self-sabotaging. Do you hear yourself? ‘I’m in love with this beautiful, amazing,preciouswoman who needs help, and I have every resource imaginable at my disposal to get her that help, but I’m sending her away to some place far away for her to do it on her own.’” She fluttered her long lashes in disgust and then leveled him with her gaze. “All because you’re terrified of relationships. All becauseonewoman—”

“It wasn’t just one woman, L., it was—”

Brennan’s words died on his tongue, and thank God.

After all, it honestly didn’t matter how he felt aboutanywoman anymore. Even if he wasn’t only a few days from Vito putting a bullet between his eyes. Josephine had been gone with the fucking wind for thirteen years, and it really wasn’t about her anymore. Liza belonged to Connor. That ship had sailed the day she showed up, and he needed to fucking get over it already. And Skye was leaving. She was going to sort through all her broken pieces and fit them together into a beautiful mosaic that would become her new life. And that new life would probably be in Las Vegas without him.

A mental picture of his near-future tombstone flashed behind his eyes.

Here lies Brennan Riley. New Orleans’ resident Gentleman Rake. A man who fucked often, but rarely loved, and always lost.

He should mention that to Carson when he called him up here in a second for a little legal help.

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