Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“At this point, I might have preferred that.”
When Jan wings a brow at me, I shrug.
“I’ll talk them down easily. I’m their favorite.”
His deep laugh booms in the vastness that is my house. “Good one, Augie. We all know I’m the favorite.”
I flip him the bird and go to the kitchen where my smoothie waits. Unfortunately, January follows. Out of all of us boys, he’s the biggest. Five years older than me, he’s also two inches taller and a tad wider in the shoulders than March. With his build, you’d think Jan would have gone for tight end or tackle. But no, he’s a quarterback like me. The quarterback, a legend in the making, with three Super Bowl titles and four rides to the show under his belt by age twenty-seven.
Then the accident happened. Last winter, my legend of a brother was riding passenger with his fiancée when a drunk driver crashed into them. They both survived, but my brother’s throwing arm was broken in two places, his elbow shattered. The world mourned and prayed for a miracle comeback. But Jan has been adamant. He’ll never be what he was, so he’s done with playing, and trying to work on his future.
One that doesn’t hold a fiancée. I’m not certain what happened with Laura. Jan remains tight-lipped about it, only muttering once that they weren’t in similar places emotionally anymore. From his expression, it was clear that no more information would be forthcoming.
The whole incident both depresses and scares me. I want to make it better for my brother but know I can’t. The reminder has me softening enough to pour him out a portion of my smoothie and pass it his way.
“Thanks.” He takes a sip, then looks round again. “So . . . this is . . . a place.”
“You can just say you hate it.” I take a drink. “I’m immune.”
“To personal style? Yes. Yes, you are.”
When I pull out a stool, the sound echoes around the house. “I liked it at the time.”
“You liked your real estate agent a whole lot better.”
I flip him off with more feeling. He responds with an easy laugh.
“Is this where you and the future Mrs. Luck will reside?”
“Cut it out.” The response lacks heat.
Jan grins like an evil bastard. “Maybe she can put some life into the place. Add a few throw pillows.”
“Sexist ass.” I drink my smoothie, peanut butter and banana with flax seed. It’s a new recipe I’m testing. Pretty good, all in all. Next time, I’ll add more honey. “Besides, Mom already tried that. Didn’t help.”
“Damn.”
We sit in relative silence, one arm resting on the counter, drinks in the other hand. Our movements are eerily in sync. The press often remarks on how alike the Luck brothers are in both looks and talent. Trade one for the other, it’s all good. They know nothing.
“It’s a lie.”
Jan sets down his glass at my quiet confession. “That Mom decorated?”
The lightness of his tone tells me he knows exactly what I’m talking about and has decided to give me a chance to regroup. I run a hand over my head and sigh.
“The engagement with Penelope. Hell, the whole relationship. I made it up in an effort to look respectable in the face of my recent bad behavior.”
“I figured.”
At that, I turn his way. “It’s not that big of a stretch.”
The corner of his mouth curls wryly. “You move fast when you want to, little brother. But not that fast. Besides, Pen is Pen. It’s not likely she’d up and get engaged in the space of a week.”
Well, sure. But he doesn’t have to look at me with amused pity.
“Please. For all you know, we might have been keeping our love a secret. Oh, fine. Fuck it. Of course she wouldn’t.” My shoulders hunch as I glare down into my glass. “She thought it was a crazy plan.”
“Pen’s very sensible.”
I grunt in agreement.
“You’re usually sensible too,” he adds magnanimously.
I give him the stink eye.
He grins wide. “Well, you used to be.”
Family. I swear to God . . .
Around us the house is still and cool. And dark. I haven’t turned on any lights except for the kitchen. The reflection of us wavers in the thin glass partition wall that separates the kitchen from the great room. To look at us, you’d think we hadn’t a care in the world.
“So you lied.” Jan’s tone is thoughtful. “The question is, do you want it to be true?”
I jolt, my head jerking up. January half turns in his seat to face me. His expression is stern; the Luck eyes like glacial ice. A dozen answers spin around my head. But he narrows his gaze, cutting ahead of the bullshit.
“This is me you’re talking to, August. I’m asking you straight. Do you want it to be true?”