Not to mention the fact that I specialize in gut-wrenching divorces, not happily ever afters, and wouldn’t know what family bonding is if it was a wedding bouquet that slapped me in the face.

No fucking thank you.

“You can’t just say no like that.”

“I can and I did.” I move the mouse of my computer and light up my screen. “I have work to do, Thad. If that’s it, you should go.”

I turn to my computer, but I can feel his deep-green gaze on me as the tension starts to rise between us.

He’s about to explode.

From the corner of my eye, I can see his chest rise and fall rapidly. I can see the clenching of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes, the anger on the tip of his tongue.

“No is not an acceptable answer.” His voice is so low, so menacing, that if I didn’t actually know my brother was all talk, I might have been a little frightened.

Keeping my eyes focused on the screen in front of me, I say, “You’re going to have to find it within yourself to accept no as an answer, because I’m not changing my mind.”

Instead of storming off like I thought he would, he leans forward, picks up a pen off my desk, and chucks it at my head, hitting me right in the temple. When I whip around to face him, he doesn’t even flinch.

“Naomi’s pregnant.”

Okay, was not expecting that. I spin in my chair and face him straight on. “Seriously?”

“No, I would joke about that.” He rolls his eyes, and I realize it was a stupid question.

“Wow, I mean . . . wow,” I repeat. “Are you . . . excited?”

“Of course I’m excited. I’m going to be a father, for fuck’s sake. It’s a total dream. A little out of order, but still, it’s amazing.”

“Well, congrats, Thad. That’s really great.”

“It’s the biggest reason why I want this, why I need this opportunity.” He pauses. “It would be a giant head start for my family.”

“You can have a simple wedding, Thad. Save up for an apartment in Manhattan.”

“Saving up isn’t really easy when you’re a single-income household. You know Naomi got laid off a few months ago, and now that she’s pregnant, she won’t be getting a new job for a while. I’m not a divorce attorney. I’m an event coordinator.”

“There are other ways—”

“There aren’t, Alec. You’re it, the only option, and even if you weren’t, I would still want you by my side.”

“Because I’m so well versed on the light and joy of a beautiful marriage,” I answer with a sarcastic lilt.

“Noooo,” Thad drags out in an irritated tone. “Because you know how to make everything better.” I pause, the hairs on my arm standing up with apprehension. He continues. “Growing up, you knew exactly how to make me laugh, how to help me forget the environment we were living in, and how to turn a shitty situation into a lifelong memory. You’ve always come through, and I know you would come through on this and help us win. You’re scrappy like that.”

“I’m not scrappy,” I say, pulling my hand over my face. “I’m not the same guy, Thad. I’m—”

“You’re a shitty brother.” He looks me dead in the eyes, and despite myself, I’m offended. Sure, I’ve been a little absent lately, but to be called out like that? I don’t fucking think so.

“Because I won’t parade around with you, draping tulle over chairs on national television?”

He shakes his head. “No, because the minute you went off to college, you basically forgot about me. Getting you to hang out is like trying to herd cats into a room. You barely give me any of your time, and when I do get to see you, you’re not really there. Your mind’s always on work. I don’t want us to be brothers who drift apart, who never talk until something traumatic happens in the family. I miss you, Alec. And I’ll be damned if my child is raised in a world where he or she doesn’t know you.”

He stares at me, his eyes growing larger with every second that passes. How is that even possible?

“I want them to play with Uncle Alec, to experience the guy I grew up with. The fun, protective, intelligent guy who helped me become the man I am today. Please, Alec. If not for me, for my unborn child . . .”

Mother.

Fucker.

CHAPTER THREE

ALEC

“So that was your brother, huh?” Lucas asks.

“Yeah,” I say, leaning against the bar top, beer clutched in my hands. I’m not much of a day drinker, even on the weekend, but after everything Thad just put me through, I needed a beer.

“You’re nothing alike.”

Which is weird since I’m the one who apparently “raised him.” But it’s true: we’re nothing alike. Thad’s sensitivity level is frighteningly high, whereas I feel pretty much dead inside.

I’m not just walking through life with no purpose, though. After I graduated high school and was accepted into Columbia, I knew one thing: I was going to become a lawyer so when assholes like my father cheated on their wives, I could help deliver exactly what they deserved . . . giant settlements in favor of their soon-to-be exes. I represent only women, I seek revenge for them, and I go home to my moderately sized, minimally decorated apartment, sip on my whiskey, and then call it a night. Then I repeat the entire thing the next day. There’s an occasional one-night stand or an outing with friends, but both are rare when you’re a workaholic.

Thad, though . . . he’s not a workaholic. He puts in his hours, does a decent job at work, then goes home and watches every new show on Netflix with Naomi. They’re always going out—the reason I know this is that Thad continuously asks if I want to join them—and they’re in the business of experiencing new things, mostly free things. Art galleries, movie screenings in Central Park, comedy shows—you name it; they’ve done it.

Thad has fun.

Whereas I think I’ve forgotten the meaning of fun.

But what’s scaring me most right now is Thad’s closing statement, which he delivered over his shoulder on his way out the door.

Don’t turn into Dad. Don’t become a workaholic who only cares about himself.

That fucking cut deep. The last person I ever want to be is my father. I make sure every day that the apple has fallen as far away from the tree as possible.

But Thad made me think. He made me assess my life, and hell, he made me consider his proposal.

It’s why I’m sitting at a bar with Lucas, waiting on a huge burger and the biggest-possible order of fries.

“Whatever he said must have rocked you, man. You look pale.”

I sip my beer. “He wants me to be on a TV show with him.”

“What?” Lucas laughs. “What TV show?”

“The Wedding Game.”

“Oh shit, with Mary DIY? Dude, she’s hot. I would totally let her sew me something. I catch the show occasionally just to watch her.”

I rotate my head to eye my friend. “You’re into a DIY lady?”

Lucas is already typing away in his phone, and he holds it up a moment later. Damn, okay, I see why he’s watching The Wedding Game. Sleek blonde hair, bright-blue eyes, gorgeous body. Yeah, I get it. “She’s hot. And she’s clever, dude; she comes up with some crazy shit.” He pauses, and then his eyes light up. “Holy shit, if you do the show, you could introduce me to her.”

I shake my head and turn back to my beer. “It’s not a guarantee Thad and Naomi would even be picked. I also didn’t commit to doing the show.”

“You didn’t?” Lucas actually looks perplexed, like saying yes was a no-brainer. “Why the hell not?”

“Why the hell would I?”

Lucas shrugs. “I don’t really know your family dynamics, but from the tension in the office, I could tell there’s some resentment between you guys.”

“Not as close as we used to be” is all I say while downing a large gulp of my beer.

“Alec . . .” Lucas is quiet for a minute before he exhales loudly. “I lost my brother from alcohol poisoning.” Oh shit. “He was pledging my fraternity, drank too much, and passed out. No one noticed.” He looks down into his drink. “If I were you, I would do just about anything to make sure there’s nothing standing between you two. You never know when you won’t have the chance to see him again.”

“Fuck, Lucas, I had no idea,” I say, feeling like a complete ass.

“I don’t talk about it much, and I really don’t want to focus on it now. I just want to give you some perspective. Whatever you two went through can’t be so bad you can’t fix it, right?”

I scratch the side of my jaw, knowing exactly what’s holding me back.

Whenever I see Thad, I see the scared little boy he used to be. I see the fear in his eyes, the uncertainty of what was going to happen to our family. It makes me sick, and it makes me angry. Angry that two adults couldn’t pull it together for their kids, that they left us, alone, without anyone to talk to but ourselves, a ten-year-old and a fourteen-year-old. We were drowning in their problems, with no life raft. And that anger takes over—it builds and builds inside me until I can’t even take a breath.