Sophie had texted me. Only once, which felt…restrained. The message was short and simple, and that might have been the problem.
Hi, it’s Sophie.
I’d read the three words a thousand times, never able to settle on an answer. A return greeting probably would have sufficed, but then what would happen to the conversation? The whole thing already felt so contrived and forced. At least I’d told her I might not reply so I didn’t feel terribly horrible for following through on that. Besides, she said she would be persistent, and a single text message was quite the opposite of that.
It had been nearly a week since I’d met her, three days since she texted me. I loosened the knot of my tie and closed the lid of my laptop, pushing my chair back from my desk to stretch my legs. With a sigh, I shifted my attention from debating the merits of answering her message against sending one to my brothers bailing on our weekly dinner. I imagined either of them would get me a reply. One would be interesting and the other…probably less.
“I’ll text her back after dinner,” I told myself, locking up my office and heading down to my car. Cunningham’s wasn’t a fardrive from work so most weeks I stayed in the office late on Fridays and went straight there to meet my brothers for dinner and drinks. I’d been waiting months for one of them to be the first to bail on our standing date, but boyfriends aside, they’d all kept the schedule.
What did that say about me that I was the only Covington brother—not counting Andrew, who barely counted in the first place—who didn’t have something good to come home to and yet I was the only one who never wanted to leave the house. Laughable, all things considered.
I spent the drive to Cunningham’s trying to get myself together. Smith already knew the truth about my mental state, but I hadn’t said much to Hunter about it, and Marshall was entirely in the dark. Hunter would be upset if he found out I’d been keeping things from him, but I really didn’t want to interfere in his unnecessarily long honeymoon period with Lincoln Summers. I would tell him the rest of the story eventually, maybe after I was over it.
Which, at this rate, would be never.
I arrived at the restaurant first, parked my BMW in the same spot I always parked in, and sat down against the wall in the same booth we always sat in. I ordered myself the same drink as always, a Manhattan, and I ate the boozy cherry first, tossing the steel pick onto the table until it was time for a second round. The unanswered message from Sophie burned a hole in my pocket, and I was seconds away from giving in and texting her back when Marshall slipped into his normal seat opposite me.
“Oh good,” he said, undoing the top button on his shirt and settling in. “You’re here.”
“Where else would I be?”
“I don’t know, Finn.” Marshall flagged down a waiter and ordered himself a glass of wine. “I feel like you’re not yourself lately. For a while now, maybe.”
I swished some of my drink around before swallowing it, smiling through the sharp forward burn of the liquor. “What makes you say that?”
“There’s…” My brother grimaced. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
I scratched the back of my neck, a few annoying beads of sweat prickling on my hairline. I was thirty-five years old, nearly thirty-six, and getting an inquisition from my forty year-old brother shouldn’t have made me so unsettled, and yet…
“Maybe save it for later,” I suggested, glancing at my watch. “Unless it’s a conversation for all of us to have together, in which case, it feels more like an intervention and you should probably wait for backup.”
Marshall pursed his lips, expression unreadable.
“Do you need an intervention?” he asked.
“You tell me.”
“I asked Smith and Hunter to come a little late,” he said. “I told them there was something I had to talk to you about.”
“And they agreed?”
I clenched my jaw, feeling more than fucking betrayed by both of my brothers because neither of them had even bothered to give me a heads up I was walking into a fucking trap. I’d have words with both of them when this was done, that was for sure.
“Finn.”
“Not an intervention, then.” I cracked a smile when the waiter returned with Marshall’s red wine, and out of habit, we clinked our glasses together and each took a swallow. Both of us drank more than would have been considered socially polite, but neither of us called out the other over it.
“I saw you a few months ago.” Marshall paused and frowned. “Nearly a year, actually. I’d just started dating Silas.”
I didn’t want to think about anything further back than five days ago. Five days had been my commitment to getting overNeil and Annette. Five days, I’d made it, and I didn’t want to revisit the past with my dear brother about what my life had been like before.
“We’ve seen each other every week and then some for most of our lives, Marshall. What’s your point?”
“You were out with friends, I think at least. A couple wearing wedding rings and when the man left you and his wife alone?—”
“Oh, for fuck sake.” I pressed my shoulders against the back of the booth and scrubbed a hand down my face.
“Are you having an affair with a married woman, Finn?”