Pops came home from work that evening, and when she’d told him what happened, he sent us out into the yard. He told us to settle it like men, get it out of our systems, and then shake hands and carry on. Cole gave me my first black eye, and I busted his lip. We called a truce and came back inside, just like we’d been told to. When we stumbled into the kitchen all bloodied up and Pops announced it was all sorted out Mom didn’t speak to him for the rest of the night. It wasn’t long after that they told us they were divorcing. It shouldn’t have shocked us as much as it did, and it wasn’t as if they had anything in common. Their parenting styles were as incompatible as they were.

“You’re fucking the girl I’m dating, Cal! What do you want from me? I’m not about to shake hands and tell you well done, have at it. I liked her.”

We’re not fist fighting now, but the words hurt just as much, if not more. “She told me this morning that you weren’t dating,” I tell him in a flat voice.

“Jesus Christ, not you as well. I had this with Robyn; the whole label thing is bullshit, and we all know it. We were dating, and she was playing us, seeing me and then sleeping with you. Open your eyes, Cal. I spoke to her last night when you left us in your office. Imagine my surprise when I found out that you’ve moved her in. She’s been living with you almost the entire time I’ve known her. It’s all so fucked-up they could make an entire Jerry Springer episode from this.”

I pull the receiver away from my ear. I figured calling would be a safer bet than attempting a face-to-face discussion. I think I made the right choice; he sounds as pissed as I feel.

“What are you hoping to garner from this conversation? Are you seeking my approval to date her?” Cole continues.

“I don’t need your approval to date anyone, dickhead!” I’m mad at myself, pissed off at Cole and I don’t even know how to qualify my feelings about Tweet at the moment. But I’m not about to let him talk to me like some kid asking for permission to date.

“I liked her, Callum. Jesus, I still like her, and all I can picture is the two of you together. I’m not alright with you two dating, or whatever it is that you’re doing, and I doubt I ever will be. I have shit to do. I’m busy trying to fix the fuckup I caused with my most valuable client, I don’t have time to waste analyzing whether she knew what she was doing or not. I need to go, talk to you later.”

The call drops and I toss my cell onto my desk, just as annoyed as before I called him. It’s 8:00 pm. She’ll be walking onstage right about now. I should stay in here, go over the books. Zane told me we’re sorted, but the last thing I can concentrate on is accounts, knowing that she’s in the next room. It’s a base urge, pure primal instinct, the need to go out there. I need to see her, even though I’m angry with her. I’d almost lost my head earlier when she told me she was going to collect her things and move out. While space from her would be helpful, there isn’t a hope in hell that I’m letting her go back to that apartment where she’s been attacked and broken into. No matter what’s happening between her, Cole and me, she’s not putting herself in that kind of danger again.

Temptation wins out, and the ability to resist is too much. I drop my feet from my desk and walk out into the club, heading straight for the bar. I tell myself I’m going to check in with Zane, but it’s bullshit. I know it, and so will he when he’s finished flirting with the blonde and her friend at the end of the bar.

“Hey, wasn’t expecting you down here tonight,” he says with a raised brow.

“What can I tell you? I just can’t stay away!” He gets my double entendre and shakes his head, hissing through gritted teeth.

“Whose company are you looking for tonight?” he asks, holding a bottle of scotch in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other.

“I don’t need my head messing up any more than it already is, Zane. I’ll take a glass of water.”

His low whistle pisses me off enough to turn my head, and I look over at the stage on instinct.

She’s dancing, and even amidst the other girls that make up the chorus line, my eyes find her immediately. The magnetic pull she has on me is unnerving. I watch her from across the room, wondering how well an actress she is. Has everything between us been a lie? She wasn’t the one that initiated any of this; in fact, when I put more thought into it, I’m the one who’s pursued her at every opportunity. Her body moves across the stage like it was built solely to perform, and my eyes trace every movement. Watching her makes my pulse race, and my brain struggles to reason why she would possibly enter into anything with me knowing Cole was my brother.

The thought that maybe she was using me to settle her debts flitters through my mind and leaves as quickly as it came. That’s not who she is; I’ve watched her work her ass off for weeks, trying to figure a way out of her problems on her own. She’s not once asked for someone to solve them for her. She looked physically ill when I’d told her I would pay the bastards that broke into her apartment and left her the sick reminder that she needed to pay up. It doesn’t make sense that she’d play Cole and me, however I look at it.

The realization that I believe her explanation leaves me feeling dry mouthed and anxious all over again. I can’t let her walk out of here, especially not back to that apartment. I don’t know how I’ll put the thought of her and Cole out of my head, but I’m willing to try. I’m not ready for her to leave yet. I haven’t thought about being in a relationship with anyone since the moment Lisa confessed to having an affair. I was sure I’d never want to be in one again, they’re too much like hard work. You run the risk of having your world ripped wide open the moment you start adding emotions to sex. I hadn’t realized it until right now, but I’m so far gone with Tweet I couldn’t stop my feelings even if I tried. I know Cole will be pissed at me, but he’s going to have to come to terms with the fact that Tweet is going to be in my life—if she’ll have me. I don’t know what that means in terms of relationships and all that other bullshit, all I know is that I’m not ready, or willing, to let her walk away.

I KNOW THIS is a bad idea. I’m not a fool, but I’m also not a complete asshole. I can’t leave New York without at least trying to persuade Robyn to come with me one last time. Even if she doesn’t follow me to the West Coast, she could go back home to her parents, or anywhere she wanted for that matter, as long as it was far away from here. My conscience won’t allow me to leave knowing that she’s still here, being her stubborn self and not listening to my warnings. She can’t possibly believe that what I’m telling her is for her own good, or surely she’d listen. It took me all day yesterday to break Lucy into telling me where Robyn was living. I’d ripped the apartment to shreds looking for Robyn’s old telephone book; she likes to keep people’s numbers written down. She hasn’t trusted technology to sync her contacts correctly since the time she swapped her cell and lost everyone’s numbers. I didn’t find it, so after pulling at my hair in frustration, I bit the bullet and headed across the hall. I spent an hour begging Mrs. Heckles to tell me where she worked, only to hear a lecture on what makes a real gentleman, before she finally relented and admitted she didn’t know where it was. I decided to go find Lucy, but not before Mrs. Heckles told me Robyn’s new boss drove a motorcycle and could rival James Dean in looks. The old woman has finally gone senile, and I’m almost positive she was high.