“I’m sorry,” Ethan says. “I just found out. I can’t believe he used my phone. I’m so, so, sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say. “He’s the asshole.” I take a breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back right away. Everything’s been crazy at work.”

“It’s okay. I figured you were pissed about Dad telling me and needed to cool off.”

“I wasn’t,” I say, even though I was. Hell, even though I am.

There is a long, uncomfortable silence, and then he says, “I shouldn’t have told you.”

Shit. I don’t know what to say to that. Because part of me agrees. And yet another part of me hates the idea of more secrets between me and my brother.

“No,” I finally say. “I was pissed at Dad, not at you. And even though I don’t like you knowing, I hated us having secrets. And I swear that was the only one on my end.”

I wait for him to tell me the same, but he says nothing.

I frown, not sure if his silence is relief that I’m not pissed or obfuscation.

“So, are we okay?” he asks after another long pause.

“We are.” Because no matter my own issues and secrets, I’m not letting anything come between me and my brother. “I promise.”

“Okay. Cool.” He clears his throat. “Listen, about Jackson’s little girl—”

“Jackson wants me to be her guardian if he ends up in jail.”

“Oh, Syl. Shit.”

“I’m doing it,” I say. “And I’m only telling you because of the no-secrets thing. I don’t want to talk about it right now.” More, I don’t want to talk about it with Ethan. I know what he’d say, and I’ve already freaked myself out enough about mommyhood for the day.

“I—fine. Okay. Whatever.” He draws a breath. “Are we cool?”

“We are,” I assure him. “And I have to go. I’m not the one still lazing around on vacation.”

He laughs. “Fair enough. I’ll call you in a day or so. Might even make you come down here and help me buy furniture.”

“You found a place?”

“Tiny, but on the beach.”

“Of course I’ll help.” As I’m speaking, the elevator opens, and Jackson steps off.

“Cool. Love you.”

“I love you, too,” I say, and when I hang up the phone, I’m smiling.

“I hope that was Ethan or Cass,” Jackson says as he crosses the reception area to my desk. “Otherwise you and I are going to have words.”

“My secret lover,” I say, grinning. “But if you work very hard, maybe you can make me forget all about him.”

“I’ll certainly do my best.” He leans against the wall between Damien’s door and my desk. His hands are in his pockets and he has the kind of smile that suggests he has things on his mind that aren’t remotely related to work. The kinds of things that send a nice little tingle through me.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Steele?”

“I’ve been thinking about tonight.”

“What a coincidence. So have I.” We’re planning to go to the island tomorrow afternoon to check in with the cleanup crew and stay overnight. Tonight, though, we’re staying at my apartment again. I had been looking forward to sipping wine on my balcony and relaxing, but looking at him now I’m thinking that a more active evening would be very, very welcome.

“How important to you is our night in?” he asks.

I cock my head. “You have another plan?”

“Remember the Dominion Gate concert I mentioned?”

“Yes.” I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. “Why?”

“I forgot that the tickets were by lottery. I found out today that I scored four. I thought it would be a fun way to escape reality for a bit.”

“I guess it would.” I frown. “Wait. You’re saying the concert is tonight?”

“At The Rafters,” he says, naming a relatively new club in Burbank.

“All the way in the Valley?”

“That’s where the music’s happening. You want to go?”

“Of course,” I lie. “I’ve been wearing the T-shirt. I ought to see the band.”

He starts to push away from the wall to stand up straight, but doesn’t. Instead, he remains still, his attention on my face.

“What?” I finally demand.

“You really don’t want to go.” It’s not a question.

I hesitate, but then concede. “I really don’t. But you do, and I really love you. And I know I’ll have fun once we get there.”

“You’re sure?”

I stand up and go to him, then hook my arms around his waist. “I’d do a lot more than that for you. Yes, I’m sure.” I brush a kiss over his lips. “And you’re right—escaping reality sounds like a damn good plan.”

He cups my chin, holding my head in place as he looks into my eyes, his irises moving slightly as he studies me. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

Pleasure sweeps through and around me, as soft and warm as a blanket, and I realize that I’m grinning so widely it hurts. “Yes,” I say simply. “I do.”

I press my head to his chest, breathing deep as he strokes my back, and in that moment, I think I know what heaven must be like. Safe and warm and wonderful.

I sigh with pleasure, then lean back after a moment. “Did you say you have four tickets?”

“I’d originally thought we could invite Nikki and Damien.”

My brows rise. “Really?”

“Hey, I’m all about the brotherly bonding. But Damien’s in Palm Springs tonight, and Nikki’s already got plans.”

“Spa weekend with Jamie,” I say.

“You’re very well informed.”

“It’s my job. Plus Nikki invited me. I told her I’d rather stay here with you.” I rise up on my toes so that I can whisper in his ear. “I’m hoping you’ll give me a very thorough massage. Since I’m not getting my spa visit, I mean.”

“You can count on it,” he says as his hand slides around to cup my ass. He squeezes, and I squeal, then laugh. “You’re going to need one after standing for a few hours.”

I take a step back, eyeing him dubiously. “Standing?”

“No seats at The Rafters,” he says. “But lots of good beer and definitely a lot of good music.”

He looks so excited that I can hardly deny him, especially considering the hell he’s been living through. “All right,” I say. “It’s a date.”

“Then we’ll do it up right. I’ll pick you up at seven. The show starts at ten. We’ll have dinner and get there by nine-thirty. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Should I invite Cass and Siobhan? I’ve got the two extra tickets.”

The question—asked so simply and with complete sincerity—sends an unexpected wave of pleasure washing over me.

“Yeah,” I say. “That would be great.” And then I ease back into his arms and kiss him softly. “As a matter of fact, you’re great, too.”

nineteen

When we’d first arrived at The Rafters—a nondescript building near the North Hollywood/Burbank border—I’d assumed that Edward had pulled up at the wrong location. It had the appearance of a shack that someone had put up in their backyard and then painted black. Albeit a very large shack.

Jackson assured us that this was the place, though, and when I took a closer look, that was clear enough. Not only was there a sandwich board sign in the parking lot announcing Dominion Gate, but there was also a line of concertgoers that snaked around the building.

I’d glanced at Jackson, dubious, but he’d only laughed and told me it would be fun.

Honestly, he was right.

Now that we’re inside, I’m not certain how the place managed to pass all the various required inspections because I am absolutely certain that the reverb from the band’s bass is going to make all the walls collapse on us. Even the concrete floor is moving, though that may be an illusion. Or it may be the result of hundreds of people dancing madly to the earsplitting music.

But despite all that, I am having a great time—and considering we are jammed in like sardines in an under-air-conditioned building and standing way too close to the speakers, that says a lot. About the music, maybe. But it’s more about Jackson. He’s clearly having a great time—worry free, loose. Hell, almost boyish.