[Ryan]

“How about milk?” Derek asks, holding up the carton.

I shake my head, despising every minute of this forced trip. I hate shopping for groceries alone. Doing it with my brother only adds to the misery. My mind drifts to Emma. She drags me here against my will every week. Another grooming exercise, she calls it. That’s fun. This is torture.

“Yogurt?”

I shake my head again and check my phone for any emergency text messages.

“If you don’t help, I’m going to fill the cart with lima beans and liver.”

“God, no.” He knows how much I hate them both. Dropping the phone into my pocket, I sigh and nod at the cheese. “We just ate the last of the cheese.”

“That’s a start.” He adds a block to the cart. I replace it with sliced cheese. No need having to slice it myself if Dad’s paying the bill. “How about steak for dinner?”

“It’s almost ten o’clock. I have to work in the morning.”

“So? You still need to eat. Look how scrawny you are.” We move to the meat department. “Doesn’t she feed you?”

She does so much more than that. She completes me. I think of that movie and chuckle. I always thought it was so cheesy—until now. It describes how I feel perfectly. I don’t dare say anything to my brother. He’d use it against me every chance he got.

“I get it,” he continues when I don’t answer. “I was in love once.”

“When were you ever in love?” I don’t bother denying it. I love Emma. I’m not ashamed to admit it. At least to myself. “The mirror doesn’t count.”

“Why you gotta hate, brah?”

“Why do you have to talk like a frat boy?” I counter, irritated. Every time he says brah, I’m that much closer to walking away. From him. From Dad. If he wasn’t at the mod with Emma, I would have already disappeared until they got the hint and returned to Seattle. “You graduated two years ago. Move on, already.”

“Dude, college was the shit. If I could have stayed, I would have. I loved it.”

“That’s because you were the head of the Greek council. President of your house. Stories about your mixers still bounce around campus and you didn’t even go to BU.”

“Not for lack of trying,” he points out and tosses more food in the cart. He doesn’t even ask if I like Wagyu beef. I remove it when Derek isn’t looking. And the steaks. The roast. No one needs to eat that much red meat. I hesitate on the chicken breasts. Emma likes it when I make chicken.

Firm and hearty regret grips my midsection. I only get one more night with her. Tonight no longer counts since my brother and father crashed the party. My ears ring with grief. The thought of Saturday, of what I have to do—what I have to lose—paralyzes me. I grab the cart to stop the store from spinning.

“What about… Hey! Where’s all the food?” I barely hear Derek. The lights grow dim. The noises dull around me. I blink several times, forcing my vision back into focus. The last thing I need right now is a panic attack, especially in front of my brother. But the black dots grow, darkening everything around me. My mouth salivates. If I don’t get my heart rate under control, I’m going to pass out. “Look at me.”

I close my eyes.

“Goddamn it, Ryan. Look at me.” Derek’s voice grows stronger. I lift my lids and focus on him. He breathes deep. In. Out. In. Out. I mimic his actions and breathe with him until the lights brighten. The noises around us once again fill my ears instead of the ringing. I draw in a deep breath and pray he doesn’t ask any questions. “Better?”

“Yeah.” Humiliation burns into my cheeks and neck. As soon as news of my anxiety gets back to my dad, he’ll make another call. Next thing I know, I’ll be rooming with someone in the med school program.

“What was that all about?”

I can’t tell him. I can’t tell anyone. I basically held my ability to get into the DASH as ransom for Emma pretending to like me, to change me into some kind of player. What the hell was I thinking? “It’s just stress. I’m under a lot of pressure between school, work…” I almost say TREX and catch myself. Judging by the way he reacted the last time I mentioned the agency, he’d be pissed if he knew I now work with them under the radar.

“Don’t forget banging the hottie,” he finishes and snorts. “Seriously, though. You okay? When was the last time you had an attack?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I curse my anxiety for making an appearance now of all times. My brother will never let me live this down. He takes great pleasure in my misery. “Let’s just get this over with and go back to the mod.”

“Talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you. You constantly point out everything wrong with me. I’ve never been good enough for you.” I hate how fast I hit the epiphany.

“Because you can be so much better than who you are.”

“You’ve made my point.” I grit my teeth. “Stop trying to be nice. It’s not in your nature.”

He grabs the cart. Something deepens the lines on his face, something I haven’t seen from him when he looks at me in a long, long, time. Concern? No, not concern. Regret. “We used to be friends.”

I laugh and roll my eyes. Is he kidding? Did he mistake me for someone else? “We’ve never been friends.”

“Jesus, Harold. I’m trying, here. Can you stop being a little bitch for five minutes and talk to me?” Several shoppers glance our way before quickly vacating the aisle, leaving us alone with the canned goods.

“Why do you want me to talk to you all of the sudden? We’ve barely talked in five years, Derek, and only when we’re home at the same time.”

“Yet you called me a couple weeks ago to tell me you were having a really bad day. What’s up with you?”

I knew that was going to come back to bite me in the ass. “Like I said, I’m under a lot of pressure.”

“You really aren’t going to talk to me, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Fine.” He grabs can after can, not looking at the label, and tosses them into the cart. “You want to know why we were never friends? Because you never wanted to do anything. While you were busy clearing a level on your X-box, I was out climbing trees, riding bikes, and making friends. I have great memories from being a kid. What do you have?” He gathers several cans and slams one into the cart with each word. “A badge for beating the game.”

I shove the cart at him and spin around. Screw this. I don’t need this bullshit. I know my way home and that’s exactly where I’m going. He can call Dad for directions.

“Brah, where you going?”

“Away from you.”

“Looks like you’ve only changed the surface. Deep down you’re still the same wimpy kid who’d rather walk away and let people assume the worse than to stick up for yourself and let them see the real you.”

I whip around and march back, not wanting to make a scene. I have to live here. He doesn’t. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve always been the first to back down. Don’t you have any balls? Stand up for yourself.”

“I don’t like to fight.”

“What if it came to standing up for your girl?”

I think back to the night at the bar when Brad insulted her. I was ready to defend her, even take on the head of my house. Then, in the chem lab. I would have lost it and thrown the first punch if Emma hadn’t taken my hand to keep me calm. Again with Jason in the diner. “I stand up for what’s right. I’ll fight if I really have to. I’ll do anything to protect her.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. How serious is it with this chick?”

“Her name is Emma.” Not chick. Not hottie. “We’ve only known each other for three weeks.”

He gives me a look. “Seriously? And she’s changed this much on you? What happened to the glasses? You’re blind without them.”

“Contacts.” I hated them at first. It took us forever to get them into my eyes. I went through three pair the first week. Now that I’m used to them, I don’t mind them so much. They beat constantly pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose.

“The hair?”

“No one sports a mullet anymore.”

“The clothes. The shoes. The fact you’re with a smoking hot chick.”

Not for long. The truth in that thought has me on the verge of another panic attack. I draw in deep breaths and push the cart as I try not to dwell on the inevitable. “I guess I just got lucky.”

“I bet you did.” He laughs at his own joke. I roll my eyes. How are we even related? “But seriously, brah.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Fine, Ryan. I heard her call you that. What’s up with the new name on top of everything else?”

“I like it better.”

“Do you?”

I stop the cart and look at him, my irritation edging higher. “What are you getting at?”

“I want to know what’s going on. With you. With her. You know we have to be careful, considering who our family is.”

“It isn’t like that. Emma didn’t even know my dad was Stuart Ryan when we met.” Hell, she barely knew me when she agreed to go home with me.

“You sure?”

“Derek, come on. What’s this really about?” He shrugs and avoids my gaze, which is a tell with him. He’s hiding something. “Talk to me, brah.”

He snorts. “You so can’t pull that off.”

“I know.” I chuckle. It feels good, laughing with him. We haven’t done it in a long time. Too long. “What’s going on?”

“Dad’s…” He hesitates and my guard is even higher.

“Dad’s what?”

“He’s really worried about you.”

I release the breath I’ve been holding. “He doesn’t need to be. I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

“All right.” I ram the cart into his heels, earning a cuss and a glare. “Tell me what’s really going on. Why are you and Dad here?”

“The president of the house called,” he finally admits.

I’m immediately pissed. I’ll kill that asshole. I don’t know why he hates me so much. “Brad called Dad? Why?”

“He says you got caught up with some hot chick banging you for money.” He stares me down. “She’s not a pro, is she?”

I laugh, thinking back to our first night together. Emma nearly killed me when I accused her of being a prostitute. “No. I can say without a doubt, she’s not a pro. And she’s not banging me for money.”

“But she is banging you.” He raises his hands when I come at him with the cart again. “I just want to make sure what you two have is the real deal. There’s no weird thing going on, right?”

“Where’s this coming from? Did Dad put you up to this?”

“It makes no sense. You’ve never even had a girlfriend, now suddenly you’re with this smokin’ redhead. You look so normal now. Before, you were the biggest nerd I knew. Nerdy hair. Nerdy glasses. Even nerdy clothes.”

I work my jaw as he counts off my flaws one-by-one. “Your point?”

“She changed you, dude. Don’t get me wrong. It’s a good change. But I’m guessing she didn’t change anything for you. It’s like she’s turning you into someone she wants.”

My throat tightens. How’d he know that? I narrow my gaze, waiting for another tell. He doesn’t give one up, which means he’s either gotten better at lying, or he’s telling the truth. “I like the change.”

“I’m sure she does, too.” He continues to throw random crap in the cart. I’m no longer paying attention and just want to get back to the mod. I hated leaving Emma there with my dad. The more I think about it, the more my gut twists. I should have never left her. She doesn’t know how manipulative Dad can be.

I push the cart faster despite Derek’s protests. We’ve got enough food. I need to get back to Emma before Dad does something to drive her away like he does all the women in his life—including Mom. All the nannies. My gut clenches in fear. What if he gets to Emma?

“Women go after three things,” Derek starts back up as we unload the groceries on the belt to check out. “Money, power, and status.”

“Not Emma.”

“Not Emma,” he repeats cynically. “She’s female, isn’t she? Let’s break it down.”

“Let’s not.”

He ignores me and keeps going. “Money? You know the answer to that. Power? Dad is the head of the board of regents for BU and a ton of other schools. It doesn’t get any more powerful than that, dude. Status? We’re Ryans. Need I say more?”

“Exactly why I don’t advertise it,” I growl. I refuse to engage in any more of Derek’s attempts to plant doubt about Emma. She’s real, as real as it gets, and nothing my brother says will ever change that.

“Did you know they just broke ground on a brand new research facility at one of the UC schools in California? Guess who’s funding it. I bet he gets appointed to their board, too. That’ll put him on a university’s board in just about every state in our time zone. Talk about power.”

I still as I process what he just said. Something nags at me, something I picked up on my data retrievals. TREX has me tracking several foundations, the one my dad runs included. The intel I’m retrieving isn’t anything I don’t already know. Stuart Ryan looks like a saint on paper. He’s such a charitable man donating to so many noble causes and funding so many projects. It never dawned on me to ask why.

Until now.