Nolan sat on his balcony, drinking coffee and letting his mind wander. Iggy sat at his feet, under his feet, really, waiting for him to drop a morsel of biscuit. Nolan hadn’t baked in months, but helping solve Cal’s cake emergency reminded him how much the physical act of rolling dough acted as a form of therapy for him. The cakes were an ideal situation—labor-intensive and then out the door. The jam-drenched biscuit in his hand? Not so much. He tried not to think about the four in his belly.

“Mrowp.”

“Yeah, I know, Iggy. I’m eating my feelings, but damn, they taste good.” He popped the final bite into his mouth and closed his eyes, savoring the way the flakey, butter-soaked goodness melded with the jam. Then, sitting back in his chair, he settled in for a good mulling session.

She had drunk-dialed him last night. He’d never been the recipient of a bona fide booty call before, and he didn’t quite know what to think about it. Part of him thought he should be flattered that someone like Bridget would choose to call him, of all people, to come over and scratch an itch, but the naysayer part of him, always in his father’s nasty voice, told him that she was still fairly new in town and most likely didn’t know anyone else to call. Oh, he realized there were at least fifty men at DS Fight Club, but he would bet that even a tipsy Bridget wouldn’t shit where she ate.

Lord, he’d been tempted, though, especially after whatever that was the other night on Bridget’s couch. He’d actually come home and jacked off, twice, once in the shower and once in the bed, which was kind of ridiculous. He was almost forty years old.  He should be able to control himself better. Restraint had never been one of his strongest characteristics, though.

And he’d be damned if thinking about Bridget’s soft, solid weight lying against him didn’t cause his cock to stiffen. He palmed the fledgling erection through his pajama pants, thinking about Bridget’s little guttural grunts she made when she demonstrated striking. Thank God he wore a strong jock at the fight club; otherwise, he’d have a real reason to be mortified.

Nolan cupped his balls with both hands, cradling and stroking them through the material of his pajama bottoms. And then he thought about Bridget. The way sweat gathered at the base of her neck when she lay back, the taut muscles of her ass when she stuck that booty out. Is this what he’d been reduced to? Thirty-eight years old and getting ready to jack off on the balcony of his one-bedroom apartment at nine o’clock in the morning?

His telephone’s chiming saved him from embarrassing himself further. The eldest Harper boy wanted to meet his brothers for lunch at Foley’s, which was odd because they usually met at Pickett & Spence so Cal could do double duty of prepping for the day as well as harassing his brothers. The fact that Toby was altering the usual meeting place had all of Nolan’s instincts sounding that something was amiss. He replied to his brother, and after a short texted conversation, blew out a noisy breath and blinked. So much for a quiet afternoon of pouting.

“Okay, Iggy. I gotta go get ready, bud.”

“Mrowp.”

“I know. I don’t have a good feeling about this, either.”

“Mrrrowp.”

“You boys need anything, let Ronnie know. I have to step out for a bit, so if I don’t see you before you leave, have a good one, okay?” Meghan slid several platters of food in front of the men. “I know you didn’t order anything, but from the looks on all your faces, you’re going to need some sustenance. It’s on the house.”

All the Harper brothers murmured their thanks, but when Meghan was out of earshot, Tobias clucked his tongue. “She is going to go broke.”

Cal, who was perusing the menu, nodded his head in agreement. “I know market prices, and she’s barely covering her costs, much less making any profit. She could be charging twice as much, and it would still be a steal.  Why have I never heard of this place? It’s got a great location. And that bar is beautiful.”

“Apparently her father had it shipped over from Kilkenny when he opened this place up.”

“No shit? Man, I’d be talking that up.” Cal shook his head again and turned to the eldest brother. “So, Toby, why’d pull rank and call a family meeting?”

Tobias sighed, and Nolan noticed for the first time that the steadiest of the three boys, the one who bore the brunt of his father’s wrath and expectations, just looked tired.

“Candy left Chet.”

“Oh, shit.” Cal and Nolan uttered the curse simultaneously.

“Yeah, that’s what I said, too, when the home healthcare worker called me and told me he got to the house and found Dad lying on the floor in his own filth. Said he’d been there for hours, probably overnight.” Tobias barked a bitter laugh. “Did you know he never married her? Thirty-fucking years, she’s been a goddamn pain in my ass, and he never even married that bitch. Ain’t that some shit?”

“So . . . what does this mean?” Cal frowned at Tobias.

“Means, as of today, I have power of attorney over Chet’s medical care, and you, Cal, have financial power of attorney.”

Nolan huffed a laugh. And Nolan got nothing, thank God. Jesus be fucking praised. He began chuckling, which bubbled into laughter, and then Cal and Tobias began laughing as well. Soon, all three men were helpless with mirth, laughing and snorting.

“So she gets nothing?” Cal wiped away a tear. “Nothing. After putting up with him for thirty years.”

“After having to fuck that son of a bitch for thirty years, she gets nothing.” Tobias chortled. “Not a damn thing.”

They laughed another minute or two but then grew serious as the reality of the situation sank in.

Nolan voiced what he knew the others thought. “He needs round-the-clock care. You know he’s not going to go to a home or agree to hospice care. He’d eat the end of his rifle before he’d do that.”

“He does, and you’re damn right. He told me as much even as he was hollering about Candy.”  Tobias cracked his jaw. “The home healthcare person said they do round-the-clock care. It’s expensive, but hell, the old man is loaded. I talked to his lawyer—apparently, he’s had shit drawn up for a couple of months. We all need to go down there and sign papers next week, preferably Monday. Hopefully, he won’t croak before then.”

“He’s too mean to die.” Cal and Tobias gaped at Nolan. “Well, he is. Jesus.”

And they all began laughing again.

“Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, Nolan, you wanna tell me about this little girl you were dancing with that night of the show?” Tobias cocked an eyebrow at Nolan, and Nolan groaned.

“Is that the same woman you brought to Pickett & Spence?” Cal’s grin worried the fuck out of Nolan. No good ever followed when Calhoun Harper wore that particular smile. “If it is, that same woman happened to bring all her girlfriends in last night.”

Shit.

Cal cackled. “Your ears should have been burning, Nol.”

“Wait, what? They were talking about me?”

“Apparently, you were smooching on her? In her living room?”

Nolan laid his head on the table with a thump while his brothers roared with laughter.

“So I take it the date went well.”

Nolan sat up. “Well enough that she drunk-dialed me this morning.”

More laughter.

“Tell me you went over there.” Cal grinned and hooted, but his smile faded when Nolan shook his head. “What? Why the fuck not?”

“She was drunk!”

“She wasn’t that drunk. I served her all night. She probably had a good buzz on, but she knew what she was doing.”

Nolan squinted at Cal. “I might have called her desperate.”

“Oh man.” Tobias shook his head. “You know what I saw that night?”

“Not really, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“Damn straight. I saw her dancing with you all night. And I saw her stare down our old man and then be sympathetic but not pitying. You need to kiss her ass and hope she gives you a second chance.”

“She’s got a fight coming up. She’s in training for the next two months.”

“Oh, that’s good, then.” Cal leaned on the table. “Make nice with her, and then take it slow. This is good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Cal nodded.

“Definitely.” Tobias nodded as well. “Hell, one of us needs to have some decent luck with women.”

“Hey!” Cal huffed. “What do you call Amanda?”

“I call her trouble. I would watch out if I were you,” Tobias advised. “But then again, I’m the one whose wife left him for his old man, so what the fuck do I know?”

The three men sat silent and still for a moment and then burst out laughing.