BC: Oi. Have a second?

Scottie: I’m busy working. Fuck off.

BC: Wanking to porn at your desk isn’t work.

Scottie: What do you want Boyce?

BC: Don’t be testy. We’ve decided to have a charity rugby match with some of the lads that Tens coaches. Want to join in? We’ll have a practice next weekend.

Scottie: Aren’t you worried about breaking a hip?

BC: Don’t be an arse. Are you in or not?

Scottie: Fuck. Fine. Not like we haven’t had enough humiliation in our lives to last a lifetime. We might want to practice more than once if we’re going to even attempt to demonstrate our skills.

BC: First, I have to convince Remi and Caddock.

Scottie: I’ll talk to Remi.

BC: That’s a shit idea.

It was a terrible idea, but Scottie had made a promise to himself not to take his friends for granted. Can I be less a fucking wanker? Probably not, but at the least, he could attempt to be a bit nicer.

Rehab hadn’t changed him or his enjoyment of beer. He’d never actually been addicted to drinking it. Booze had been his anaesthesia to numb his pain, anger, and memories.

Rehab hadn’t helped solve that—it had provided a place to clear his mind. Therapy had. Or maybe, more accurately, it had required both.

Detox had offered a clarity while also exposing his rage and hurt. Three months of the hardest work Scottie had ever done in his life. He’d made a promise to himself not to throw away the peace he’d found.

I’m still an arsehole, but at least I’m a calm one.

To his surprise, surrendering himself to Gray settled something in him even more than rehab had done. For all the restraints, Scottie was the one in control. A single word from him would bring things to a screeching halt, and somehow that knowledge allowed him to relax into the safety of Gray’s strength without feeling embarrassed by his craving for it.

“Scottie?”

He froze in the process of getting off his bike outside of his flat and glanced around for a moment. “Silus?”

His younger half-brother waved at him with a sheepish grin from where he sat cross-legged on a nearby bench with a book in his lap. They had the same father—different mothers. Silus’s mum had been wise enough to run far away from the Monk insanity. As a result, Scottie rarely saw the twenty-four-year-old, though they emailed frequently.

“You were thirteen, ugly, and freckled the last time I saw you. Haven’t fucking changed much.” Scottie threw his arm around his brother’s neck to drag him closer. “Heard you graduated from the Imperial College with top honours.”

“You’d know since you sent Mum the money for it,” Silus teased. He’d gotten their dad’s looks but his mother’s slight frame, darker skin, and thankfully, her personality. “I’ll never understand why you wanted it to be a secret.”

“Fuck off.” Scottie dragged him toward the stairs up to his flat. He’d never wanted his half-brother to feel indebted to him. “One of his Monk bastards should do something with their brains. You’re our best chance.”

“Only chance.” Silus wiggled away from him with a snicker. “How’ve you been? I was worried when Mum said you went to rehab.”

“Better. Sober, mostly. All the time actually. Dead boring.” He headed into the kitchen to put the kettle on. “Want a coffee?”

“Sure.” His brother hopped onto the counter, setting his book next to him. “Mum said you’ve found a boyfriend.”

Scottie shot a warning glare over at him. “How does she know that?”

“Ha! I knew it.” Silus swung his legs out of the way of the kick Scottie aimed at him. “Tricked you.”

“Little fucker.”

Silus took a letter out of his pocket and waved it at him. “Guess who was accepted into the computing postgraduate program at Cardiff Metropolitan University.”

“Congrats.” Scottie exchanged the letter for a mug of coffee. “And a scholarship. Fucking brilliant.”

“I know.” Silus set the coffee on top of his book and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Have you heard from Dad?”

Scottie lowered the letter to frown at his brother. “Don’t let him mess with you, kid. You hear me? Don’t let him screw with your head.”

“He’s dying.”

Scottie let the letter fall out of his suddenly slack fingers. “What the fuck?”

“Cirrhosis.”

Scottie rubbed his fingers across his face, suddenly feeling exhausted and in serious need of an entire bottle of whisky. No, that’s not going to help anything. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Silus lifted his shoulders in a shrug. His hazel eyes met Scottie’s hesitantly. “What do we do?”

“You focus on your university shit.” Scottie refused to allow their father to derail Silus even for a second, even if he was at death’s door. The bastard wouldn’t get the chance to ruin another kid’s life. “Let me know when you’re moving out, and I’ll give you a hand.”

“Fine. Fine. You’ll keep me updated. Promise, Scottie? I have a right to know.” Silus glared at him with a stubbornness that was all too familiar. “And I haven’t forgotten your little attempt to disrupt the conversation. I want to hear all about this boyfriend.”

Scottie decided not to waste his energy warning his brother off; he was a Monk after all, and unlikely to listen. “How about we have supper at Ruck next week?”

“Ruck?”

“Where else are you going to meet the chef?”

“Wait. You’re dating the chef at Ruck?” Silus grinned before taking a sip of his coffee. “What’s he like?”

“American.”