Chapter 17
The minute Trevor walked back in, J.T. shoved him in the chest.
“Do you want to take a swing at me?” he asked.
His brother pulled on his shirt, like J.T. had left wrinkles. “Honestly, yeah. I’ve had your back through all of this shit, and you didn’t tell me this? Knowing what it could do to you and our family? Our business! How dare you put us in jeopardy over a piece of ass!”
“That piece of ass was my wife!”
Trevor waved a hand. “Whatever. I’m calling our lawyers to brief them. Something you should have done a long time ago. Then I’m going to have to call our brothers. Unless you want to pull your head out of your ass for one minute and do it yourself.”
He held out his chrome phone, and J.T. knocked it out of his hand, needing to hit something. To do something. It flew across the floor. The sound did nothing to satisfy him. It only deepened his shame.
“Take a swing at me!” he shouted.
Shaking his head, Trevor walked over and picked up his phone. “You want me to hit you because you want to hit yourself for being so stupid. I’m going to save my knuckles.”
He stormed over, his throat full of bile. “Hit me!”
Trevor’s eyes narrowed. “No. That’s too easy. I want you to suffer a little more.”
J.T. saw red. Suffer? What the hell else had he done for the last three years? He rushed Trevor, his arms wrapping around his brother’s barrel chest. Trevor stopped mid-stride and used his elbows to knock him back.
“I am so not fighting you! Dammit, don’t you know how hard this is for me?”
He planted his feet. “What about me? Am I going to pay for one mistake for the rest of my life?”
“It would seem so right now,” Trevor said, running his hand through his hair. “Do you know why I’m around all the time?”
Even when they were apart, Trevor always called or texted to check up on him. If he hadn’t needed someone in his camp as badly as he did, he might have told his brother he was laying it on too thick. Instead, he curled his lip at him. “Because you’re a masochist.”
This time Trevor pushed him back. “No. It’s because I love you! We all love you. During your divorce proceedings, Mom used to cry at night.”
And his mother was tough as nails. “Stop it.” He couldn’t take this new level of suffering.
“Dad would pace the floors for hours. Michaela got an ulcer, and the guys all wanted to punch someone. Why do you think they don’t reach out as much? They’ve used me as the go-between because they can’t control their emotions, and they don’t want you to worry about their feelings. You’ve had enough on your plate.”
The fight went out of him. “What? I thought they all stepped back because… Oh, shit…because they were disappointed with me. Like you are.”
Trevor sighed deeply and was silent a moment. “You think you’ve had it bad, and I’m not saying you haven’t, but do you think it’s easy to stand by and watch someone hurt and punish someone you love—over and over again? It’s fucking hard! I hate every moment of it, and so do they. So I told them I’d look out for you until this was over. The only thing is it’s not over. It’s hard to know when it will be. If it will be.”
His throat closed up, and for a moment he couldn’t speak. He thought about all of the awkward visits he’d had with his parents and siblings since this whole thing started. He’d felt like someone with a communicable disease. Only Trevor had been a constant, always there with his sly wit and brotherly grit.
“I didn’t realize. I’m sorry!”
“I know,” his brother said quietly. “So am I. What galls me is that you didn’t listen to me—or anyone else for that matter. I told you Cynthia wasn’t who you thought she was when you first started dating.”
He remembered that day. They’d argued, a rarity for them. He’d visited his family after returning from a long weekend with Cynthia in St. Barts. Full of romantic vigor and vim, he’d announced that he’d met "The One." Trev had shocked him by telling him Cynthia wasn’t right for him, and everyone else had followed suit. He’d felt ganged up on, like they were against him and Cynthia from the start.
At the time, it had almost made their love seem more romantic.
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen,” he said softly. “I loved her.”
“You loved the idea of her and all her talk about art and doing good in the world. What still pisses me off is that you didn’t trust me! Me of all people! Don’t I know you best of anyone?”
His shout echoed in the house, and J.T. felt tears spurt into his eyes. “I don’t know what to say to make you forgive me. You’ve been holding on to this for a long time.”
“Do you blame me?” Trevor asked. “Here I am, taking time off from my day job and our family company to help you out of another mess. Dammit, J.T., I’m tired of this shit too.”
“Then go back to Dublin! Or wherever the hell you need to be. I don’t need you here.” At least he didn’t want to need him. Just like he didn’t want to feel like he was drowning at the mere thought of being in the thick of this without Trev.
Hurt had him stalking past his brother toward the stairs, but Trevor grabbed his arm. He swung out in response, a reflex born of years of pent-up rage, and his brother ducked.
“Are you really going to take a swing at me?” Trev shouted. “Man, I’m your brother.”
When J.T. looked at his brother, he almost staggered back in shock. Trev’s eyes were wet too. Shit. Trev never cried.
He lowered his head, shame washing over him. “I don’t want you to go. I appreciate you being here. You know I do. No one else has been.”
His brother’s arm came around his shoulders. “I know. I’m sorry for what I said.”
“It was true, wasn’t it?” He met Trev’s gaze. “If I had listened to you and everyone else, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“But you are, and you don’t deserve it,” Trev said. “That was a low blow.”
“You’ve never pulled punches before,” J.T. said, trying to shake it off. “And you’re right. I’ve put everyone at risk. How do you think it feels? Fucking awful, let me tell you. I’ve walked around for the last three years with my gut twisted in knots, looking over my shoulder, wondering if I’m ever going to be free of her. Now it seems like she’s never going to back off.”
“So we have to find a way to stop her,” Trevor said. “Short of killing her, of course.”
J.T. snorted. “She wouldn’t die. She’s like Rasputin. She just keeps coming back over and over again.”
“So you do have experience with necrophilia,” Trev said, marching over to the bar. “I always thought so. Sick, bro.”
It was a miracle he could laugh. “Don’t judge.”
Trev poured himself another bourbon. “Want one?”
“God, no,” he said. “I almost bawled like a baby just now.”
Trev downed the bourbon. “Me too. All the more reason for bourbon.”
Shit, was there any wonder he loved his brother? “I should go see Caroline tonight. Then again, maybe I really should stay away. I mean, she put on her breastplate and keeps hanging in there, but—”
“If you say what I think you’re going to say, I really am going to hit you. Before you check your phone to see if your sweet little dove called or texted, I need a few things from you.”
He gave him his full attention. “Anything.”
“It’s time to tell me everything you remember about Cynthia’s philanthropic dealings or former sexual partners. Anything we can use.”
They’d discussed it before, and he’d always said he wouldn’t fight dirty. She’d been his wife, and somehow, even after everything she’d done, he’d never wanted to go that low. As he looked at Trev, he knew those days were over.
“What do you want to know?”