Historically speaking, Friday nights are hard for me. It’s the one night of the week we’re all together, under the same roof. Behind the bar. Working together.

It’s when I get a front-row seat to the Tess & Conner Show. When I get to watch my little brother put his arm around her. Whisper in her ear. Make her laugh. Take her for pancakes after we close the bar. Walk her home.

I know they’re just friends. That there’s no way they could ever be anything more. I’ve always known. But there is a big, black part of me—the same part of me that thinks kidnapping Tess is a logical plan of action—is jealous. Has always been jealous.

Henley’s reappearance has gone a long way toward curbing that jealousy.

Logan’s infiltration into our lives has created another.

What makes it worse is that I actually like the guy. If he wasn’t all over Tess, 24/7, I might actually take a stab at being his friend.

As it stands, I just want to stab him, plain and simple.

Probably why I don’t have a lot of friends.

Correction: it’s probably why I don’t have any friends.

I have family. I have employees. I have partners. But I don’t have friends.

I never did.

And really, who gives a shit? I don’t want friends. I don’t know how to treat them. Don’t know how to be one. I’m a taker. A user. Pretending to be anything else is exhausting.

Con isn’t the only Gilroy who was put together wrong.

It’s safer for everyone if I just keep doing what I’ve been doing for the past eight years. Keep my head down and mouth shut. Because when I try to help, things either get worse or I get my past thrown in my face.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket again. I don’t even have to look at it to know that it’s Jessica, although what she hopes to gain by calling me is anyone’s guess. And what would I say if I actually answered?

I’ve known about you and Viaga from day one.

I don’t give a shit if you suck his dick on the pitcher’s mound in Fenway during game six of the World Series.

I don’t love you.

I never loved you.

I’m using you to punish myself for being such a selfish prick for the majority of my life.

I don’t want to marry you.

I dig it out and silence it before tossing it onto the desk in front of me. We closed about an hour ago. I can see them on the computer screen that’s plugged into the security feed. Patrick and Cari are behind the bar, re-stocking for tomorrow. Con is whispering with Henley near the pool tables. She’s got a tray of empties tucked into her hip. He has one of his fingers threaded through her belt loop, using it to give her a tug toward him. My guess is he isn’t trying to talk her into going to midnight mass. He lifts his free hand and flips off the camera without even looking at it because he knows I’m in here and what I’m doing.

“Fuck you,” I mutter out loud, shifting my gaze away and toward the real reason I’m holed up in the office, creeping out on the security feed. Logan is pushing a broom around while Tess wipes down tables. Every once in a while, he makes his way to where she is and says something to her. Every time he does, she laughs. Smiles.

Jesus.

Tess is pretty. Dark hair. Hazel eye. Olive skin. Wide mouth. Sharp features.

But when she smiles, she’s fucking beautiful.

She’s never smiled at me.

Not even when we were together.

Not like that.

Pretty soon, they’ll be heading to Benny’s for 2AM pancakes. Which means in a few minutes, someone will pop their head in here and ask me if I want to tag along and I’ll say no. I’ll act like I don’t have time for their bullshit. That I’m above it. Above them, when what I really am is not welcome.

They don’t want me to say yes.

They ask because I’m family and it’s required, not because they want me to actually accept the invitation.

Fuck it.

Having my fill of self-torture, I click out of the security feed. Forcing the whole lot of them from my mind, I focus on the mess of credit card receipts and cash in front of me. Business has tripled since I talked Patrick into taking that spread in the Bostonian. If it keeps up, we might have to hire an accountant, just to keep up.

The predicted knock sounds on the doorjamb and I have to stiffen my neck to keep myself from looking up. “Busy,” I mumble, gaze aimed the 10-key in front of me, fingers flying over the keys.

“Too bad.”

I look up to see Henley standing in the doorway, arms folded over her chest, dark brown eyes narrowed and glaring in my direction.

Shit.

Hitting enter a final time, I sit back in my chair, letting my hands drop into my lap. “I don’t want to go to Benny’s,” I say, even though I know she’s not here to ask me out for pancakes. “I’ve got a—”

“I’m giving you a chance to change your mind,” she says, choosing her words carefully.

“Why would I do that?” I ask, my brow slightly furrowed like I’m confused.

I don’t know... maybe because buying Tess gifts, even if she doesn’t know they’re from you, crosses a line that even you have been careful to toe so far.

Yeah, like putting your hands and mouth on her isn’t crossing a line. Just fucking admit it—there is no line when it comes to Tess. There never has been.

Henley heaves a frustrated sigh and throws a quick glance over her shoulder before slipping through the open door and shutting it behind her. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Since when do I give a flying dick about right and wrong? Instead of asking the obvious I just stare at her.

When I don’t answer her, she sighs. “What are you doing, Declan?” she slumps against the door, mouth held in a tight line.

“I already told you, Hen.” I swipe a hand over my face and shake my head. “Tess needs a dress and I have the means to provide one for her. That’s it. That’s all there is.”

“Bullshit.” She shakes her head at me, rejecting my answer completely. “I’m not going to help you mess with her head. I won’t—”

“Mess with her head?” The accusation is like a slap in the face and even though I 100% deserve it, I feel sick to my stomach. “You think I spent five grand on shoes and a dress, just so I can mess with her head?” I lean forward, planting my forearms on the edge of the desk. “I mean, how would that even work? How would buying her anything and asking you to give it to her hurt her?” I lean back in my seat again, my arms dropping onto the arms of the chair I’m sitting in. “As far as I can tell, I’ve done everything I can to make sure this doesn’t hurt her.”

Everything thing except leave her the fuck alone.

I push the truth aside and watch Henley’s resolve waver for a moment before she pulls herself together. “Don’t act like it’s not in you, Declan.” She tightens the grip her arms have on her chest, her glare sharpening on my face. “You like fucking with people.”

I don’t have an answer to that. I don’t have an excuse. Because she’s right. Because she has every reason in the world to doubt my intentions. She knows what I am better than most. For a while, Henley was my favorite target.

Because fucking with her hurt my brother.

I open my mouth to tell her I’m sorry. That it was never about her. That I never meant to hurt her. That I was a selfish kid who didn’t care who he hurt. Before I can get a word out, she drops her arms away from her chest and straightens her spine. “I don’t know why you did what you did, Declan,” she says, reaching behind her to wrap her hand around the doorknob. “But I know this isn’t about you doing a good deed for someone else. I also know that if this hurts her in any way, I’ll do everything in my power to make you sorry you ever met me.” She doesn’t sound like Henley when she says it. Not the Henley I grew up with. She sounds like the woman who came back. The woman with the means and connections to do exactly what she’s threatening me with.

The asshole in me wants to point out that ruining me would also undoubtedly ruin my cousin Patrick, who just happens to be my business partner, in the process and that while she no doubt hates my fucking face, he’s her friend and she cares about him too much to put him through the ringer just to punish me.

Because that’s something I would do and she’s a better person than me.

Instead, I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. “Understood.” I lean forward again, refocusing my attention on the pile of receipts and cash on the desk in front of me. Picking up a pen, I scribble the total down before clearing out the machine. I’ll do it again, just to make sure I got it right. “Can I get back to work, now that I’ve been sufficiently threatened?”

“Sure thing.” She yanks the door open just as my phone starts ringing again. I catch sight Jessica’s ridiculous duck-face selfie flash across the screen from the corner of my eye. Henley’s gaze dips to the desk, landing on my phone. “Tell Jessica it was nice to see her this afternoon,” she says, shooting me a sugary smile on her way out.