| J UL I E J O H N S T O N E | the press of bodies that seemed to be swaying as one to the music. “You don’t have a girlfriend,” Reikart snapped, then downed the remainder of his beer and slammed the bottle on the bar. “Jenny is a girl, she’s my friend, and she used to be my girlfriend, so it’s not technically a lie,” Rhys said. He finished his own beer while meeting his brother’s irritated look. “Would it have killed you to dance with the girl? You knew I wanted to dance with her friend.” “You want to dance with every woman who crosses your path.” “And you don’t want to do anything with any woman these days.” Reikart eyed him. “Are you sure you still like women?” “Do you want me to punch you in the face, Reik?” Reikart threw up his hands. “Easy, bro. I’m just saying that maybe it’s time to face the truth.” “You’re right,” Rhys growled. “It is time to face the truth. I hate coming to clubs with you. You want to pick up women, and I want to listen to music. We always end up in a fight if anything like this happens. So good luck and good night, and don’t ask to tag along with me anymore.” He turned, slipped into the opening of the crowd behind him, and weaved his way toward the dark stairs that led out to the even darker night. Beer, sweat, and smoke swirled in the air around him and only increased his desire to get out of there. He needed fresh air. Hell, he needed a fresh start, but clean air would have to do. Three steps up the slippery stone, a hand came to his elbow. He shot a glance behind him, and Reikart grinned. “You know, fleeing is an omission of guilt. I still love your big gay self.” Rhys chuckled at his brother’s attempt to lighten the mood. He wanted to be irritated that Reikart hadn’t just left him the hell alone, but it was hard to be mad that someone always had your back. Three someones, if he counted his two other brothers. As annoying as the three of them could be, and as heavy with responsibility as they sometimes made him feel, they were always there for him. With Reikart by his side, Rhys pushed past the last of
the clubgoers. The crowd parted easily for the two of them, who towered over most everyone else, and they went out the door onto Toulouse Street. A carriage clopped by, the sidewalk teemed with tourists, and the sweet soulful notes of a saxophone suddenly filled the night. Rhys took a deep breath and angled toward his home, but when his phone started dinging he paused to withdraw it from his pocket. Multiple texts from his brothers Greyson and Ian lit up his screen. He read them in succession: G re G re I an: G re I an: I an:
y s n:o y s on: B igt y s on: W he Y o ut
C mo e t o D ad’ s . T r oubl e . r oubl e . C mo e t o D d’a s . W he r e t he eh l l ar e y ou? r e ’ s R e i k ra t ? w o ne v e r a sn w e r y our amd
ne d ph
one
s.
A sliver of worry slid down Rhys’s spine to settle hard and unwanted in his gut. “It’s the anniversary of Mom’s disappearance,” he said to Reikart, looking up from his phone and quickly stepping out of the way of several drunk college kids. His brother frowned at him, glancing up from his own phone. “You think I don’t know that, Rhys?” His tone was slightly hostile and sarcastic. Rhys clenched his teeth, determined to give Reikart a pass. They were all edgy on the anniversary of the day their mother had walked out of their lives. Despite the police bluntly telling their father that there had been no sign of foul play on the day they’d last seen her and there had been every indication that she’d left of her own accord, their father remained determined to prove she had not abandoned them. With each year that passed, he withdrew further into his fantasy that their mom was a time traveler who’d been snatched back to her own time. And each year his efforts to prove it got stupider and more costly. God only knew what he’d done this time. Last year, he’d spent a fortune on some rare Scottish book about herbs that was purported to have been used by Highland witches. Witches! Just thinking that word made Rhys want I ssu e 4 5 | A p r i l 2 0 2 0 |
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