“Fine.” I hold a finger up. Turning back around to the dealer, I ask, “Could you give me a minute?”
The shake of his head is immediate. Guess I’m not the bigwig I thought. No special treatment given here.
Looking back at Cam, I shrug. “Sit down. I’ll front you.”
Those narrowed eyes become slits. “You and me, outside now.”
Something tells me this could turn into a scene, and that would get me kicked out. I don’t want to be tossed. “Fine,” I mutter. Taking a handful of chips, I push the rest in the dealer’s direction. “Cash me out and put the money on my account. Keen Masters,” I tell him, tossing him a chip, and then I pivot back around. “What are you doing here, Cam?”
“Putting an end to your self-destructive behavior,” he tells me.
I laugh under my breath. “This is a vacation. What are you talking about?”
“Right, that’s why you’ve been MIA for weeks. Not answering your phone, not returning calls. Fuck, man, everyone has been worried about you.”
Unlikely, since it’s been since January 3.
To put him at ease, though, I wrap my arm around his shoulder. “I’m alive, and living life in the fast lane. Come on! Join me at the tables. It’ll be like the old days when we ran those high-stakes games in grad school.”
Just like the dealer, he shakes his head no. “That was you, not me. And you got kicked out, remember?”
One of the bouncers heads in our direction. There’s no loitering in Bobby’s Room. I give him a smile and indicate the doorway to let him know we’re headed out. Again, I’d hate to be tossed.
The bouncer stops and crosses him arms.
Giving him a smile, I redirect my attention to my buddy. “Way to crush a guy’s memories,” I tell Cam.
He shakes his head at me.
“Wharton was a better school anyway,” I mutter under my breath.
This time he narrows his eyes at me. “You’re still delusional I see, bro.”
“Whatever. How did you know where to find me, anyway?”
Keeping in step with me, Cam looks around and then points just beyond the exit.
Right here, right now, everything crashes down around me. The pain. The sorrow. The heartache. It feels a little less intense. A little less important. It’s like I suddenly remember there is more to me than Wall Street. That the man that I am isn’t only defined as that prick in a suit that sat at his desk every day wheeling and dealing. That being a part of the merry band of stockbrokers isn’t all that matters in life.
Standing outside the confines of the glass with his hands in the pockets of his board shorts, and looking really tan from the California sun, is a guy who has the very same crystal-blue eyes as I do, same nose, is the same height, and by looking at him now, might weigh close to the same as I do. The only major difference between us is that his hair is lighter than mine. If it weren’t for that, and the twenty-month age difference, you might think Brooklyn James and I were twins, not half brothers.
Emotion surges through me. I’m a fucking mess. My head snaps back to the guy I might soon be calling my former best friend. “Fuck, Cam, you brought my little brother? Why would you do that?”
My brother is the last person in the world I want to see me at my worst. I’ve always been the older brother. The one he’s looked up to. The one he calls when he has a problem or wants advice. And I like it that way. Even though he grew up in California and I grew up in New York, the distance never mattered. Neither did the fact that we have different fathers. We are brothers. And he is the most important person in my life right now. Cam coming in second, but he doesn’t need to know that.
With a concerned look on his face, Cam runs a hand through his hair. “You got it all wrong, Keen—he brought me.”
I blink a few times and try to process what he just said.
For whom?
Maggie?
But why?
I fucked all of that up.
There is no way I could get her back now.
No fucking way.
Is there?
The hot little cocktail waitress steps in my path, and this time she has a big pink heart pinned right to her ample chest with the little K on it, which stands for Keen. “Your drink,” she says with a smile and a wink. And I know just what the wink is for. Not that I intend to do anything about it. I keep playing along, though.
Like a missile redirected, Cam’s even quicker movement cuts off the quick outstretching of my hand. Before I can blink, he has my scotch grasped in his hold, is lifting it to his lips, and then has the nerve to down it, all before setting the empty glass back on the tray.
Her eyes grow wide and I think my valentine might be crushing on my best friend. She shouldn’t be shooting her Cupid’s arrow in his direction—he’s taken. Fallen madly in love with the girl next door. Blah, blah, blah.