“Our father.” Rich’s clipped answer gave Olly the impression they’d had this argument before.
“Our biological father,” she snapped back.
They drove the rest of the way in silence. “Would you like to come in?” Sandy asked Olly as they got out of the car.
Olly knew better. “I better go home.” He hesitated. “Should I come by in the morning? I’ll be off work, and I could help with the floor.”
She hugged him. “Please do,” she said, loosening her grip. “I might kill the jackass otherwise. I’m sorry about my idiot brother. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
Olly was hoping Rich would do the making up, but kept this to himself.
Chapter Nine
Sandy shut the door and turned to the near-empty living room. “Oh, Richard.” The doleful tone in her voice was worse than the yelling.
“I don’t need your pity,” Rich said brusquely.
Fight sparked up in her eyes. “You know what the dictionary definition of pity is? Feeling of sorrow and compassion. If you have a problem with those, too fucking bad, because you’re my brother, even if you’re an idiot, and I’ll feel sorrow and compassion when you do something monumentally stupid. You’ll just have to suck it up.”
Rich spun, cut through the house and marched out to the back porch. Sandy was right on his heel the whole way. He slumped onto the lone couch and rubbed his face. He was too worn out to fight. “Sands, what do you want from me?”
“Pulling your head out of your ass would be a good start,” she said on a gentler note.
“I’m working on it, okay?”
She plopped onto the couch too, sitting sideways and fixing her intent gaze on him. “Why did you do it?”
“What Olly said.”
“No, I meant the other thing. The money.”
“I had to. He was my father.” Sandy’s expression darkened, but he cut her off. “Do you think you might possibly have anger issues when it comes to Father? A teeny bit?” He held up his hand, index finger and thumb a sixteenth of an inch apart.
She gave him a silent frown. “Maybe a little,” she said eventually. “I thought I was over it. Mostly. But knowing what he’d done to you makes me mad.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s done with, and he’s gone. End of story.”
“You should tell that to yourself. This is your chance to be yourself. You don’t have to live according to our so-called father’s double standards anymore.”
“Why do you think I’m here? With you?” Rich said quietly. It wasn’t easy to let down his strong-guy façade and admit he needed her.
Her expression softened. “I’m glad you’re here.” They sat there silently for a long time, surrounded by the night and the muted sounds of the city, lit only by the light filtering through the kitchen window.
Sandy broke the silence. “You like Olly? He seems to be fond of you, I don’t know why.”
Rich felt his face heat up but hoped she wouldn’t notice. “Yeah, uhm, I guess,” he said nonchalantly.
She punched him in the shoulder. “You dog! You did the nasty.”
“Ow!” Rich rubbed his bruised muscle, wondering how she did it. When he managed to meet her eyes, she was grinning. “It doesn’t bother you at all?” he asked. He knew Sandy was open-minded, but he was still nervous.
“What? That my brother’s a fruit?” She snickered. “I’ve always thought you protested too hard. Plus, Julie’s hot.”
“I don’t follow your logic.”
“She once confided in me that you spent more time making furniture than with her. Not fair, if you ask me.”
“I know.” Rich’s relief mixed with plenty of guilt.
“Olly’s a sweet kid. You could do worse.”
But it wasn’t so simple for Rich. “I don’t know what I am.”
“Well, figure it out. But if you hurt Olly, I’ll cut your balls off. Just saying.”
Rich was eager to table the subject. “Your obsession with my balls is unhealthy. People will start to think there’s something funny going on—very Game of Thrones.”
She puffed her chest up. “What? You watch Game of Thrones but not my show?”
“Do you have scenes where you keep your clothes on?”
“Hm. A few.” She went quiet, watched him with searching eyes, then nudged his shoulder, gently this time. “Rich.”
“Huh?”
“You didn’t kill what’s-his-face, did you?”
It took him aback to think she even considered the possibility. “You think I’m capable of murder?”