Henry

HENRY

I take a long sip of my bourbon, rolling the caramel and smoky notes across my tongue as Eli slides back into the room, shoulders slumped and head down as he leans back against the door for a few beats before he straightens. He does the same thing I did when Paige left. He grabs himself a healthy serving of whiskey.

After a gulp, he strides to us on the couch and sits in one of his cozy chairs opposite. "Well," he says. "That was fucked."

Jake grunts from the other end of the leather sofa, swirling his glass. More broody than usual.

I get it. The night was near perfect before we were interrupted. Not that it mattered. Paige had to leave either way.

"What did Rodrick Rockwell, Esquire, want this time?" I offer, knowing how insufferably high and mighty the man can be.

"Besides dressing me down and berating Paige?" Eli scoffs, frustrated, and takes another drink. "To tell me how much our new project is a pipe dream and that I'm too stupid to properly run my own business."

Jake snorts, rolling his eyes. "Should just show him our earnings."

"He has them," I say. "He's on the board."

Eli and I share a commiserating grimace. I don't know exactly what his life was like before we met in high school, but what I witnessed after told me enough of a story about the great Rodrick Rockwell and the way he treated his family that I didn't need other explaniations..

Granted, we have talked about it on more than one occasion.

The man's house was a museum meant to impress the same politicians and elite that our hotels do—ornate sculptures, expensive tapestries, priceless vases and crystal chandeliers. All of the old clichés. Maids scurried around in fright when the old man entered a room. His wife was timid and accommodating to all his whims. The entire family dressed to impress. Always.

It was the first thing I'd made fun of him for when he joined the football team. The kid was dying to get dirty. To have an avenue for his endless and seemingly destructive energy. But my smaller home, my family growing up, was warmer and far more chaotic. The joys of living in a four-bedroom house as the eldest of six created the need to find a place to exist for myself. That was usually outside.

Eli's the only boy, but his older sister didn't have the same hang ups with their father. When Eli didn't want to take over for his father, she stepped in, ready to do it instead. That was an entire shit show before she finally got what she wanted—with Eli's help. And perhaps a little from her new wife.

Eli sucks in a deep breath and holds it before blowing it out. "You should have seen the way Paige looked at him."

A small smile cracks his face and I can't help but feel one curling on the ends of my lips too. Paige is one hell of a firecracker. If anyone can combat his father's inflated sense of self, it would be Paige.

"Like she wanted to tear his tongue out through his intestines?" Jake raises his brow.

"Exactly," Eli laughs. After a pause, his smile drops. "Is he why she ran off?"

"No," Jake and I chorus.

Eli's brows lift in surprise, then settle in concern. "What happened?"

"Patrick called." Jake rubs his forehead.

"Her son needed her," I offer. It made watching her flee a little easier this time.

Eli nods. "Good. I mean, not good that she had to run off to him, but good that she went when he needed her."

I read between the lines, even if we need her too. But I'd never want to get in the way of her being a good mother. I admire her for it.

"So." I cut into their thoughts. "What do we do about Paige?"

Eli laughs. "Already done talking about what an asshat my father is?"

"I mean, if you need to talk about him, feel free. But it's long established that Rodrick Rockwell isn't the award-winning father he pretends to be." I really don't mind talking about it. We have on and off for decades. And thanks to Patrick, I've taken a stance in favor of men sharing their feelings. We're not robots programmed to be manly all the time.

But I also know that his thoughts are focused where mine are.

On Paige.

Eli's laugh is a bit more frustrated. "Yeah. You're right there. Let's talk about Paige."

None of us seem to know what needs to be said. Or where to start. We sit in silence until our drinks are finished.

"It's quite clear we all want her." Jake stands and grabs the bottle, refilling our glasses before his own and lowers back into the couch's plush leather.

Fear of losing her festers in my chest, so I voice it. "I more than simply want her."

Jake nods. "Me too."

"Oh for fuck's sake." Eli chuckles darkly, shaking his head. "I'm falling for her. She's already right there—" His knuckle digs into the center of his chest. "Carving out a nook for herself."

"She does that." How long has she possessed her own spot in my own chest? Since she walked into my office for the first time? When Jake brought her back to our house? When I met her son?

Four years ago when I got my first taste of her?

It's impossible to tell.

"She's perfect," Jake whispers into his glass before he downs it. His hand tightens around the glass as he makes a pained face. "What do we do about it? How do we keep her from running again?"

That's the million-dollar question.

"We show her there's no reason to. That we'll take care of her." Eli wipes his palms down his slacks.

"It's all fine and dandy to say that, but how do we show her?" Jake twists his glass before refilling it again and downing the full finger of whiskey.

"We woo her," I say. "We don't give her the chance to get away."

"Like picking her up in the morning and driving her home at night." Eli smiles over the rim of his glass.

"Yes, but perhaps, not all three of us at the same time."

"Not to overload her."

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why this works between us. We've been reading each other's minds and filling in the gaps for decades.

"Trade off accompanying her for lunch."

"We're not trying to smother her," I say, although the thought of sharing lunch with her, of sharing something with her every day, is profusely enticing.

"There's another problem." Eli sits up straighter, clarity and the excitement of a new challenge brightening his features. "How do we get her to let us in on her weekends?"

I frown. Her nights and weekends are dedicated to her son, and that's not something I want to change. But is there a way that we can include ourselves? Get to know Paxton. Charm him onto our side, in our favor?

Let's face it, he's as much a part of this as she is, and we can't ignore that.

Besides, that little guy…there's something about him that I feel connected to as well.

"We include her son in our plans. That's how."