Love Restored (Gallagher Brothers #1)(20)

Graham rolled his eyes. “Care, my ass.”

“Hey, it’s Owen who cares about your ass,” Murphy drawled. “I’m just here because you two were, and I didn’t want to feel left out.”

Graham sighed. He didn’t want to tell them about Blake, not yet. They would only razz him about it since he’d been such an * to her, and for some reason, he wanted this all to be private. His heart ached suddenly for a moment, and he closed his eyes, letting out one more sigh.

There was a reason he hadn’t wanted to get involved with Blake or any other woman. A big reason he didn’t talk about it, didn’t think about it—unless the day ended in y and he couldn’t help it. His brothers had been worried about this month with him for a reason, and the anniversary of the day his life had changed, the day his world had broken into a million pieces he only now thought he might one day piece back together into some semblance of the man he had once been, was looming.

“I just needed a moment to breathe,” Graham said softly. “I’m fine.”

He met his brothers’ gazes, and they studied him. They knew him inside and out, Jake did too, but sometimes, he needed a break from that. He didn’t want them seeing things he’d rather keep buried.

And that was one more reason to keep away from Blake. Because he knew she’d be one of the people that saw too much. He was who he was because of his history, but that didn’t mean he wanted to drag it out and look at it every time he felt like shit. The past was buried, and that’s where it was meant to be.

“If you’re sure you’re okay,” Owen began, “then I’m getting back to work.” He pulled out his phone from his pocket. “And by work, I mean make the next forty phone calls I need to because I’m getting behind just standing out here with my hands in my pockets.”

“And God forbid you get behind,” Murphy said with a wink.

Graham’s shoulders relaxed once his brothers began to harass each other. He knew they’d seen something wrong with him, and would probably come back soon to try and figure it out, but they’d at least given him this moment’s reprieve.

Owen nodded at them before dialing a number and walking away. That left Murphy and his damned blueprints in front of Graham.

“I’m not looking at your plans,” Graham growled. “We already have plans. We’re not changing shit.”

Murphy huffed a breath. “We’re on demo, we’re not building yet. And there are a few things we need to refine. It’s not a big change.”

Murphy’s ‘not a big change’ was always a damned big thing to Graham. Because while Murphy planned and helped to build, it was Graham who had to do most of the heavy lifting. His brothers were damned lucky they were family because between Murphy’s plans, Owen’s anal-retentiveness, and Jake’s artistic temperament, Graham needed a forklift to get shit done around the place.

“Not now,” Graham said, holding up his hand. “Tomorrow we can go over it, but I’m not doing it today.”

“Tomorrow?” Murphy asked. “I’ll tell Owen, and he’ll put it on his precious schedule so you can’t get out of it.”

Graham groaned. “That f*cking precious schedule is going to give Owen an ulcer one day, and it’s already given me countless headaches.

“It’s how we work,” his brother said simply. “I plan. Jake refines. Owen organizes. And you growl and grunt.”

Graham flipped him off for good measure. “Fuck you. And now I’m going to go smash a wall or two.” He looked at his phone again for the umpteenth time and saw it was too late to start the next stage early. “And tomorrow we’re hitting the roof.”

“Tomorrow, we’re going over my plans,” Murphy reminded him.

“Of course, we are,” Graham said dryly and wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “We can do both.”

“And when I piss you off, you’ll throw me off the roof?” Murphy asked, sarcasm lacing in his tone.

“Of course.”

They strolled back into the house, Graham a little lighter than he had been before. No matter what happened with Blake, he had his brothers, he just needed to remember that. They’d been there when his world had fallen apart the first time. It only made sense that they would be there when he tried to put it all back together again.




By the time he’d punched out for the day, his muscles ached, and all he wanted was a beer. He walked into his house, stripping as he made his way toward the fridge. He grabbed a beer, finished taking off his pants, and leaving a trail of clothes in his wake, finally turned on the shower. While that heated, he drained his beer and studied his naked body in the mirror.

He might be nearing forty, but his body didn’t look it, at least not according to the last woman he’d slept with. Though, in his mind, you didn’t get the width of muscles, the scars and marks on skin, and the years of living without actually living those years. He might still have the strength he had when he was younger because of his job, but even under the ink that covered his body, he was aging. And he was fine with that.

That meant he was living.

Unlike…

No, he wouldn’t think about that. Not now. Not ever.

Graham ran a hand over his face and looked at himself once more. He was covered in dust, cobwebs, and whatever the hell else had been in and on the walls before they’d torn them down. They hadn’t wanted to take out all the walls, but some had been added on in the eighties and nineties and weren’t structurally sound. Eventually, with Murphy’s genius—and yeah, his brother was a freaking genius when it came to architecture—they’d have the place back to its former glory and up to code, with a few modern renovations to make the place inhabitable.