Semper Mine (Sons of War #1)(61)

“I didn’t ask. I told them I was doing it.” I smile.

“Good girl.” He gives me a quick hug. “I’ll save a shot of whiskey for you.”

“Petr-” I start.

“Nope. I’m a grown man. If I want to drink, I will.” He draws himself up to his full height of right around six-foot-one. “Deal with it, sis.”

“Whatever.” I love Petr, even when he’s trying to act all tough like he is now. “Don’t forget a tie tomorrow morning.”

With another exasperated shake of his head, he leaves the club for the car waiting out front.

I watch him then turn back to the clubhouse. The event is taking shape, filled with sparkles and decorations and happiness that rubs off on me. I can’t help smiling, knowing I made this possible. I’m proud of myself.

With an optimistic guess that I’ll be out of there by nine o’clock, I dive in to help lay out silverware in the dining room.

***

It’s past midnight when I get home. The pre-party crowd has spilled out onto the deck, and I make my way through the throng, intent on reaching the back stairwell and escaping up to my room. Deck furniture surrounds several fire pits, and an open bar is located in the center of the open space.

Too tired to find Petr and remind him about the morning, I don’t bother stopping. I barely hear someone call my name until he’s right behind me. Jarred out of my daze, I turn to see Harris there.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi.” I haven’t seen him since this summer. I assume his family was invited as usual to the holiday bash. A little leery after our last exchange, I find myself growing alert. He wouldn’t do anything in front of all these people. Of course, I won’t think twice about socking him if he does.

“Great party, as always,” he says, lifting his glass. He seems a little unfocused. “You, uh, got a minute to talk?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean away from all this.” He waves at the crowd.

“Um, not really. We can talk here.”

He glances around and inches close enough that I can smell the alcohol on his breath. “I thought maybe … you know. I could apologize in private.”

I hesitate. He’s drunk, and I’m not afraid to hit him. I’m pretty sure that puts us on even ground.

“Yeah. Come on.” Turning away, I lead him inside. I’m not stupid enough to take him upstairs, so I go to the kitchen. It smells of food, and there are platters of baked goods and confections and buffet trays of hearty food everywhere.

Facing him, I wait.

His gaze is as much on me as the blinking Christmas lights around the buffet table.

My patience is thinner than normal after the long day at the club. “I haven’t seen you since the camp this past summer,” I say, hoping to prod him into a quick apology so I can go to bed.

Harris focuses on me. “I’m not much of one for camping.”

“Me neither.” He’s talking clearly. I can tell he’s tipsy, though.

“I know, they said not to talk to you again, but … Katya, I just want things to go back to how they were.”

I’m not sure who he’s talking about or even if he knows what he’s saying. “I don’t think that’s possible, Harris.”

“Why not?” He almost shouts the words, flinging his arms wide enough that he manages to dump the rest of his drink on the kitchen floor.

“Because I don’t want to be your friend anymore,” I reply in irritation.

“You don’t?” He stares at me, surprised.

“Um, no.”

For a moment, he looks so hurt, I want to laugh. His surprise turns into anger that glints in his eyes. Red creeps up his neck and into his face. “So you avoid me all year and don’t want to be friends? My father donated to this stupid Winterland thing tomorrow and the camp!”

“Winter Wonderland,” I correct him automatically. “I thanked him personally.”

“He did it because I asked him to. Because I care about you, Katya.” He appears distraught, sad and then angry again. “I’ve been in love with you since we were like ten. You never gave me the time of day.”

Talk about moods. My therapist would have a field day with him. He’s off his rocker tonight. It’s unusual when someone else can make me feel like the most stable person in the room.

“Look, Harris,” I say quietly. I want to be kind for the sake of our friendship, but my tired temper is fraying quickly. “You’re drunk. Sleep it off, and we’ll talk in the morning. Okay?”

“You’re brushing me off again.”

“You’re acting like a dick. Go sleep it off!”

“I just want to apologize.”

“Then do it and go to bed!”

He frowns. “There are days I wish both your brothers died.”

I gasp.

“You haven’t been to the club or dropped by my house since Petr came back hurt,” he goes on. “You haven’t been my friend since then.”

I take a deep breath. “My family is important to me, Harris. You know this.”

“And I’m not? We’ve been friends since we were three. You ditched me for that cripple of a brother of yours, Katya.”