The American Roommate Experiment (Spanish Love Deception #2)(58)

I thought about making up a new excuse for him, but we had reached the point where there was not much else I could say. “I guess not, Dad.”

“Right.” He nodded. “Let’s get this done so you can catch an early train back, Bean.”



* * *



Hours later, I was finally getting off the train and making my way out of Penn Station. Feeling surprisingly drained of all energy and it being dark and a little late, I opted for spending the extra bucks on an Uber instead of taking the subway back home.

I had been waiting for my driver to arrive, when the outline of a man pacing the intersection across from where I stood caught my attention.

His head hung low as he walked back and forth, fidgeting with his hands in a way that immediately struck me as familiar.

I stared for a little longer, then felt my feet carrying me forward.

Olly?

It took me at least ten feet to confirm that the man was my little brother. God, had he changed so much in the time I hadn’t seen him? His shoulders seemed wider, and he even looked taller, but it was him. Man or boy, that was my little brother. And… What was he doing here? Was something wrong?

I rushed the last feet between us.

“Olly?” I called, watching his head immediately bounce up at my voice. “What are you—”

The last stride that brought me face-to-face with him stopped whatever I was about to say.

Something wasn’t just wrong. Everything was. Because my brother stood in front of me with a black eye and a busted lip.

“Jesus Christ, Olly.” I watched my hands reach for his face. My fingers brushed his cheeks. He winced. “What happened? Who did this to you?”

His eyes closed, and I knew, I just knew that the nineteen-year-old man in front of me needed comfort. He might have been at least five inches taller, and no longer the boy that stared at me like I had hung the moon when I sneaked him an ounce of chocolate, but I still wanted to wrap him in my arms and protect him from the world. From whoever had done this.

“I’m fine,” he grunted.

I felt something snap inside of me. Something dark and hostile. “I swear to God,” I growled, my voice shaking with frustration, “if you Graham men don’t stop this I’m fine crap, I’m going to lose my shit.”

Olly’s exhale was close to a gasp and I knew it was because I had cursed, but it managed to appease my anger. Just the tiniest, littlest bit. “I think you might have lost it already, Bean.”

I sighed, studying his black eye. “How, Olly? How did this happen?”

“It’s a black eye. It just happens.”

Taking my time to fill my lungs with a deep breath, I willed my voice to remain steady. “Is this why you’re here, outside the station? Why you didn’t come to Philly?”

A nod. “You texted me you were on your way back. I wanted to apologize for not showing up.”

My thumb grazed the cut on his lower lip. “Does it hurt?”

He shrugged and I sensed the words rising to my mouth. Words he wouldn’t want to hear. “Olly, what the hell is going on?”

“I’m young, it’ll heal quickly,” he had the nerve to say. Deflect.

“Because you’re young, you shouldn’t be getting into situations that leave you with a busted lip. Nobody should, young or old.”

I saw my fingers start shaking, bewildered by the whole situation. Overwhelmed. Helpless, too. Because I didn’t know what to do to make him listen. To trust me. “You should be enjoying life. Having fun. Doing whatever nineteen-year-olds do now.” I shook my head, something occurring to me. “Does this have anything to do with the mysterious job at the nightclub?”

He recoiled, stepping out of my hold. “Just trust me for once, okay? I make good money. I’m fine. This was just a little brawl over a misunderstanding.”

I reached out for him again, but he stepped farther back. It was only then that I took notice of what he was wearing. Nice clothes, expensive ones. Brands I could hardly afford myself.

He looked down, too, and he shook his head.

I wanted to scream, but I didn’t. If I did, I probably wouldn’t stop.

“Is it drugs?” I demanded.

Olly’s head snapped up. His eyes widened.

“What?” He gasped, as if I’d just asked him if he was pooping golden pellets.

“Are you dealing drugs, Olly? Is that what this is?”

“Jesus, Rosie.” That shock turned into disgust, frustration. “I’m not dealing anything. It’s not that, okay? You just don’t understand. I’m…”

He shook his head, his raven hair falling over his forehead.

“You’re just what?”

“I’m… dancing?” he finally said, but it came out as a question. Which only made me more confused.

More skeptical. More suspicious.

“At the nightclub,” I said slowly. “Making enough money to afford clothes worth my rent.”

Olly shrugged.

Jesus, was my brother… dancing for money? Was Olly stripping?

My heart thundered in my chest while I remained very still.

Not long ago, I was thinking of Lucas’s cooking as the Magic Mike of Doughs and Pans, and now it turned out my little brother was actually reenacting the whole thing. In real life.