Rascal (Rascals Book 1)(22)

“Yeah, I will,” he said, giving me the same non-committal answer he always did.

Dante was the one who kept his secrets closest to his chest. He always made excuses for why he couldn’t come to visit the bar, but we were convinced that it was something else. A woman, perhaps. Or something else that kept him busy in the evenings.

He downed half the contents of his water bottle in one, long swallow. I knew that most people considered Dante to be intimidating. If I didn’t know him, I’d think he was scary as hell. Even though he’d never been in the military, he kept his dark hair short, which gave people a good look at all the scars he had. There was the one dividing his left eyebrow, one that cut across his upper lip, and a few down his cheek and neck. I know that his childhood had been rough, and he’d even spent some time in juvie, but by the time we met him in college, he’d turned things around.

Well, we were in college. He was the one running an underground poker night, hustling rich frat boys for their trust funds on a Friday night.

Make that, turned things half-way around.

Things were different now, but he still had that “don’t fuck with me” attitude. Combined with the fact that he was built like a fucking soldier, people tended to give him a wide berth wherever he went. Not that I thought Dante really minded, or cared about what other people thought about him.

But if you knew him—and he knew you—there was nothing he wouldn’t do. He was tough and ornery and had a hell of a temper, but he was also the most loyal of friends. He’d take a bullet for any of us.

“Well, if you’re done getting your ass kicked . . .”

I grabbed some water and checked my phone.

“Shit,” I muttered, looking at all the missed calls I’d gotten.

“Trouble at the bar?” Dante asked, not looking up.

“Worse,” I commented, running a hand through my hair. “My sister.”

“Hmph,” Dante grunted.



Hayley had left me no less than six voicemails in the hour I’d been working out with Dante. Rolling my eyes, I began listening to them. Each were at least five minutes long.

“Emersoooooooooon,” she drew out my name the way she always did when she wanted something. “You know you’re my very favorite brother of all time . . .”

“I’m your only brother,” I muttered to myself.

Dante raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

The message continued. “And I’ve always been there for you—your very favorite sister.”

“My only sister,” I sighed.

“And you know it’s my birthday and I’m having a birthday dinner at Alinea and I want you to be there to celebrate. Pretty please? With a cherry on top?”

I rubbed my forehead, already feeling a headache coming on. I loved my sister, I really did, but she wasn’t just asking me to come out to celebrate her birthday. She was asking me to spend at least an hour sitting across a table from our parents.

The other five messages were more of the same.

“I promise they’ll be good,” Hayley swore in her last message. “You can leave if they’re not—I won’t be mad.”

I shoved my phone in my pocket, letting out a harsh—and colorful—phrase.

“Let me guess,” Dante was still focused on his cards. “You’re going to dinner with your sister.”



Funny how a few days ago, I had worn a suit and tie and hadn’t felt like I was being choked the entire time. Maybe it was because the evening out with Alex—as stuffy and straight-laced as the party had been—was infinitely preferable to the lion’s den I was about to walk into.

But the smile on my sister’s face as I headed towards the table made me glad I had come. At least one person at the table would be happy we were all together.

“Emerson!” She threw her arms around my neck. “I’m so glad you came.”

“I’m doing this for you,” I told her, my voice low.

“Thank you,” she whispered, before turning to our parents, who had remained seated. “The whole family’s together!”

My parents just blinked at her.

“Mom.” I leaned over and kissed the air beside her perfectly coiffed hair. “Dad.” I reached out and shook his hand.

“Good to see you, Emerson,” my mother said, giving me a small smile.

At least things were off to a good start.

“I heard you’re opening up that bar of yours this week,” my father said, putting a dismissive spin on the word “bar.”

Aaaaaaand there it was.

My decision to open up a bar with my friends was a major hot-button issue between me and my parents—especially between me and my father. It was just another milestone in the years of fights and disagreements about what they saw for my future and what I actually wanted.

Since arguing about it had never fixed anything, I decided that my tactic tonight would just be to avoid getting into it.

“So, what’s good here?” I asked, smiling at my sister.

This night was about her. “And how have you been?”

Hayley took my cue and chatted away about her volunteer work and friends, and w

e managed to get through ordering without any problems, but the moment our waiter stepped away from the table, both of my parents turned their attention to me. Dammit. I knew I should have ordered the whole bottle of whiskey instead of a glass.