Shameless(29)

I have to admit I’m wildly curious about her, the friend, but I ignore it to focus on what he’s saying about his brother. “If it’s any consolation, Cal really did help Mel organize her finances. The farm is still struggling because we had a lot of rain last winter, which affected the crops, but he helped her create a budget and set up her accounting system so her bill payments wouldn’t be late any more. And he helped me get her bath products online.”

He rolls his lips between his teeth and stares into his glass of tequila like it holds all the answers. “And he made a will. Only someone who's thinking long term makes a will.”

I nod as I think about what I need to tell Brady. The idea suffocates me, like it's a physical entity tightening around my neck. But he looks so heartbroken, and I can’t bring myself to say the words, because all I want to do is make him feel better.

Before I can second guess myself, I touch his arm. “Brady, I swear to God, Cal was happy. No matter what you had going on between the two of you, he had what he wanted. He was excited about the new baby. That’s one thing that gives me solace. Knowing that Mel and Cal had what they wanted—each other and Bella with another one on the way. Most men would be so lucky.”

After a moment, his shoulders relax. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

He leans back against the sofa, and we sit there in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts for a while.

I motion toward him. “My little sister drives me crazy too. Tori’s seventeen and thinks she knows everything and doesn't want my input unless there's a crisis she can't handle. But when she needs money, she heads straight to me like I’m her personal ATM.” My lips twist. “I can handle the thankless role of big sister, but she’s going through this wild phase right now that worries me.”

“So I’m not the only one who struggles with this stuff?”

“Not at all. Tor definitely tests my patience. But I love her, and she knows it. The same way Cal knew you loved him.” I bump his knee with mine. “If it makes you feel any better, Cal said you were a ‘well-intentioned *.’”

I'm trying not to snicker when Brady rolls his eyes, but when he starts to laugh, I pour us both shots and raise my glass. “To being a well-intentioned *.”

Grinning, Brady shakes his head and clinks his glass against mine. “To being a well-intentioned *.”

We toss back the shots. Shivering, I place my glass on the coffee table and slouch back on the couch.

My eyes are getting heavy, and I'm thinking I should take a power nap when Brady breaks the silence. “Can I ask you something else?”

It's funny how he prefaces every question with a question. Rolling my head against the couch, I turn to look at him. “Anything.”

“How does the whole town know you? Not just know you, but downright adore you. Not that you’re not awesome. You are. But you said you’ve only been here a few months and yet you seemed to know everyone who came out today.”

I try to focus on what he’s asking instead of the way my heart flutters at his compliment. The answer is something that would’ve embarrassed my ex. Shamed him, really. And that plain sucks. Nobody should have the right to make me feel that way.

Pointing to my shot glass, I motion for another drink. Here’s to me embracing where I came from. Brady obliges, and in a matter of seconds I’m tossing back more tequila. The sharp taste burns my throat and I wince, covering my mouth with my hand.

“I grew up here,” I blurt. Lowering my hand, I place it in my lap, wishing I had something better to do with it. Like touch Brady. I’d like to touch Brady. I smile to myself, making a mental note to cut myself off from the booze.

His eyebrows lift, and I shake my head. “Not here here exactly.” I lick my lips, which are numb.

Suddenly, I want to tell him and see his reaction. I tense, hoping like hell his response doesn’t ruin what I’ve already come to admire about him.

“My parents were migrant workers, and when I was little, we traveled all over South Texas. This was one of the farms we worked at.” And then I hiccup.





19





Brady





I’m not sure what I was expecting Kat to say, but this isn’t it. But everything about this girl screams resilience, so I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s the daughter of migrant workers.

When those beautiful hazel eyes look up at me, they’re guarded, but she continues. “One day, we ended up here. Mel’s dad Bob ran it at the time. I don’t know what happened to her mom. I got the impression she hightailed it when Mel was little. My parents helped harvest and did odd jobs for a while.” She reaches for her hair and braids it as she talks. “Mel’s dad offered to let us stay on, but my father didn’t feel right accepting when there wasn’t much to do, so my family moved to another farm near Dallas. We eventually settled down in Corpus.”

I smile as I tug on her braid. “Okay, Anne of Green Gables, so how did you and Melissa end up being best buds?”

She laughs. “How do you know who Anne of Green Gables is?”

“I might be a momma’s boy. She likes those books.”

Toying with a button on her dress, which I notice is now open along her toned thigh, she grins back, and Jesus, that smile. It’s luminous. “Well, your momma has good taste. Those are great books.” Smiling, she adds, “Mel and I got close after I wrote her a postcard telling her how much fun I had here that summer and thanking her for being so nice to me.”