The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men #7)(13)

Finally, he said, “Sure,” in his easygoing way, but I knew he had wanted more from me. “You need some time to adjust to the shock. I get that.”

God, did he have to be so freaking understanding about it? The guy was so noble and nice and had such good intentions; it made me feel shittier because I couldn’t get down with all this touchy-feely family shit as freely as he could. I knew I wanted the same thing he wanted. I did want to be his brother and have one of those close relationships any pair of good brothers had. I just couldn’t—

“I’m sorry. I know I’m wigging out about this more than I should. But I just don’t...I don’t have the best of luck with the whole...family thing. Which...” Damn, I was such an idiot, “I know, sounds really stupid since you obviously don’t either.”

“Actually...I’ve had remarkably good luck with the family thing lately.” His gaze strayed to his sun visor where a snapshot of a sexy blonde and two little toddlers grinned back at him. A sharp pang of envy ran through me. He had the most devoted girlfriend and two kids any lucky bastard should have. And what was even cooler was that they loved him right back with the same intensity.

Pick glanced at me, his eyebrows raised. “That includes you.”

I sighed and sank lower in my seat, feeling even worse and undeserving.

But he didn’t let me stew in my guilt. Pulling into the driveway of a nice, suburban home with a For Sale sign sitting in the spacious front yard, he put the Mustang into park and killed the engine. “But we’ll keep it quiet for a while if you prefer. No problem.”

“Thanks,” I answered distractedly as I eyed the place. It was exactly the kind of home I’d always dreamed of growing up in but had never even lived in the same neighborhood as.

When I couldn’t stand the curiosity any longer, I glanced at him. “Where are we?”

Pick eyed the house with the same kind of yearning I felt inside me. “Tink and I have been house hunting.”

I zipped my attention to the yard. Then pointing, I dropped my mouth open, completely incredulous. “And you’re considering this one?”

He glanced my way. “What? You don’t like it?”

“No, I...I do! It’s amazing. I just...nothing. That’s cool, is all. House hunting. Wow.” I couldn’t tell him I might commit unspeakable crimes to live in a place like this. That seemed a bit dramatic, so I just pushed open my door, dying to see what the inside looked like. I didn’t get to see the insides of nice, suburban homes very often.

“So...why aren’t you doing this with your Tinker Bell?” I asked as he followed me with much more reservation toward the front door, where a realtor was waiting to greet us.

I glanced back when he didn’t answer. Pick sent me a chagrined, embarrassed wince. “I kind of pissed her off when I vetoed everything we’ve looked at as soon as I stepped out the back door and saw the yard.”

I sent him a curious glance, but he waved me silent. “Long story. To say the least, we’re looking for houses separately. After she checks them out, she gives me a list of her favorites until I find...the one.”

“O...kay,” I said slowly, thinking that an odd way to house hunt with your significant other, but whatever.

“Mr. Ryan?” the realtor asked, eyeing me politely.

“Oh! No, not me. Him.” As I pointed toward Pick, I realized we’d probably have the same surname if my mother had never abandoned him.

No, scratch that. We wouldn’t, because I wouldn’t exist if she hadn’t abandoned him. She would’ve been too busy raising a baby she actually loved and never would’ve met my worthless, drug-dealing father. They wouldn’t have started their unhealthy...whatever it was they’d had, and I never would’ve come along.

She’d probably still be alive today too.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I glanced across the pristine yard while Pick and the realtor introduced themselves, and I tried not to feel guilty about being alive while my mom was not. She’d been the one to make all the decisions that had led to her demise; I was just a product of them.

I repeated that to myself a lot. Not that it ever made me feel better. But what could I do now? What was done, was done.

“And this is my brother, Asher.”

Jolted by the label, I turned back to the conversation at hand and sent the realtor guy a tense smile. “Hey.”

He introduced himself as Brian and then led us into the house, immediately explaining every feature.

It smelled...homey. I liked it.

I wanted it.

“As you can see, the trim is a beveled oak stained with—”

“Where’s the back door?” Pick cut in, obviously not at all concerned about the trim.

“Uh... The, uh...it’s this way,” a puzzled Brian answered. As he showed Pick where, I paused to take in the oak trim, deciding, yeah, I even liked that. Having beveled trim was nice. If I ever had my own house, I’d fancy trim the f*ck out of it.

Then I turned to follow the other two toward the back.

The three of us crowded out the exit and into a yard that had me drooling, envisioning barbecues and luaus, swimming pools, maybe a trampoline next to a kid’s swing set.

But Pick set his hands on his hips and frowned. “Nope.” He turned back toward the house, telling Brian, “Sorry, but this isn’t it.”