Page 10 of Reckless Devotion
“What a lovely visual,” I muse, her responding tinkling laugh warming my soul. God, I’ve missed her.
“So, what’s the deal with you, brother? Why are you being left behind in the dirt while all your friends get married?” She turns stern eyes on me, causing my own to take a leisurely tour around their sockets.
I turn to take my seat, feeling like I need comfort for this inquisition. “So it’s really true what they say, then. All women turn into their mothers eventually.”
Our mom has been at me to settle down for years. With Mason married and popping out a tribe of babies quicker than you can sayvirile, and Emily on the other side of the world, the spotlight falls on me.
“You take that back.” A carefully manicured royal-blue fingernail pointing at my face accompanies her glare.
I hold my hands out, offering her an apologetic smile. She tips her nose haughtily and waits.
“I don’t have anything to report. Work is busy, but good. And I’m still doing the same shit I was three years ago, Em.”
And I am A-okay with that. Despite fleeting envy when I watch my friends with their wives, I’ve never felt any real inclination to settle down. Why settle for one flavor of ice cream when I can have a whole parlor? I’m not an ass, I’m respectful. I treat women with chivalry and manners, I just make it very clear that it’s sex only. Most of them are fine with that, and the ones that aren’t soon reveal as much and we don’t sleep together anymore. The latter are usually the ones that have been primed by fussing mothers their whole life to snag an eligible man from a wealthy family. A Walker would be a colossal catch by any oftheir standards, but that’s not actually aboutme.It’s about the name I sign on my checks.
“What a sad little life, Chase,” she drawls, knitting her brows together.
“Oh yes, all the no-strings sex is terrible. And doing what I want? Just dreadful.” The thick sarcasm falls off my tongue, making her lips purse.Pity. “One relationship and you float back in here, suddenly the guru for love?” I meant it as a joke, but the second she winces I feel like an enormous ass. “I’m sorry, that was my poor attempt at humor.”
She hums, turning her attention back to the clear blue sky. “Is it true baby Guerra ran away to become a cowboy?”
Now that really does make me laugh. The deep belly kind that almost hurts, because I still can’t believe he did it. Logan Guerra, youngest of the two Guerra brothers and one of my best buddies, fell in love with a ranch owner in Canada, sold his company, and gave up life in high society to shovel horse shit. It’s as funny as it is sad he left the city. But I’m happy for him. He’s happy and his wife Nour is great.
“Yeah, I’ve got a picture from Nour, wanna see?” I pull out my phone, cataloguing the flicker in her eye. Handing it to her, I show her a photo of the big handsome fucker in question balls deep in clearing out a stable.
A wry smile twists Emily’s lips. “He’s happy?”
She has a history with Logan, which they both swore blind was fleeting and only physical, but I sometimes wonder if that was one-sided. Call it sixth sense.
“Yeah kid, he’s happy,” I say gently, taking my phone back.
“Good.” She nods decisively, tuning back to the window. “And what about Mom, is she happy?”
I click my tongue, filling my lungs with air. That’s the question, isn’t it? Emily was too young to have seen the worstof it back then. Not like me. Young as I was too, I remember as clear as day Mason dragging our mother’s unconscious body from the bathtub, crimson-tinged water seeping across the ivory tile. Gruesome slashes painting her wrists.
Things were better for the years that followed—on the surface anyway. When everything came out a few years ago and she divorced our dad, she slowly receded into a shell of the woman who once sparkled with life. The regal jewel at the center of Manhattan’s social scene. Call it guilt, or depression—I don’t know. And so I tell Emily as much.
“Mom is Mom, it’s hard to tell these days.”
Sometimes I want to resent my siblings for leaving me to bear the burden of the Walker crown, but it’s hard when we’ve all been through so much. I wish they were there to help on the bad days when Mom can’t get out of bed, or that I could hand off some of the media appearances to them, but I don’t blame them for being wrapped up in their own happiness. Mason’s wife Mia, also one of my closest friends, helps where she can. But with twin toddlers and a four, going-on-fourteen-year-old daughter, she has her hands full. Not only that, she has her own job as a COO for one of the city’s largest gaming software firms. Which all solidifies my belief that women are the far superior sex.
Seeing the shadow over Emily’s bright eyes as she considers my words, I do what I always do and use humor to lift people up. Something I’m told is a coping mechanism developed from growing up in a household where very little laughter lived.
“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, can I ask what thefuckyou are wearing?”
Her mouth drops, turning icy eyes on me and then her outfit. “It’s fashion!”
“It’s ghastly,” I counter truthfully, eyeing the bright orange fuzzy sweater that rests at her waist, and the hot pink pleather mini skirt. The whole dreadful ordeal is topped off byblack patent stiletto boots that stop at the knees. “You look like a Dr. Seuss book threw up on you.”
Emily scoffs, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she stands. “I’ll ask you for fashion advice the moment I want to look like a stuffy finance bro.”
“Hey, this suit cost seventy thousand dollars—where are you going?” I call out after her as she flounces abruptly over to the doors.
“To see my niece and nephews!” she throws snottily over her shoulder.
I grin. I’ve missed winding her up something crazy. “You’ll need to switch that disgusting outfit out for a bomb suit!” I raise my voice as she disappears from view, still grinning to myself.
I’m not lying. I love my nephews, but those boys are category-ten tornados strapped into miniature bodies. Sighing contentedly, I stare at the paneled ceiling.
