Enjoy the meal? That was a joke.

I was only here because of good old Catholic guilt that I’d had a hand in my mother marrying an asshole and becoming a raging alcoholic. And even so, she was still my mother.

One night, I can get through this, I told myself. And then I heard his voice.

“Yes, listen to Virginia. Even I’ve had enough of your bickering, and I’ve been in the room for all of ten seconds.” Denton stepped toward the table, his hands wrapping around the back of my mother’s chair. He overshadowed her in every way.

His cutting tone sent fingers of fury trailing down my spine.

I had to get out of here before I let him get to me. I turned to my mother. She was staring at the bottom of her glass, and any animation on her face from only moments ago was completely dead.

I wondered if she’d known he was coming home and the whole “out of town” line had been bullshit. More likely, he told her what he wanted her to know and came back early to surprise her in some twisted game of control. I lowered my fork and fished my phone out of my pocket. I couldn’t stay here. I officially needed a rescue.

My fingers flew across the screen, tapping out a text, only stumbling when Denton’s cutting tone jarred my concentration.

“Really, Eleanor. One would think you could manage to put your phone away for one dinner. We’ll have to start confiscating them at the door.”

Which he’d probably try. But I was one person who wouldn’t bend to his whims. It infuriated him, and I reveled in it.

“Dad, you’ll never guess where Elle is working these days.”

Denton’s eyes landed on me, piercing and hard. “You’ve moved on from that little trashy tourist trap?”

I bristled at his description of Dirty Dog, but said nothing. One would’ve thought that DJ would have kept his mouth shut because the whole reason I was at the pawnshop was due to his drug habit, but I could take a picture of him snorting coke and show it to Denton, and it wouldn’t matter. Denton was the epitome of a parent who raised a piece of shit kid, knew it, and did nothing about it as long as his kid didn’t embarrass him publicly and bowed to his dictates in all things. Other than that, DJ could run amok and still indefinitely ride the gravy train.

I met my stepfather’s cold stare. “Yes.”

“And where are you working now?”

The question was a dare.

“A pawnshop.” I kept my answers short. I wasn’t giving him anything more.

His face twisted into a mask of disgust. “Of all the stupid and rebellious jobs you’ve had, this is by far the least acceptable. You will quit immediately. Report to the firm tomorrow morning at eight o’clock, and I’ll find a use for you.”

This wasn’t the first time I’d gotten an order like that.

“I already told her she could be a file clerk,” DJ offered.

Denton didn’t even look at him. “Shut up. When I want to hear you speak, I’ll ask you to.” His eyes bore into me. “Do you understand me, Eleanor?”

“I understand you perfectly, and there’s no fucking way it’s going to happen. You can take your use for me and shove it up—”

“Eleanor—” my mother interrupted.

“Virginia.”

He only had to say her name—that was all it took to have her shrinking into her chair.

I stood and tossed my napkin onto my plate. “I think I’ll take a rain check on dessert. I just remembered something I need to do.”

“I’m not finished speaking with you, Eleanor.”

“Well it’s a good thing one of us knows when a conversation is pointless.”

“If this gets out, and you embarrass this family, the consequences will not be pleasant for you. And if I don’t hear from HR on Monday that you’ve contacted them for a job, those consequences will be even less pleasant.”

There was nothing he could hold over me—and no way in hell would I be contacting his firm for a damn job.

I gave him my politest go fuck yourself smile and turned on my heel and walked out.

“You boys need anything else, you just let me know,” our waitress said as she set frosted mugs of Abita down in front of me and Con. The dimly lit bar was surprisingly busy for a Sunday night. The crack of pool balls and shouts sounded from across the room. Con studied me and picked up his beer.

“You gonna say something?” I asked.

This was a position that neither of us had been in before. We’d spent the last decade or so counting on each other, but never before had I asked my little brother for his blessing.

Con lifted his beer and swigged. “Fuck, that’s good.”

I did the same.

After I set my mug back on the table, I shifted my jaw from side to side.

“Shouldn’t have dropped your hands,” Con commented, with a lifted eyebrow.

“True. But you’re a tricky fucker, and you would’ve found a way to get a shot in.”

He shrugged. “So, tell me how the hell you got hung up on Elle. She’s not the kind of woman you can pin down for long.”

And don’t I know it. She was constant movement—never still. If she wasn’t selling something to a customer, she was rearranging the displays, or trying to get me to spring for a website with an online store to increase our reach. Whatever it was, she threw her entire self into it. And that went the same for every damn time I’d kissed her.

One thing was for sure: I’d never be bored with Elle. If I ever figured her out, she’d change five minutes later, and I’d be back to square one.

I glanced up from my beer to find Con staring, and realized I’d answered his question with silence.

“She works for me. Does a damn good job.”

“And?”

“And I’m ready to give having something real a shot.” I lifted my mug and gestured at him. “You can’t argue with that. Not with how fucking happy you’ve been.”

Con’s expression didn’t change. Always studying. Working the angles. Finally, he took another swig of his beer. “You’re both adults. Fuck, it’s not like you need my permission.”

“Not looking for permission. I just want to make sure I’m not going to fuck up the good stuff you’ve got going on by pissing off Vanessa.”

At her name, a smile crossed his face. Fuck, it was good to see him happy.