The next morning at breakfast with my dad, I caught a glimpse of Heath’s texts with Rhett giving him shit about going home with someone.

I still couldn’t help but wonder if the escape happened because he was taking pity on me, not wanting me to see him leave with someone else because he knew about my ridiculous crush. How pathetic, right?

But tonight, I wasn’t worried about any of that. Not my crush, not the past. Tonight was about helping an old friend, even if I used the term loosely, escape from some heavy stuff. My heart clenched when I thought of how Rhett must be feeling. His father, the man he’d looked up to his whole life, had been accused of terrible things. And then to know his dad had been blown up? Possibly by his own hand?

I cringed at the horrific reality.

Honor was a cornerstone of Rhett’s character, and to think that his father had betrayed what he held most dear . . . how devastating.

Carver navigated his way through traffic and pedestrians to get as close to the bar as possible. “Would you like me to park and find a discreet place to wait inside?”

What he really meant was will extra security be necessary? But with Heath and Rhett both there, I wasn’t worried about my safety.

“You don’t need to stay. Go find a place to grab dinner, and I’ll text when I’m ready. I’ll be a few hours.” Long enough to miss any potential call with Carlos.

“Yes, ma’am. Enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you, Carver.” I hopped out of the car and headed for the door to the bar.

Molly’s was a bit of a dive. Even with its proximity to Bourbon Street, it had a distinctly different crowd from the tourist-jammed bars a hundred yards away. Locals filled the stools here.

“Flounder! You made it!”

The yell came from beyond the pool table, where my brother and Rhett had taken up position at a high-top with a bottle of whiskey between them.

That mental groan? It was for my childhood nickname being shouted across the bar.

Cue the question I’d gotten all too often during my life: are you named after the little mermaid? Why, yes. Yes, I was.

My mother was diagnosed with cancer while she was pregnant with me, and lack of medical technology at the time meant she couldn’t be treated until after I was born. I lived, and she didn’t. I steeled myself for the full-body wave of emptiness that came every time I thought about the woman who gave up her life so I could have one. My eyes burned with familiar tears.

How can I miss someone so badly when I never knew her? My logical mind railed at me every time, but there was no reasoning away the pain. My brother didn’t realize that every time he used that nickname, it reminded me of the story my dad had told me about my mom spending her whole pregnancy watching Disney movies and telling me all the things she wouldn’t be able to share with me as I grew up.

How different would my life have been if I’d had a mom? Rhett might have just lost his dad today, but despite everything that happened, he had over thirty years of good memories he could recall, regardless of whether the last one was shit. I didn’t even have that. I had nothing. The sense of loss dogged my every step as I blinked back tears and crossed the floor, avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Shut up, Scuttle.” My brother laughed as I reached the table, the scent of whiskey wafting off him.

Another couple of blinks and I finally looked up. Bam. Rhett’s brilliant green gaze slammed into mine.

“And miss my chance to tease my little sister in person for a night? Not likely. You don’t give me enough opportunity, so I gotta get it in while I can.”

It was another jab at how rarely I came home, but I ignored it.

“How’s it going, Ari?” Rhett asked, his voice rumbled as deeply as I remembered.

“I’m so sorry for your loss. I didn’t get to tell you that earlier. I meant to. Just missed you at the service,” I blurted, finally getting my chance to pay my respects.

Rhett’s gaze dipped to his whiskey glass. “Not talking ’bout that tonight.” He tossed back all three fingers in a single gulp.

I didn’t watch the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. Okay, that’s a lie.

“Duly noted.” My words came out bright and chirpy, at least until I choked on the saliva in my mouth and coughed twice. I’m such a hot mess.

Heath raised a hand to signal the waitress. “We need another glass over here.”

“I’m more of a bourbon fan than whiskey these days,” I mumbled as I pretended to study the drawings carved into the table. Wait, is that an abnormally large penis and hairy ball sac? No longer pretending, I tilted my head to fully appreciate the detailed carving. Impressive.

“Guess you’re gonna have to slum it with us anyway,” Rhett replied.

My attention snapped to him as his gaze traveled up from my hips to my face.

Is Rhett Hennessy checking me out? Surely not. I had to be wrong. Heat started in my belly and licked up my chest and face.

“Balls,” I blurted. Oh no. I did not.

Both my brother and Rhett stared at me.

“What?” Rhett asked, probably thinking he heard me wrong.

I pointed to the table. “Dick and balls. Good work. Nice shape. Could use a few more veins.” Oh sweet Jesus, someone shut me up before the verbal mudslide starts.

Heath’s laugh boomed through the bar.

Why am I talking about penises? My gaze darted to Rhett’s lap, and my cheeks burned as I looked away.

Great, now I’m going to be as red as my hair. I had to distract myself from the disaster. I snatched Heath’s glass and tossed back the liquor.

Oh shit, that burns too. I coughed as soon as I swallowed, trying to mask it by clearing my throat. At least now I have an excuse for the tears in my eyes.

“Good stuff,” I said, attempting nonchalance as I set the glass back down on top of the bar version of a dick pic.

The corner of Rhett’s mouth tugged upward in a semblance of a smile.

Heath choked, sounding like he was hacking up a lung as he tried to stop laughing, slapping the table and nearly toppling the bottle of whiskey. “Damn, my little sister is all grown up, and I missed most of it.” He grabbed the glass and sloshed another measure of booze in it.

Rhett’s partial smile disappeared.

“I swear,” Heath said to me, “I spend more time talking to your assistants than I do with you. I’m tight with Erik and Esme.”