“You think she wants a medal?” Trey let there be no mistake that he’d been eavesdropping.
Hot resentment coursed through Ry’s body. Trey was still the sniveling snot he’d been as a kid. That hadn’t changed. Was this what Ry had come home for?
Chapter Three
“Don’t you have anything better to do than listen in on a private conversation?” Ry asked, forcing himself to relax and smile when he’d rather gut-punch his brother than breathe.
“Sorry, little brother,” Trey said, his sickening, self-righteous grin showing he wasn’t sorry at all. “I was just waiting my turn to introduce my beautiful bride.”
The petite brunette standing by Trey’s side was pretty in a classy, uptight way. With her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun, she had prissy girl written all over her. Ry wouldn’t have given her a second look, but she was probably perfect for Trey.
She wore a tiny black hat with a tiny mesh veil that made her look like a mobster’s sexy mourner. Her dress, pulled snug over her belly, proclaimed her to be in her last trimester. Ry hoped she wouldn’t mind raising the kids alone. Trey couldn’t stand little kids.
“Izzie,” his brother said, “this is the prodigal son— my brother, Rylander Hamilton Brennan.”
Ry didn’t mind the prodigal bit, but he hated being called Rylander Hamilton. That name belonged to Mom’s coldhearted father.
“Just ‘Ry’ will do. It’s good to meet you, Izzie,” he said, stepping forward to greet his new sister-in-law with a brotherly hug. Any woman named Izzie had to be cool.
But she checked his move, extending her hand for a handshake. “I prefer ‘Isabel,’” she said, glancing uneasily at Trey. “Only Trey calls me ‘Izzie.’”
“‘Isabel’ it is.” The name thing again. He supposed he could understand that, even though he did wonder what she seemed so nervous about. The way Trey held her close to his side suggested Trey’s old nasty jealousy, but surely Trey wouldn’t think Ry would hit on his wife—or any man’s wife.
“We missed you at our wedding,” she said, glancing at her husband, as if she sought approval. “You should have been there, Ry.”
Was there anything more endearing than a good scolding? “You write a great thank-you note, Isabel,” he said to remind her that he wasn’t totally bad.
The sterling silver coffee service had cost him a month’s salary, not something he could afford on his paramedic pay. It had been worth dipping into his trust fund to do something right, which he could, thanks to Beth’s suggestion that they wanted something as useless as a silver coffee service.
“Ry, I hope you won’t mind that we exchanged your gift for the service Izzie really wanted,” Trey said, as only he could. “I didn’t mind making up the difference in cost.”
By reflex, Ry slid into the laid-back mode he’d perfected as a child when he wanted to take his brother out. “Mind? Me? I’d have returned it myself. But then, I’d have used the money on something useful, like a down payment on a matching motorcycle for my bride.”
Trey made that particular sound of disgust that used to make Ry’s day. It still did.
“Tell me that you don’t still ride a motorcycle,” his long-suffering brother implored.
Excellent. It felt just as good as ever to make his brother crazy.
“As a paramedic,” Trey continued, “you’ve surely had to scrape motorcyclists off the pavement enough times to know better.”
Of course he had. They didn’t call them “donor-cycles” in the ER for nothing. Ry hadn’t ridden one in years. “But there’s nothing like the freedom you feel, weaving in and out of traffic, on two wheels.”
“Ry?” His father’s voice. Ry turned at the sound.
“Happy New Year, Dad.” He reached out to shake his father’s hand. It was show time. This is what he’d come home for. God willing, he planned to be a good son.
If his father were surprised to see Ry, he didn’t show it. He took Ry’s hand, holding the grip seconds longer than politeness required. That was a good sign.
“You’re looking well, Dad,” Ry said in good-manner mode, though his father didn’t look well at all. Ry wasn’t a doctor like half of the crowd here at the party, but he recognized a stressed-out man when he saw one.
“Have you seen your mother?” his father said, his eyes sweeping the room as if he were looking for her.
“Yes, I got my first New Year’s hug from her.”
The relief on his father’s face was pitifully real. “Good, that’s good,” he said, patting Ry on the shoulder.
His father’s touch was so unexpectedly moving that emotion tightened Ry’s chest. “I don’t want to take you away from your guests, Dad. Maybe we can get together tomorrow and talk?”
“Would that suit your schedule better, Ry?” Trey asked sarcastically. “Personally, I don’t think the prodigal son should expect a big welcome here.”
Ry clenched his teeth so tight his jaw hurt. This was a nightmare.
“Let’s take this to the study,” his father said firmly, giving Trey a silencing glance and leading the way.
“Fine with me,” Trey said, taking Isabel’s arm and quickly stepping to be next in line.
Beth grabbed Meg’s hand. “C’mon, we’re not going to miss this.”
Meg pulled back. “I don’t belong.”
“You belong as much as I do,” Ry muttered, shoving her in front of him. He could use their support. He looked around for his mother. Shouldn’t she be here, too, especially when she’d been so glad to see him?
Closing the study door, his father motioned for them to be seated. “How long are you here for, Ry?”
“I fly back the day after tomorrow.”
“How long have you been here?” Trey asked, as if Ry might have squeezed in a mere obligatory visit just now.
Ry checked his watch. “Less than an hour.” It was a shame that he felt he had to justify anything to his family, but trust wouldn’t be easy to win back. If he had to account for his time, that was an easy price to pay.
“You started the celebration without me?” his mother said as she swept into the room, her party tiara sparkling as if it might be real jewels.
Ry felt his heart accelerate as it used to when he was a child, knowing Mom had arrived and was now the one in charge.
When had Ry ever seen her so happy? Glancing around the room, all of them seemed to be asking the same question.
“Ry’s home! You know what this means,” she told them, as if they were collectively dense. Smiling at him, she sat down on the arm of his chair, wrapped her arms around his neck and locked her adoring gaze on him. “Tell them, Ry.”
He would if he could. He could barely breathe with his mother’s full affection squarely on him. Had it ever happened before? What would make his mother this happy, this full of joy?
Slow realization crept through his mind. “I’m not sure what you want me to say,” he said, stretching the truth, dreading the explosive moment that was sure to come if he didn’t come up with what his mother wanted to hear.
She stiffened in his arms. “Don’t quibble, Ry. There’s no in-between. You’re either here to follow your destiny, or you’re not.”
His heart sank. It was as bad as he’d feared.