I flinched slightly, feeling like the arse I was all over again. I took her by the hand and led her to the kitchen where I began taking the warmed food out of the oven. I handed a bottle of wine and an opener to Lydia. This all suddenly felt surreal to me, as if, unwittingly, and in only a week, Lydia had somehow become a fixture in my home. My mind was whirling with too many emotions to try to sort—I'd been at it all day and suddenly, I just wanted to sit across from her and have dinner and talk about mundane topics. I wanted her to make me laugh, and I wanted to ask her all about her life now. I wanted to know what she'd studied in college, and I wanted to hear about whether she liked her job. Or had liked her job before I came along. I closed my eyes for a second as another wave of shame hit me. So yes, I wanted this to be a real date, but it couldn’t be. I had guaranteed that with my actions.
As we brought the last of the dishes into the dining room, I said, "What if I'd come up to you at a party a few weeks ago?"
She slid into her chair, a look of confusion passing over her face. She tilted her head to look up at me. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," I continued, taking my own seat, "what if I'd walked up to you at a party and asked you out?"
She furrowed her brow, obviously considering my question very seriously. "I . . . I mean, I would have been happy to see you, Brogan. Happy and surprised and . . . I would have said yes. I would have hoped we could mend our friendship, that I could apologize and that you'd accept it." The look on her face was wistful as if she were wishing things had happened just that way. God, so did I.
I nodded, a wave of regret passing through me. Things could have been different. But they weren’t. And now they couldn't be, and I had to tell Lydia why. She raised her glass, a small smile on her lips. "To mending friendships." Oh Lydia. But I raised my glass, too, offering her a small smile.
We dug into our food, roast beef tenderloin with a Caesar crust and a side of roasted potatoes and mixed vegetables. Lydia let out a small moan. "God, this is good. You must be thrilled to be eating something I didn't cook."
I chuckled. "Actually, you're a good cook." I decided not to mention, in actuality, I had barely tasted her cooking. I'd been so busy watching her, thinking about her as she’d served Anna and me. Anna—another woman I'd used for my own selfish purposes—to make Lydia jealous. I blamed so many others for the wrongs done against me, and yet my own sins were piling up faster than poker chips during a winning streak.
Lydia and I ate in silence for another few minutes. After taking a sip of wine, she said, "So are you going to tell me what you do for work, or is it top secret?"
"I'll get to that. But first, we need to discuss us."
"Us?" she asked, her voice slightly breathy.
I cleared my throat. "Us, meaning you, me, and your brother."
She nodded. "Right, of course." I moved my food around on my plate for a moment, trying to come up with the right words for what I was about to say. She waited, a nervous expression on her face.
"Lydia, your brother has gone from bad to worse."
She frowned. "What do you mean? I just talked to Stuart a few days ago. He texts me almost every day."
"It's easy enough to lie in a text. You can't see the person." I paused, my eyes running over the beautiful lines of her face. "He's gambling again."
Lydia looked suddenly ill. "Gambling?" she whispered, shaking her head back and forth. "He doesn't have any money, though. He can't be gambling. What is he gambling with?"
"He's been gambling on credit. And he's been losing."
She closed her eyes briefly, placing her fork down on her plate with a soft clatter. "On credit. Are you sure?"
"Very."
She let out a slow, deep breath. "Okay. If you'll give us the company back, I know I can get it on solid ground again financially. Then I'll have the means to help Stuart and—"
"I'm not giving you the company back, Lydia."
Her eyes widened, and she sat back in her chair. "I know what he did to you was horrible, Brogan. I know, I do. But look where you are and look where he is. Surely you can let go of some of that hatred. After this morning, I thought maybe—"
"It's not a matter of me hating him anymore.” I leaned forward, my elbows on the table. “Where do you think your brother is gambling? Whose credit do you think he's using?"
"I . . . I don't know."
"He's dealing with the mob. And the mob doesn't take kindly to people who can't pay back their debts. They're notoriously unforgiving on the matter."
"Unforgiving," she murmured. As the full impact of what I was saying hit her, tears filled her eyes. "Please, Brogan, there has to be another way. Could we not . . . could I not be given the responsibility to turn the company around? Surely I could raise the capital to pay Stuart’s debts. Despite all his faults, he's . . . he’s all I have. The only family I have left in the world." She paused, looking at me as if trying to read the thoughts in my mind. “If I have to, I'll sell it and pay Stuart's debts, and I'll pay you back, too. We can work out a payment schedule for the debt Stuart will still owe you—"
I shook my head back and forth slowly. "It'd be unlikely you'd get any decent offers once a buyer looked into the company finances. Frankly, it wasn't even worth the amount Stuart lost to me." But it had been what I wanted. The only thing I'd wanted at the time. Or at least the only thing I'd been willing to be honest with myself about wanting.