Dirty Secret (The Burke Brothers #1)(10)
Author: Emma Hart

Two and a half years. I can’t even fathom what I’ve missed because of her.

Leila wraps her arms around me from behind and lays her cheek against my back. I turn and crush her in my arms. She rubs her hands up my back and lets me cry into her.

I was right.

Sofie is unforgivable.

My vision is blurred. My head pounds with emotion and a hangover, and I rub my temples in a vain attempt to ease it. Aidan walks in the room with a glass of cold water and Tylenol, and I take them, throwing the tablets to the back of my throat before drinking the whole glass.

“Thanks,” I croak.

“No problem. Mom wants to know how you are, but I won’t insult you by asking.” He smirks.

I laugh bitterly and lean back against the bed. “The fuck do I do, Aidan? Two and a half years and she shows up in town, with my kid. Did she think I wouldn’t find out?”

“She was hoping you wouldn’t,” Leila says softly from the doorway.

“Did you know?” Aidan snaps. “I swear to God, Lei . . .”

“No!” she cries desperately. “I didn’t know! I thought, but she wouldn’t tell me for sure.”

“Shit.” I run my fingers through my hair. “We ain’t kids anymore. Why didn’t she just come clean?”

“It’s been, like, three days,” she reasons. “I’m sure she would have eventually.”

“Eventually, when? In five years? Ten? When the kid—”

“Mila.” Lei interrupts me quietly. “Her name is Mila.”

“Mila.” The name, her name, rolls off my tongue easily. Sweetly. “Would it have come out at eighteen when Mila was finally able to find me, huh?”

“It’s no good sittin’ here spouting your what-ifs, bro,” Aidan interjects. “Get off your ass and talk to her.”

“In front of Mila? No. That’s not a conversation we can have in front of her.”

“I’ll look after her.”

I look at my sister. “Really, Lei? You’re going to look after a two-year-old?”

“Conner Burke, I’m twenty-one, not eleven.” She raises her eyebrows. “I am perfectly capable of watching a toddler for an hour so y’all can bitch it out together.”

Aidan snorts. “Yeah, try two hours, Lei. These two bitching at each other always ended someplace else.”

I fight the smile tugging at my lips. Shit, but he’s right. We’d argue, then make up right after. I could never be mad at her—she’d look at me with those eyes, brimming with tears, and I’d sigh and kiss them away. My heart clenches now at the way I’d kiss down her cheeks to her mouth, then tickle her, just so she’d smile.

But she’d do more. She’d throw her head back and laugh, wind her fingers in my hair, and wrap her legs around my waist.

And I’d stand there, holding her, kissing her until her lips were raw and her hips were grinding against mine and we needed to get somewhere more private.

“Hello? Con?”

I jolt at the sound of fingers snapping. I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes. Thinking about the past isn’t going to sort out the present. It all hurts. It’s all bullshit.

“Gimme five minutes. Y’all get the hell out of my room. Now.”

Aidan follows Leila out, and the second I hear them high-five through the closing door, I know I’ve been set up. Fucking assholes.

I get dressed and head into the bathroom to scrub my face. My eyes might be ringed in red from crying last night, but worse are the purple-gray bags below them. I look like shit warmed over.

I rub some wax through my hair lamely and brush my teeth before following my asshole siblings downstairs. Mom is waiting at the bottom, and she hugs me tightly.

“I’m all right, Mom. I just need answers.”

She nods and pats my shoulder. “Go. Now. Get ’em.”

“That’s the plan,” I mutter under my breath.

Leila is sitting in her car and I yank open the driver’s side door. “Get out. In the truck.”

I can almost hear her roll her eyes. So much for being twenty-one and not eleven. Sure acts like it sometimes.

She gets into the truck with a sigh, proving my point, and I rev the engine. I turn the truck around and pull away from the house . . . past a couple of reporters. Just fucking awesome.

“Call Tate.” I throw my phone onto Leila’s lap. “Tell him to get someone to get rid of those nosy dicks.”

She nods and does it as I make the turn onto Sofie’s street. Laughing, she hangs up the phone a moment later. “Done.”

“What did he say?” I cut my eyes to her.

She grins widely and rocks in her seat. “He said Dad’s on his way out there with the rifle.”

I laugh, the image of my fifty-eight-year-old father brandishing a gun at the paparazzi too hilarious. And also completely realistic.

“Listen out for shots,” I mutter, pulling into Sofie’s drive. “I don’t wanna have to bail his ass out of jail today.”

Leila giggles. “Send Tate. It’ll be his fault.”

“True.” I kill the engine and stare at the house.

I’m about to come face-to-face with Sofie Callahan for the third time in as many days.

At least this time I’ll get answers—real answers.

Maybe there’s something to that third-time’s-a-charm bullshit, after all.

Mila claps her hands and bounces as Dirty B.’s song comes to an end. I force a smile for her, pretending I’ve loved every second of hearing his voice and seeing his face.

I haven’t. Because every word is accusatory, even though it’s not, and every time I see his eyes, I see a heart-wrenching pain. A pain caused wholly by me and my actions, even if he doesn’t know the reason behind why I left.

I still feel guilty. Gut-twistingly, lung-constrictingly, heartbreakingly so.

“Gen! Gen!” Mila squeaks.

“No, baby. Mama’s got a headache. Colors?” I offer her some crayons.

She pouts, and it almost gets me until the doorbell rings. My head jerks up and I blink.

“Here,” I say, opening the crayon box and the scrapbook. “Draw me a pretty picture, okay?”

She drops onto the ground with a melodramatic sigh and I stand, rolling my eyes. My little drama queen.

“Tankoo,” she sings when I walk past.

I smile.

“You’re welcome!” I call back, opening the door.

And I stare at muscles wrapped in a blue polo shirt, a Samoan tattoo curving around one of those muscled biceps. Broad shoulders and messy brown hair styled to look just-fucked. A jaw dusted with light stubble, lips set into a thin line, and dark blue eyes so angry they’re practically on fire.