Mother.
Most mothers would buy their son a tie for his thirty-seventh birthday.
Mine surprises me with a two-million-dollar bottle of cognac.
“Looks like we’re celebrating in a way Dad would approve of,” I tell Keaton, holding up the bottle.
He smirks and gives me an arrogant nod of his head. “If she got you that for your birthday and she barely likes you, imagine what she’ll get me.”
I flip him off and then pour us each a glass. Carrying them over to him, I study my brother along the way. He has the cool, aloof demeanor that is fitting for a Constantine, but I know he burns inside. His eyes are telling, often flashing with emotion he otherwise keeps well hidden.
“I miss this,” I admit as I pass off his glass and take a seat across from him.
“Hanging with the best-looking Constantine?”
“No, I see that guy in the mirror each day. Gets rather boring if we’re being honest.” I smirk at him. “I’m talking about Dad. This was our thing.”
The muscle in his jaw ticks, and he hides it by bringing the glass to his lips, inhaling the scent, before taking a sip. “Hmph.”
I nearly bark out a laugh at his childish response. Sometimes, though, I have to remind myself, he still is one. A child. In the fall, he’ll head back to Vermont and finish his time at Pembroke Preparatory School. Then he’ll become a real man, following in the footsteps of each male Constantine before him—aside from Perry’s slacker ass—carving out a powerful name for himself. Rugby will likely become a distant dream, just as it was for me.
“He’d always tell Mother we had important matters to discuss between men,” I say, my lips turning up at the fond memory. “And we’d get borderline drunk on his stash. Later, Mother would threaten us within inches of our lives if we embarrassed her.”
Five years.
It’s been five long years since I had those moments with my father that I selfishly took for granted.
“Are we ever going to discuss the elephant in the room?” he demands in a moody tone that’s more fitting for Perry.
My brow hikes up. “The fact your girlfriend isn’t with you?”
“She’ll be here later.” His eyes pull from mine like they did when he was a child and hiding something. “I’m talking about what’s eating you. You’re all worked up. We don’t do heart to hearts, Win, so spill.”
I study him for a beat, impressed with his ability to sniff out my weakness, which is difficult for most men, never mind a teenager. “How close are you with the Mannford triplets?”
After some research, I discovered Dr. Mannford got them into Pembroke the second semester of their junior year.
“The new kids?” Keaton takes another drink and shrugs. “They stay on their turf, and I stay on mine. They don’t fuck with me.”
“You’re not a gangster, Keat. Explain this in civilized adult terms.”
He rolls his eyes, reminding me of his age again. “I mean, I don’t talk to them if I don’t have to. Pembroke is less about social standing and more about circles. My circle is rugby and theirs is lacrosse. Those circles don’t often overlap. And they aren’t welcome in the Hellfire Club.”
I almost snort. Just the mention of the Pembroke Club that ruled all others brings back memories of prep school dustups. But I have to focus on the now. “Your circles don’t often overlap, but sometimes they do?”
“It’s like this. We’re lions. They’re the hyenas feeding off our scraps. There’s no partnership, only awareness.” Leaning forward, he sets down his glass on the table between us. “Why the sudden interest in the Mannfords?”
“They’re…” I trail off and scratch at my jaw as I ponder how to word this without it getting back to Mother. “They’re overstepping into my circle. They’re on my turf. I want to know how this affects you if I kick them out of play.”
His blue eyes flash with interest. “It would entertain me greatly.”
“Something we both can agree on.” I sip my drink, my attention lasered on my little brother. “Could you do me a favor?”
“Favors will cost you.”
I bark out a laugh, because I love this kid. Fucking Constantine through and through.
“Naturally,” I rumble. “Name your price.”
Our negotiation has my thoughts drifting back to Ash and her mysterious text. Something I will get to the bottom of soon enough.
“It all depends on the favor.” He shrugs, but his eyes are shrewd, clearly invested in our negotiation. “Let’s hear it.”
“For now, I only want information. Not the bullshit Ulrich can get either. That’s common knowledge.”
Ulrich, our family’s most trusted private investigator, is the one who helped Mother uncover what she did on my ex, Meredith, and information on Dad’s “accident” that has every single fucking Constantine questioning his death.
“What then?” Keaton probes. “Like who they’re fucking?”