Page 48 of Licks

He strutted toward us, confidence in his long strides. His hair was longer than mine, curling at the base of his neck. His short beard was new. The changes made us look different, but only slightly. It was still like facing a mirror.

He stopped in front of us, took in my arm around Gwen. Our close proximity. The bastard grinned. “Are you two finally together?”

There were a thousand things we needed to hash out, but that grin had the snake pit in my gut calming. “We are.”

But Gwen said, “No,” and I jolted. She talked over herself. “I mean, we’re hanging out. But we’re not together together.”

What in the actual fuck?

The hickey on her neck was from me. Her body had been mine two short hours ago. She could kid herself all she wanted, but we were as together as together got. Something we’d deal with later. For now we were on a PI mission. “We’re looking for Uncle Rex.”

“You have an uncle Rex?” She glanced between Finch and me.

Finch shook his head. “It’s the name he goes by—the club owner. Everyone calls him Uncle Rex.” His eyes cut to me, squinting like a far-sighted man trying to read small type. “But if you want to play here, I’m the guy you speak with. Not Uncle Rex.”

The hurt on his face was plain as day. “This isn’t about playing. We need a favor.”

His squinting intensified. “And you thought you’d walk in here, ask a favor of me, when we’ve barely spoken in years?”

“I don’t know, Finch. You’re the king of asking for favors and welching on your end of the agreement.”

He looked down sharply, pursed his lips. Frustrated with himself? Shutting me out? We’d yelled at each other plenty since college, me calling him a selfish bastard, him telling me to grow up and forgive him already. More recently, we’d simply turned distant, flat.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, but that wasn’t exactly true. I still spoke with our sister. Not weekly, or even monthly, but we kept in touch, and I’d do anything for her. Fighting with Melody would gut me. But resentment between twins was different. A part of my heart had hardened over the years. Like we’d been conjoined twins, hearts linked, arteries connected, our estrangement deadening the tissue.

His eyes flicked up, a hint of pleading lifting his brow. “It matters.”

That hard place in me cracked.

Gwen stayed mute, letting us do our estranged brother thing, her purse tucked under her arms like it would shield her from our strained reunion.

I hadn’t planned to unleash my anger on Finch, like I hadn’t planned to lash out at Gwen at her mother’s house. Our shared history brought out the worst in me, which meant it needed to be dealt with. No more pretending and running and writing my angst into songs. That journal had led us both here for a reason. It was time to find out why.

Relinquishing my possessive hold on Gwen, I dashed my hand through my hair. “Can Gwen get in touch with Uncle Rex tonight? For her, not for me. She has some questions about a man who came here in the late eighties, possibly her father. And if you have a moment, I’d like to talk.”

Finch was in black slacks and a gray button-down, shiny shoes to match. The consummate professional, who’d done a kickass job bringing this club back to life.

To me, he’d always be the kid who’d shared a tent with me in our back yard, his ghostly flashlight shining on the flimsy blue material as he’d terrorize me with horror stories. He would eat the broccoli off my plate and I’d eat his lamb, his suggestions to avoid staring at food we’d rather burn than touch. Finch would make our younger sister laugh when she’d cry about the braces she’d hated or skinning her knee. He’d made us lightsabers and had rolled me my first joint. Even helped me ride a skateboard when I’d given up.

I was older by five minutes, but he’d been the wiser of us, until he’d slid downhill at the end of high school. Until he’d asked me to do a brutal favor I still regretted.

Until he’d slept with Gwen.

But like with her, during this wild day, the earlier years seemed to outweigh the later mistakes. Gwen was unpacking her mother’s lost luggage, one clue at a time. Facing her demons. I was ready to deal with mine.

Finch scrubbed a hand over his beard and nodded at a round table. “Uncle Rex is here tonight, has his niece and nephew with him. I’ll ask if he can spare a minute.”

After another long glance at me, he moved through the room, stopping to shake hands with people, laugh with some, flirt with others. He worked the stretch between us and Uncle Rex’s table like a bona-fide celebrity. I might be the one with albums and fans, but here, in this jazzy room I’d always wanted to play, he was the more successful brother.

Pride snuck up on me in a fierce jab. Solid. Good. Nice to think of Finch without curling my hands into fists.

Gwen smoothed her hand down my back. “I’m glad you’ll talk with Finch. I hate seeing you guys at odds.”

I hated it, too. It was time to set things right. But the last thing I wanted to discuss with Gwen was Finch. “You told him we weren’t together.”

She snatched her hand from my back. “Why’d you tell him we are?”

She had to be kidding me. I leaned my forearm on the bar, dipped so our faces were level. “I’m sorry, Possum…was I the only one on the floor in your apartment earlier? Did you not feel me inside you? Did I not make you come? Did we not discuss how often I planned to do more of the same later?”