A sense of deja vu washes over me as I stand in front of my closet topless, clad in only a basic black bra and a pair of ripped mom jeans. An array of shirts sit wrinkled at my feet and I huff, once again frustrated at my lack of nice apparel.

What do you wear to meet your boyfriend's brother who you've kind of already met, but not really?

Whatever it is, it's not in my closet.

Grumbling to myself, I bend down and reach for a random cropped t-shirt that I'd thrown down after already trying on twice. It'll have to do.

I nearly jump out of my skin when behind me, a deep baritone voice says, "I think we should reschedule."

I spin around, clutching the shirt to my chest while my heart proceeds to beat out of it. I sigh when my wide eyes meet Austin's molten gaze. "You scared the shit out of me," I accuse, scowling.

I slowly relax and run my eyes eagerly over his frame, taking in the way his black t-shirt melds against his chest, and happily admiring the swirls of colored ink that are proudly on display, and even the way his jeans hug his thighs. It's confirmed: Austin looks good in literally everything.

He chuckles, crossing his arms as he leans against my doorframe. "I knocked, but you didn't hear me."

I roll my eyes in jest and proceed to pull the striped t-shirt over my head. I tug the hem down self-consciously and ask, "Does this look okay?"

Austin pushes off of the door frame and walks towards me. He whistles lowly and reaches a tattooed arm out, hooking it around my waist. I willingly step into his embrace, my head tilted back to look up at him. "You look good in everything, I've told you that," he says.

My cheeks flush crimson and I playfully push him backwards. He goes willingly, plopping down on the edge of my bed and propping his elbows on his knees. I turn and face the flimsy full-length mirror that sits haphazardly against my wall, sheepishly meeting his eyes. I busy myself by pulling on a simple black belt while trying to ignore the way his eyes greedily roam my figure.

Once I finish looping the belt through my jeans, I turn back around to face him. "Why would we reschedule?" I ask curiously.

He reaches an arm out and hooks it behind my thigh, pulling me into the space between his open legs. My hands flail out and I grasp his shoulders to steady myself. He has a habit of constantly catching me off guard. "Because," he starts, craning his neck back to look up at me, "I'd rather stay here and kiss you than listen to whatever news my brother deems necessary to break in public."

I squeeze his shoulder gently. "It could be good news," I suggest hopefully.

"Or it's bad news and he wanted there to be witnesses in case I lunge over the table and throttle him in the middle of a restaurant," he muses.

"Such a pessimistic outlook," I chide teasingly.

I barely catch a glimpse of his teasing smirk before he hoists me up, pulling my legs on either side of them. "You're one to talk," he murmurs, nuzzling my neck.

"You're being awfully affectionate today," I muse.

"Missed you," he mumbles against my neck.

Butterflies erupt in my stomach, a constant feeling that I've slowly become accustomed to since meeting Austin.

Until he murmurs, "What happened with your dad last night?"

Cue the record scratch/freeze frame.

Without speaking, I carefully disentangle myself from Austin's hold and kneel beside the edge of my bed. He looks at me confused, until I fish out the manila envelope that I'd wedged underneath my mattress. I silently hand it to him, watching as his face floods with understanding after he's opened the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper with the name of dad's law firm stamped across the top.

"Shit," he murmurs softly.

I take a seat beside him, my gaze glaring at how fancy "Mark Adkins" looks inked across the page. Something that he is in fact not, no matter how badly he wants to pretend he is.

"It's the second time he's tried to serve her," I say quietly. "When he first left, he threatened her with them but dropped it and never mentioned it again. This is the first I've heard from him in... eight months now? Nine? And that's what he had for me. Divorce papers and a nasty attitude."

I watch as Austin's hands clench the paper. He exhales sharply and says, "So now what? He just expects you to take them to your mom? He expects her to actually sign them with no problem and go about her life like he didn't pull the shit that he did?"

My gaze darts up to his, and my chest physically unravels when I meet his cobalt gaze. I clear my throat, overwhelmed with how fiercely angry he looks and sounds on my behalf. Overwhelmed with relief to have someone like him in my corner.

"I'm not giving them to her," I assure him. "I don't even know where she is."

"He's not gonna go away that easily," Austin says wryly. "He'll be back eventually."

"I know," I agree. "But I think I'll be ready for him this time."

And this time, I mean it.

——

Thirty minutes later, Austin's Jeep pulls into the parking lot of a restaurant in downtown Memphis that I've never heard of.

"Mardi Gras Memphis?" I ask, amused.

Austin's laugh is strained, his eyes boring holes into the flamboyant clash of gold, green, and purple that adorns the brick building. "Reed picked the place. Guess he's feeling homesick."

I unfasten my seatbelt and twist in my seat to face him. His hands are clenched tightly around the steering wheel, and his posture is stiff. His jaw ticks like he's expecting a bomb to detonate right in front of his eyes.

"Are you okay?" I ask gently, quietly.

Austin exhales roughly and kills the engine. "I'm good. Let's do this."

I haven't seen Austin this tense since the night he fired Lucas. It's clear to me that while both my mom and dad are my sore spots, any mention of Austin and Reed's father is his. It's unsettling to see him so frazzled, almost as if he's expecting the worst.

It reminds me a lot of myself.

We simultaneously exit the vehicle and I round the front of the Jeep, gingerly reaching for Austin's hand. He takes it, intertwining our fingers and giving my hand a gentle, relieved squeeze. We're both quiet as he leads me to the front of the building and opens the door for me.

I've never been to New Orleans, but from what Austin's told me about it, Mardi Gras Memphis screams New Orleans, Louisiana.

The walls are a vibrant gold with colorful mardi gras masks artfully decorating it. The wooden bar to the left of the entrance is painted a loud purple and green, and the dining tables even proudly display the black and gold Saints logo.

Austin's gaze zeroes in on a figure at the back of the restaurant, and I quickly realize that it's Reed. We weave through tables until we get to him, and I step back, watching fondly as Austin and Reed do the whole "bro" handshake/hug thing.

"Missed you fucker," Reed laughs, clapping Austin on the back.

Austin steps back, snorting. "It's been three weeks since you were last here."

Reed's gaze flickers to me and I smile sheepishly.

He grins wolfishly as Austin grabs my hand again, his eyes darting between the two of us. "Well that happened quicker than I expected it would. Good for you, man."

My cheeks flush crimson and I watch on in amusement as Austin playfully pulls Reed into a headlock. I feel a sense of ease at seeing how much more relaxed Austin is, at least for now.

Reed pushes Austin away and takes my hand, shaking it formally. "It's nice to officially meet you, Aria. But I have to ask, what the hell do you see in my brother?"

Austin groans and ushers us into black metal folding chairs. "Keep it up and I'll key the side of your Mercedes, asswipe."

A waitress swoops in before Reed can respond, quickly taking our drink orders. Her accent resembles Austin and Reed's slower southern drawl, so I can only assume that she's from Louisiana as well.

"You and fucking unsweet tea," Austin grumbles, watching with narrowed eyes as Reed foregos a straw completely and guzzles half the glass in one swallow.

"That's a sin in the south," I agree, gingerly taking a sip of my sweet tea.

Our waitress, Glenda, bustles back to our table and pulls a notepad from her apron, loudly clicking the back of her pen against it. "Do y'all need a minute to look at the menus or are you ready?"

Reed leans forward and flashes the middle-aged woman a boyish grin. "All three of us will have the shrimp po boy with a side of fried pickles, please, ma'am. And ranch dressing. Lots of it."

"Comin' right up, darlin," she chirps, not even bothering to write the order down before she scampers away.

The minute she steps away from the table, Austin leans forward and slaps Reed in the forehead with his rolled silverware. "Dude, you can't just order for us without asking us what we want to eat. It's rude."

"Damn, my bad," He rubs his forehead, shrugging. "I thought everybody liked shrimp po boys?"

"I'm allergic to seafood," I say calmly.

Both of the Delaney siblings turn to me with wide eyes.

"Holy shit, I am so-"

"I'm kidding," I snort. "I actually love shrimp po boys. But I bet you'll think about that next time, huh?"

Austin laughs loudly, and Reed just slumps down in his seat, a smirk on his face. "Yeah, you'll fit in fine."

I silently cheer at that.

"So," I say, "Austin tells me you're in real estate. What exactly do you do?"

Reed leans forward on his forearms. "I work for a real estate agency right outside of New Orleans. I mainly work with people who are interested in flipping houses in order to turn a profit. It's easy money, and I get to watch people destroy shit. It's awesome," he grins.

"And he's clearly very humble about it," Austin deadpans.

"How's the club?" Reed asks, fiddling with his glass. "Doing better than the one in New Orleans?"

Austin shifts in his seat. "Much better. Hired a new guy to replace Lucas and he's faster with intake and distribution, plus he doesn't steal from me, so it's definitely an upgrade."

Austin pauses, clearing his throat. "So, why did you want to-"

"And, here y'all go!" Glenda chirps, carefully placing three baskets of sandwiches in front of us. "Y'all enjoy, and holler if you need anything, okay?"

"That was fast," I laugh.

Austin grunts in reply and reluctantly reaches for his platter.

"Y'all are gonna love 'em, trust me," Reed says, dousing the inside of his sandwich in hot sauce. "Almost as good as the ones back home."

With his mouth full, Austin asks, "How'd you even find out about this place?"

"I've lived here for twenty-one years and never heard of it," I murmur, popping a fried pickle chip in my mouth.

But Reed is right, because they're damn good.

"Your ass is always working every time I come visit you," Reed shrugs. "Best use of my time has been spent finding restaurants and bars since my only brother ignores me every time I'm here."

Austin rolls his eyes. "Ignore him, Aria. He's the baby of the family and can't go five minutes without attention."

I smile fondly, thinking about how much Reed reminds me of Savannah. "Kind of like someone else we know."

Twenty minutes later, each of our plates are empty, crumpled up napkins sitting atop them.

"Okay," Austin says, leaning back in his chair. "You gonna wipe the ranch dressing off of your face and tell me your news or do I have to pry it out of you?"

Reed burps loudly. "You're good at prying information out of people."

He then turns to me, smirking widely. "Has Austin ever told you about his peewee football incident in the third grade?"

I raise an eyebrow, my lips tugging into a grin. Before I can speak, Austin reaches forward and blatantly knocks Reed's cup over, sending ice and watered down unsweet tea everywhere.

"Oops," he says dryly.

"God dammit, you asshole," Reed grumbles, quickly sopping up the tea with a napkin. He looks up at me with narrowed eyes and says, "Another thing this dick is good at; making it look like I pissed myself every time we go out to eat."

I laugh. "Do you do this a lot?" I ask Austin.

He rubs a hand across his chin, scratching at the stubble there. "I have no idea what you're talking about," He says innocently.

"Anyway, the peewee incident-"

"Stop stalling!" Austin groans. "Just fucking tell me, already."

"Another time, Aria," Reed says seriously.

I stifle a laugh. But my heart races, because the tension in the air visibly shifts.

"Okay," he says, sighing loudly. "I wanted to tell you in person. And I wanted to do it in public in case you tried to beat my ass."

Austin shoots me a look that says "I told you so."

Reed rubs the back of his neck nervously.

"I've been visiting Dad," he says, stoically. "And I think you know that."

Shit, I think numbly.

Austin visibly stiffens. "I figured," he mumbles sharply.

I gingerly place my hand on his thigh underneath the table, giving it a squeeze. He relaxes some.

"I know that you know he has a parole hearing coming up," Reed continues, "You know that he might be eligible for an early release. And as much as you like to act like you don't keep up with him, I know you do. The first time I visited him, one of the CO's asked if I was the one that kept calling about Dad. It wasn't hard to put two and two together, but I knew the last thing you wanted was for me to know that."

Reed sighs loudly, dropping his arm on the table loudly. "And I know you do that whole pride thing, where you try to act tough and act like nothing bothers you,"

Austin flinches, and I gingerly squeeze his thigh again. He places a hand on mine, tightly squeezing my hand in return.

"But I'm asking you to let that go. To just set that shit aside, because it's stupid and pointless," Reed rambles.

"Why?" Austin asks sharply.

"Huh?"

"Why is it pointless? It doesn't affect you. The way I cope with my fucking daddy issues doesn't fucking affect you. So why are you bringing this up?" He snaps.

Eyes wide, I squeeze his thigh again to remind him that we are in fact in public, and that it's best not to cause a scene.

"Dad has pancreatic cancer, Austin," Reed blurts. "He's fucking dying, alright?"

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

"Have you read any of his letters? I know you get them. And I know you've gotten every single one for the last twenty-four years," He says hotly.

Austin doesn't respond. The air around our table is dead silent, despite the jazz music playing from the stereo and the chatter from other customers.

Without warning, Austin sharply stands up, his chair loudly screeching against the checkered linoleum floor as he pushes away from the table. And without thinking, I immediately stand up, ready to go after him.

Until I realize that Reed is still sitting across from me, staring blankly at Austin's back as it exits the restaurant.

"I-"

"Go," Reed says quietly. "Go after him and try to talk some sense into his stubborn ass. If anyone can, it's you."

"Thank you for the meal. It was nice meeting you," I say, rushed. And then, I hightail it out of there.

The breeze whips at my hair wildly the minute I burst through the door. I look in the direction of his Jeep, my heart beating wildly when I see him leaning against the driver's side door, head down and hands in the pockets of his jeans.

I carefully walk toward him. His head snaps up, and my heart constricts tightly at the emotion clouding his eyes. Anger, guilt, and sadness swarm angrily in his dark blue, almost black, gaze.

I step forward, my hands resting on his waist, my fingers tightly clenching the fabric of his t-shirt. I bow my head and rest my forehead on his chest, swallowing roughly when he wraps his arms around my shoulders, caging me against him.

"I'm not here to change your mind," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. "Don't let anyone change your mind, okay? Whatever you want to do. Whatever your reasoning behind what it is that you want to do is, it's valid. You're allowed to feel angry and hurt. Whatever you want to do, I'll back you."

I pause and close my eyes. Austin hugs me tighter.

"I need a cigarette," he grumbles into my hair.

I pinch his waist playfully. "No you don't."

I pull my head back and look up at him. His jaw ticks, but he meets my gaze. "You take care of everyone else. Let me take care of you," I repeat his words back to him.

He exhales sharply. It's quiet for a minute, the two of us just staring at each other. We probably look insane to anyone else, but I don't care.

"I think now would be an appropriate time to tell you to let me drive you home," I say quietly. "But I'd probably wreck your car."

Austin laughs quietly. "You should've let me teach you when I offered," he murmurs.

"We have plenty of time for that. I'm not in a rush," I say.

I don't remember who breaks eye contact or pulls away first, just that one minute we're staring at each other and the next we're sitting in his Jeep surrounded by the familiar, calming smell of cinnamon and leather.

The ride back to my house is silent, and when I notice that we're about ten minutes away, I inconspicuously text Savannah. She responds quickly, saying that her new friend and her mom will be bringing her home, which is a huge deal considering a month ago she absolutely refused to let anyone she'd befriended see our house.

I think it's safe to say her and I have both made major strides in opening up and letting people in, and I mean that quite literally.

We pull up at my house, and Austin kills the engine.

"Will you come inside?" I ask quietly, unbuckling my seatbelt.

Austin snaps his head up. "You want me to?"

I nod. "Please."

He visibly swallows, but nods. Within minutes we're bounding up the front steps together. I lead him to the couch, and he falls backwards, closing his eyes and sighing loudly.

I curl up next to him. Head leaned against the back of the couch, he opens one eyelid and reaches an arm out. I take his unspoken cue and willingly oblige when he pulls me over his lap. Legs on either side of his, I lace my arms around his neck, digging my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

"How are you feeling?" I ask.

He hums thoughtfully. "Confused," he admits. "Torn. Angry. So fucking angry. I felt too much like him today."

"But you're not him," I say heatedly, determined to show this man that if he's in my corner, I'm in his too. "You share the same blood, but you are not him. You're the kindest, most selfless man I know. And not to say your dad isn't, I've never met him, but the choices he makes are not a reflection of the person you are."

"You're using my lines on me," He rasps, amused.

"What if you read the letters? All the way from the beginning. Start there, let them guide you to your decision," I suggest quietly.

If what Reed said is true, and that Austin actively calls to check on his dad, despite not wanting anyone to know, then I'm almost positive he's kept every single letter he's ever been sent.

Austin nods, confirming my suspicions. He sighs. "You're right."