Roman shook his head. “Where is he, anyway?”
Lucy pointed thumbs upward. Roman stormed up the stairs and entered Chase’s office without knocking.
“Mind telling me what the hell you were thinking?” Roman slammed the morning paper onto his brother’s desk.
“ ’Bout what?”
Roman leaned forward in a threatening stance that had no effect on his big brother. Chase merely relaxed further. He rocked backward, and the top of what was once their father’s leather chair touched the windowsill, blocking a view Roman knew by heart. The pond and aging willow trees standing guard below were as much a part of him as this old Victorian house that was and always had been the Gazette offices.
“You’re too smart to play dumb and I’m not in the mood for games. Any reason you had to use my name at all?” Roman asked Chase.
“I print the news. If I’d left out Whitehall’s quote, it would have been a glaring omission.”
“To who?”
“Anyone in town old man Whitehall talks to. I don’t want people around here thinking we play favorites or protect family members.”
“A past prank isn’t news.”
Chase shook his head. “As a reporter you know better.” He rocked the chair forward. “You couldn’t give a rat’s ass what people think of you, so I can’t believe the article’s got you so bent out of shape. What really has you so pissed off anyway?” He rose from his seat and walked over, his gaze never leaving Roman’s face.
“You go back to living with our mother and you won’t need to ask that question.”
“That’d drive you to drink, not want to put me through a wall. This has nothing to do with Mom. Come to think of it, you look like hell. What’d you do? Dig ditches last night, instead of getting laid?”
“It wouldn’t have just been ‘getting laid,’ ” Roman responded without thinking.
“Come again?” Chase pushed Roman into the nearest chair, then slammed the door to his office closed. “Never know when Lucy’ll get bored and wander up here,” he explained, then opened the cabinet in the corner.
Their father had always stored liquor in there and Chase hadn’t changed things that much. He splashed two glasses of scotch and handed one to Roman. “Now talk.”
No matter that it was morning, Roman kicked back in the chair and downed the drink in one burning gulp. “I needed that. And I don’t have a clue what you mean.”
Chase raised his gaze upward. “You’re pissed as hell that you lost the coin toss. You’re pissed your life has to do a one-eighty, and because you think you owe me, you weren’t going to admit it.”
“Damn right.” There was no point in denying the obvious. Even if Charlotte made the prospect of marriage and children more appealing, his life plans had changed since his return home, and not by freedom of choice.
“Don’t do it if you can’t live with it.” Chase braced his arms on the desk. “I told you that night, no one would blame you if you backed out.”
“I’d blame me. Did I ever tell you how much I respect you for the decisions you made?”
“You don’t have to tell me. I know how many people you’re reaching with your news and your talent. And every time I read a piece you wrote, every time you send clippings home, you show me what kind of man you are. And how much you appreciate everything you have in your life.”
Roman glanced at Chase and shook his head. “I’m not talking about how much I appreciate life. We both know I do. I’m talking about how much I respect you.” He stood and shoved his hands into his back pockets. “It wasn’t until I lost that coin toss that I fully understood the sacrifice you made. You did it young and I respect you for it.”
“Sacrifice is too strong a word,” Chase said as he inclined his head.
Roman had embarrassed his brother and Roman knew it was as much of an acknowledgment of thanks as he’d get.
“Now tell me what Charlotte Bronson has to do with things,” Chase said.
Roman poured himself another drink. Because Chase had made tough choices in his lifetime, no one would understand better what Roman was going through now than his big brother. “I love my life. The travel, the stories, informing people about important things in the world.”
Chase shot him a wry smile. “Even when we were kids, I always related to you best. I saw myself in you.” He inhaled deeply. “When Dad died, I knew my dreams had gone with him. But if I couldn’t be the one to travel, I was damn well going to make sure you had the opportunities I didn’t.”
A swell of emotion rose in Roman’s throat. “I owe you for that.”
Chase waved away the words. “I didn’t do it so one day you could owe me. Payback is the last thing I want. If I still wanted to travel, I could get on a damn plane now. My life is fine. So if you can’t do this thing and be satisfied,” he said, speaking of the coin toss, “then don’t do it.”
“Hey, I have every intention of doing my duty, but damned if I can see myself tied to just any woman in this town. Not when . . .”
“Not when there’s only one you want.”
Roman reached for the bottle again, then shoved the liquor away instead. “Exactly,” he said, facing Chase’s words head-on.
He pushed himself out of the chair and walked over to the window. He gazed out at the scenery that had always given his father such great pleasure—he knew this because all three kids had taken turns sitting on their father’s lap as he typed in an article, took ads on the phone, or just hung out with his children, all with this view behind him. Computers replaced the old Smith Corona typewriters now, and the trees were larger, the roots buried deeper, but otherwise things hadn’t changed. Young as he’d been when his father was still alive, Roman’s memories were vague. But they existed on the fringe of memory and gave him comfort, even now.
“It’s obvious she’s interested in you too, so what’s the problem?”
Roman inhaled. “I don’t want to hurt her and everything about this coin toss and my plan reeks of her dad, Russell Bronson.”
“Damn.” Chase pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I’ll take that as an agreement.”
“So who’s in the running instead?” Chase asked.
Roman watched as a breeze blew through the branches on the not-yet-budding trees. Only the yellow forsythia and the newly green grass added color to the setting below. As he stared down, a distant memory came into focus, of a family picnic he’d had here, one planned by his mother in an attempt to get his workaholic father out for fresh air and time with the kids. He could almost smell the chicken sandwiches his mom had made and hear his father’s voice as he coached Rick on how to hold a bat while Raina pitched the ball.