swinging around to her. “I mean, I’m sorry about everything. And how you found out.”
She kept as little emotion in her eyes as possible, unwilling to be vulnerable for him again.
Eric took a step forward and set his hands opposite hers on the counter. For a moment he seemed distracted by the piercing jewelry beneath the glass, or maybe it was the metal cock rings, but then he shook his head. “I can’t really explain why I didn’t tell you my real name. It doesn’t make any sense. It was wrong, and I knew it at the time.”
“But you didn’t care.”
“It didn’t feel real. I don’t mean you, of course,” he said quickly. “You felt… Yeah.”
Her lips started to tilt up, so she pressed them together.
Eric cleared his throat. “But it was all a fantasy, wasn’t it? I’m not the kind of guy who meets a beautiful woman and invites her to a hotel room. It felt like I was someone else.”
“Your brother?”
He winced. “No. Just not myself.”
She wanted to hate him. She did hate him. But she also knew what he meant. She wasn’t the type of woman who slept with a man just a few hours after meeting him. Not that she’d admit that to Eric.
“You look more like an Eric,” she said.
“Do I?”
Beth shrugged. “You can go now,” she said icily, determined not to give in to the twinge of understanding she felt for him.
Silence hung heavy for a moment, and then he nodded. “All right. But I wasn’t playing a game. I don’t want you to feel I made a fool out of you.”
She froze. “Excuse me?”
“I didn’t,” he said quickly.
“Oh, I know you didn’t. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
His eyes widened in alarm. “Of course! I didn’t mean to imply—”
“You made a fool out of yourself, Eric Donovan,” she said past a tight jaw. “I’m fine. I’m great.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I know you are.” His head bowed, but when Beth took a step back, he looked up again. The lines around his eyes looked deeper. “Thanks for letting me in. I just wanted to be sure you were okay.”
“I am.”
“Good.” He left then, unlocking the door and offering a grim wave as he slipped out. Beth just stood there as he left and told herself she was glad she’d never see him again. He was a liar and a cheat, and he didn’t deserve her attention.
Unfortunately, she knew from experience that he might still get it.
TALKING TO HER HADN’T helped.
Oh, maybe his conscience was very slightly appeased, but now Beth was in his head, stuck there like a spirit exacting its revenge.
Returning to the brewery didn’t help, either. Tessa gave him a thumbs-up and a big smile, which made him feel like a wayward kid. And Jamie ignored him completely, which made Eric want to shove him and start a fight, just so they’d be interacting.
Eric had always been the mature one. Hell, when their parents were killed, he was only twenty-four, but he’d taken on the responsibility of his teenage siblings and the brewery, and he’d done it well. There’d been no partying, no vacations and very little dating in the thirteen years since then.
He’d worked. And he’d parented. And he’d set a good example. He’d done what he needed to do, despite the fact that he’d felt inadequate and scared to death the whole damn time.
But something had gone wrong in the past couple of years. Very wrong. His skin felt as if it had started shrinking, squeezing everything too tight inside his body. And his skull felt too small as well; he wore that tension like a helmet, making it hard to think. He felt…panicked. Which made no sense.
Despite the deal with the Kendall Group falling through, not to mention the trouble that had come after, things were going great. Profits had risen six percent for each of the past four years. A nice, steady growth. Jamie had finally grown up and was taking on new responsibilities. Tessa was happier than ever. And they were all finally getting along. Everything was good. And Eric felt…lost.
He’d lost his hold, somehow. He’d lost control. The plans to expand the brewery into a restaurant were not part of Eric’s plans, but he couldn’t say no. They were partners, after all, he and Jamie and Tessa. Equal. And yet Eric wasn’t equal. Not in his mind. And maybe not in theirs, either. Because he wasn’t a Donovan. Not really. It felt like the worst sort of injustice that their dad had left him an equal part of the Donovan business, a cruel joke that Eric was the one to lead the brewery for so long.
Because, despite all the wonderful things he’d done for Eric, despite the role he’d filled, Michael Donovan hadn’t been Eric’s real father.
Eric could still remember his real dad, though only in broken bits and pieces. He’d come around on the weekends for the first few years after Eric was born. Then only on holidays. Then not at all.
Eric had his father’s hair and his eyes. He had his genes. And not a drop of Donovan blood to justify his ownership of this place or the unconditional love that Michael Donovan had shown him.
Thinking about it made Eric’s skull feel even tighter, so he rolled his neck and closed his eyes. Even his office felt too small. But he didn’t want to spend time near Jamie, so Eric decided to catch up on the bottling schedule. It’d be a bitch working the line by himself, but it would be worth it if it wore him out. At least he’d get some sleep.
Eight hours later, when Eric headed home, he was definitely exhausted, but his mind was still working as frantically as ever.
“Dinner tomorrow!” Tessa yelled just as he escaped, and Eric winced. Sunday dinner with the family was not in his comfort zone this week. But if he didn’t show, he’d look ashamed or cowed. Shit.
When he got to his condo—a simple two-bedroom that was nearly ascetic, even to his own eye—Eric made a sandwich, grabbed a beer and turned on a boxing match. Boxing was the perfect sport, in his opinion. There were rules and structure, but it was the most basic of all competitions. The most primal. Beat the other guy, literally. All other sports seemed to want to dance around that issue. “Yeah, you can physically destroy your opponent, but you have to be holding a ball while you do it.” That smacked of dishonesty to Eric, but maybe he was only feeling sensitive to the issue.
Once it became clear that both boxers in this match were hitting for points instead of a knockout, Eric turned off the TV, grabbed another beer and headed for the shower.
Ten minutes later, he was in bed and clicking on the TV in the bedroom, his body still as tense as ever.
This was his life. Work. His family. And this white-walled condo. Yet his family had grown up. Both Tessa and Jamie had significant others now. They both had homes they’d taken the time to make their own. And they’d grown into the brewery, too. Eric’s role in their lives was shrinking, and how the hell was he supposed to
