CHAPTER 32: BROTHERS
The bar was upscale without being pretentious. Dark wood, leather booths, bartenders who knew how to make actual cocktails instead of sugary nonsense.
Kendall sat in a corner booth. Bourbon already in hand. He saw me, nodded.
I slid in across from him. Signaled the waiter. "Same as him."
Silence while the drink arrived. We both sipped. Looked anywhere but at each other.
Years of antagonism didn't disappear just because we'd had one good conversation on a defunct tennis court.
Finally, Kendall spoke. "This is weird."
"Yeah."
"We don't do this. Drinks. Talking. Being..." He gestured vaguely.
"Brothers?"
"Yeah. That."
My bourbon arrived. I took a sip. Smooth. Expensive. Everything in this family was expensive.
"We could do it," I said. "If we wanted to."
"Could we?" Kendall looked at me. Really looked. "I don't know how. I don't know how to be your brother instead of your competitor."
"Me neither. But we could figure it out."
He laughed. Bitter but not entirely without humor. "You really have changed. Old Roman would've made a dick joke and deflected."
"Old Roman was exhausting."
"What happened to him?"
I thought about the transmigration. About the soul-swap I could never explain. About waking up in this body and having to learn how to be a person from scratch.
"He grew up," I said instead. "Realized being the joke wasn't serving anyone."
Kendall drank. Set his glass down. "I was wrong about you. For years. I thought you were just... useless. The family fuckup. The one who'd never amount to anything."
"I was that. Mostly."
"But you're not now."
"No. I'm trying not to be."
"The hostage thing. The stroke. Even at Austerlitz—you were the only one who didn't pile on. The only one who..." He stopped. "You came to find me after. On the tennis court. That mattered."
"I know."
"Why did you do it? Why help me when it would've been easier to join Shiv and Dad in tearing me down?"
Because I knew what happened when Kendall felt cornered. When the pressure built too high. When he thought he had no allies.
He made mistakes. Fatal ones. Literally fatal.
But I couldn't say that.
"Because you're my brother," I said simply. "Because this family's default is destruction and someone needs to choose differently. Might as well be me."
Kendall studied me. Politician's son, trained to read subtext and hidden agendas. Looking for the angle.
He wouldn't find one. There wasn't one. Not in this.
"I don't know if I trust this," he said quietly. "You being... supportive. It could be positioning. Building an alliance for some future play."
"It could be. But it's not."
"How do I know that?"
"You don't. Not yet. But if I keep showing up, keep being honest, keep choosing support over sabotage—eventually you will."
He drank again. Processing.
"Okay," he said finally. "Okay. Let's try this. Being brothers. Actually supporting each other instead of competing for Dad's approval like trained dogs."
"Deal."
We clinked glasses. Small gesture. But significant.
"Can I ask you something?" Kendall said.
"Sure."
"If things get bad. If I'm making a mistake or walking into something dangerous. Would you tell me?"
My stomach tightened. Because things were going to get bad. Very bad. And I knew exactly when.
The wedding. The party after. The drive. The kid in the road.
"Yes," I said. "I'd tell you."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
And I meant it. Even knowing what it would cost. Even knowing the impossibility of warning him about something I wasn't supposed to know was coming.
I'd figure it out. I had to.
Kendall relaxed slightly. "Good. Because I don't trust many people. But I think... maybe I could trust you."
"You can."
We drank. Talked about other things. Work. The family. The absurdity of therapy. Normal conversation between brothers instead of rivals.
The bartender—older guy with professional discretion—brought our refills without being asked. Caught my eye. Small nod. Professionals recognizing professionals.
I nodded back.
Around nine, Kendall checked his phone. "I should get going. Early meeting tomorrow."
"Yeah. Me too."
We stood. Awkward moment—hug? Handshake? What did brothers do?
Kendall offered his hand. I shook it.
"This was good," he said.
"It was."
"Let's do it again. Make it a regular thing."
"I'd like that."
He left. I settled the tab. Walked out into Manhattan evening.
The promise echoed. If things get bad, I'll tell you.
Things were going to get very bad.
And I didn't know how to keep that promise without revealing everything I shouldn't know.
But I'd made it. And I'd keep it. Somehow.
The wounded king, trying to save his brother from a tragedy only he could see coming.
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