"Worth it, though?"
I consider the question longer than I should need to. "Yes. No. I don't know."
Gunnar watches me, his expression more serious than usual. “You wouldn’t drive here unannounced about that, though.”
"No," I admit after a long pause.
A beat of silence stretches between us. Then Gunnar says quietly, "So... the dentist."
I start to defend myself, but he cuts me off with a wave.
"I'm not judging. Em, and I like her. A lot." The sincerity in his voice surprises me. "The summer fling isn't such a carefree thing after all, is it?"
The phrase—my phrase, thrown back at me from that family dinner—lands like a punch. "Don't."
"Look, I saw you two at our wedding. The way you looked at each other." Gunnar leans forward. "She looks at you the way Em looks at me. That's rare, A."
My throat tightens. "Yeah, well, she also moved out the second things got complicated."
“I’d argue things have been complicated for you guys from the start.”
A sharp knock interrupts whatever Gunnar was about to say. He rises to answer the door, and I'm not entirely surprised to see Tucker standing there, a six-pack dangling from his hand.
“Twin sense. Figured you'd end up here," he says to me before nodding at Gunnar. "G."
“Fucker.” Gunnar takes the beer. "A's moping about the dentist."
"Yeah, well, he's been pathetic since she left," Tucker says, dropping onto the couch.
"I'm right here," I protest.
"Good." Tucker grabs a beer. "Then you can listen to people who actually care about you."
Gunnar retrieves his phone from the coffee table. "Want to see something interesting?" He scrolls for a moment, then turns the screen toward me. "Em got the first batch of wedding photos this morning."
I stare at the image—Lena and me on the dance floor, our bodies close, eyes locked. Even in the still photo, the intensity between us is palpable. Her hand on my shoulder, mine at her waist. The way we're leaning in, like magnets drawn together.
"Em said everyone at the wedding was talking about how you two couldn't keep your eyes off each other," Gunnar says.
"Or your hands," Tucker adds.
I look away from the photo. "It doesn't matter. She chose her career."
"So did you," Tucker says, unexpectedly serious. "She worked her ass off to get where she is. You, of all people, should understand that."
"It's different," I argue.
"Is it?" Gunnar challenges. "You've both dedicated your lives to your careers. You've both made sacrifices. The question is whether this sacrifice is worth it."
His words hit home in a way I wasn't expecting. I take a long pull of my beer, buying time to gather my thoughts.
"What if I'm not enough?" The question slips out before I can stop it, raw and honest in a way I rarely am with my brothers. "I wasn't for Adam."
"Adam's an asshole," Gunnar says firmly. "That doesn't reflect on you."
"You're comparing apples and garbage, bro," Tucker adds.
"You know what I was afraid of when Em and I first got serious?" Gunnar sets his beer down. "Not that I wasn't good enough for her. That what I was asking her to accept—the publicity, the travel, the scrutiny—wasn't worth it. That I was selfishly pulling her into a life she never asked for."
