"About an hour ago. Maybe two." She shrugs like she's lost track of time, or stopped caring about it. "I wasn't planning to come here, but I know the house is going to need work before it's livable. I’m hoping Cole will let me stay with him."
"The house?"
"Mom and Dad's place. Cole and I keep saying we should sell but just haven't been able to bring ourselves to do it."
She says it like she's explaining something simple, but the words are loaded with everything she's not saying. Her parents died three years ago, and Gemma didn't come to the funeral. Cole made excuses for her at the time. Work obligations. Travel difficulties. The explanations never quite added up, but grief makes you accept things you shouldn't.
Now, looking at the woman in front of me, I understand why she didn't come. Someone kept her away.
"You hungry?" The question comes out before I can stop it. "Kitchen's technically closed, but I can throw something together."
Her mouth curves in what might be the ghost of a smile. "You still can't cook, Will."
"I can heat things up. Big difference."
That almost earns a real smile, but not quite.
"Maybe just some fries? If it's not too much trouble."
"No trouble."
I head toward the kitchen, grateful for something to do with my hands. Through the pass-through window, I can see her sitting at the bar, and the image catches somewhere in my ribs I'd rather not examine.
Gemma Holloway is Cole's little sister. She used to follow us around when we were young, asking questions neither of us wanted to answer. I remember her at sixteen, fearless on the back of Cole's bike. At twenty, home from college and arguing politics with anyone who'd engage. At twenty-four, the year she left, looking at the world like it owed her an adventure.
At twenty-five, standing beside me while they lowered Sarah into the ground.
She'd known Sarah. Not well, but enough. Sarah had been part of the Brotherhood family, had helped build what the Ironside became. Gemma had watched us together at cookouts and club events, had seen what our marriage looked like from the outside. I wonder sometimes what she thought of us. Whether she saw the reality or just the surface.
The fries take eight minutes. I use the time to get my head straight, which works about as well as it ever does. When I bring the basket out to her, she's staring at the door like she's waiting for someone to walk through it.
"Cole's ten minutes out," I tell her. "Said to keep you here."
"Like I'm going anywhere." She reaches for a fry, then stops with her hand halfway there. "I should warn you. I'm not the same person I was when I left."
"Nobody stays the same, Gemma."
"No, I mean..." She trails off, and her jaw tightens. "I mean I'm a mess. I know I'm a mess. And I'm not going to pretendotherwise, so if you're expecting some happy reunion story about how I went off and had a great life, that's not what this is."
There's defiance in how she says it. A dare. She's used to people judging her. Used to defending herself before anyone can attack.
"Eat your fries," I say instead of any of the things I want to say. "You look like you haven't had a decent meal in weeks."
Her laugh is humorless. "Months, actually. But who's counting."
She eats three fries before pushing the basket away. I don't comment on it, but I clock it. I clock everything, and I hate that I notice, because none of this is my business and I have no right to the anger building low in my gut.
"The marriage ended," she says suddenly, ripping off the bandage all at once. "In case you were wondering. That's why I'm here. That's why I look like this."
"I wasn't going to ask."
"But you were thinking it." Her eyes meet mine, and for the first time I see a flash of the Gemma I remember. Sharp. Direct. "You've been watching me since I walked in like you're trying to figure out what happened."
"Am I that obvious?"
"You're about as subtle as a sledgehammer, Will. You always have been."
Despite everything, that makes me smile. She's not wrong.
