“So wonderful to make your acquaintance.” Tierney’s mother swamped her, yanking her forward for a hug—probably one of gratitude. Gina shot visual daggers at Tierney until Mother pulled away from her.
“Mrs. Terrebonne,” Gina said, somehow making her voice less sharp than normal. Almost polite. “I’m your son’s personal assistant. I’m only here to—”
“Babysit me,” Tierney said, hiking his thumb into his chest like a proud two-year-old.
“Darling!” Mother slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “What have you done now that requires you to have a babysitter?”
Father, entering the hall just then, heard her and interrupted before Tierney could think up a good answer. “Ah, here you two are. We’re just waiting for Chase and Emily, then we’ll have a relaxing drink—”
“Mother and I have already had a few.”
“—before the guests begin to arrive.” He took his wife’s arm and began to lead her away after tipping his chin at them. “Glad to see you’ve made it, Gina.”
Gina smiled and leaned toward Tierney to whisper, “What he means is he’s glad to see I made you make it.”
“Yep. Is it any surprise that I am the way I am?” Tierney asked her. “I’m a product of my environment.”
“So’s your brother,” Gina said, arching her brows. “And he seems to be doing all right.”
Tierney stuck out his tongue at her, then hightailed it out of the room and toward the study and his father’s well-stocked bar.
Being part of the welcoming committee was excruciating, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Everyone who could possibly know about his meeting freak-out—plus the few who’d witnessed it in person—pretended to be ignorant. Still, Tierney had a drink in his hand the whole time as a prophylaxis against any snide looks, and he made a point of standing next to his favorite family member—his sister-in-law, Emily. By the time the torture of the receiving line was over, he was too blotto to notice if anyone was gossiping about him.
Total bonus: Ian didn’t show up, at least not before Father declared they’d done enough receiving, and the family moved on to the ballroom—the only room big enough to hold all the mourners his mother had invited. It also had a few nooks and crannies where Tierney could hide.
In spite of any unrequited feelings he’d had for Ian, he hadn’t been thinking about the dude the last few days. He hadn’t been able to think much at all, and the times he was sober enough to follow the workings of his brain, he’d mostly been concerned about his own survival. Which in turn encouraged him to stay as drunk as possible.
Dalton had floated across his mind many times since the disastrous meeting, though. Stunning Dalton who didn’t seem to hate him, even though he should.
But Ian hates me. He had to after the shit Tierney had said in that restroom. If he put all the people he’d pissed off or offended on a balance sheet against all the people who liked him . . . the page would bleed red. He was a social pauper. Wouldn’t Grandfather be so proud?
He was still grinning evilly over that when Chase’s hand landed on his shoulder. Possibly it appeared to be a friendly gesture to people around them, one brother comforting another, but to Tierney’s pressure points, it felt more about control. Chase was gripping him tightly enough to cause pinches of pain, sending Tierney a familiar message through some kind of nervous system Morse code: Don’t embarrass the family name. Terrebonnes certainly did not grin at wakes for beloved family members.
Tierney turned to smile brightly into his brother’s face.
“Just try and hold it together for another half hour, until after the big toast, then I’ll have Gina get your drunk butt out of here,” Chase said, smiling at him. Well, it might appear as a smile to anyone watching. To Tierney it looked like a grimace.
That toast thing again. He straightened up, trying to clear his mind enough to remember what it was that he should be worried about.
“I’m ready to go whenever you give me the sign,” Gina said, suddenly at his other elbow. How long had she been there? Tierney nearly lost his balance turning to look, but his brother’s hand steadied him. He tried to give her some side eye, but he couldn’t be sure it hit its mark—she was mostly a blob in a navy suit in his peripheral vision.
“Good,” Chase said, nodding at the blob. “I hate this fucking pretense,” he added in a mutter.
God, did he ever agree. “Dunno why they can’t send out a three-page holiday newsletter like ever’one else and say he kicked it.”
Chase squinted at him for a few seconds. “You drink too much,” he said, sounding dissatisfied. Not concerned or upset or even angry, just dissatisfied. One more family member who wasn’t up to par.
Or at least that was Tierney’s read on it. “You golf too much.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
Whatever, asswipe. His answer must have been all over his face, because Chase curled his lip and walked off.
“Tierney,” Gina sighed. “What are you planning to say?”
“Huh?” He spun around, and she grabbed his forearm to keep him from falling over. “Planning to say for what?”
“For the—”
“May I please have your attention?” Mother’s amplified voice boomed out over the room, hushing people up. “As you all know, we’re here to mourn the passing of Grandfather Terrebonne, who was felled by a massive heart attack just two weeks ago.” She turned her head slightly, as if overcome, and dabbed at her face with a cocktail napkin.
“However, we’re also here to celebrate the way Milton Terrebonne lived his life: honestly and courageously.”
Courageously? The word hit Tierney like a ton of bricks, and again Gina had to keep him from falling on his ass. Was that really how the old guy lived? Was hiding every aspect of yourself that might be lowbrow or open to criticism courageous? Well, shit, if it was, that made him the definition of courageous, didn’t it?
But I’m a coward. Tierney blinked, as Mother said something that filtered into his brain. Something about sharing memories. “. . . like to invite everyone who has a memory or sentiment about Grandfather Terrebonne to come forward and share it.”
As Mother kept talking, something inside him insisted he listen. It’s important. Necessary-to-his-survival kind of important. Something about Grandfather and cowardice. No, courage.