“No.” I barely sound like myself. My voice is so cold, I’m half surprised it doesn’t cloud the air in front of me. “Where is Cohen?” I could try approaching Maddox, but he’ll just tell me to deal with it on my own. For all that he’s the more approachable of the two, he’s the least likely to understand how fucked this situation is. I doubt Maddox has ever been in over his head even once in his life.

Not that Cohen has ever been in over his head, but he has six brothers so surely he can sympathize when one of them gets a stick up his ass and starts making commands that are none of his damn business.

“Upstairs.”

I don’t hesitate, pushing past him and starting up the stairs. It’s only when I reach the second floor, where all the private suites are, that I realize I might still be a little drunk and have lipstick smeared on my face and neck. It would be smart to slow down, to give myself time to gather my wits and figure out a game plan, but it’s as if I have too much momentum. I can’t stop, no matter how ill-advised this is.

Cohen and Maddox’s room is at the far end of the north hall. As best as I can tell, his bride, Winry—Monroe’s little sister—has been sharing their room the entire time. Unlike Broderick, who ceded his new space to Monroe and has been sleeping alone gods knew where. Because that makes sense. Avoid the problem and hope it goes away.

Just like he’s been avoiding me.

How dare he think he can tell me what I should or shouldn’t be doing? I’ve seen him a grand total of three times in three weeks, and each time he’s all but sprinted from my presence the second he gets an opening.

Not too long ago, I might have listened to him if he told me to stay away from Monroe. Our friendship has spanned nearly a full third of my life. In that time, Broderick has been nothing but steady and stable and taken care of everyone around him. He’s not the type to fly off the handle or lose his temper over something ridiculous. He just handles shit.

Until now.