The question hit Cole like a broadside from a semi. He stared into his glass, turning the question over in his mind. “You mean, like, cried?”

Mason shrugged. “I don’t know. Cried, punched a wall, yelled, anything.”

Cole felt his brother’s eyes on him now, but he himself kept staring into the amber liquid in his glass.

“I’m no psychologist, so what the hell do I know, but maybe if you tried to get past your fight…let it go…”

“I don’t know how to do that,” Cole said, his voice sounding raw, making him thankful for all the background noise.

“What do you think about when you think of Dad?” Mason asked.

“I try not to think of Dad.”

That that was a grave problem didn’t need to be spoken between them. It hung in the air like a neon sign.

“When you do, what do you think about?”

“That last argument.” Which was why he did his best not to think about him at all.

“Maybe try remembering some of the good stuff. There was a lot of good stuff. Dad loved you. He loved all of us. He was a good father…”

Harry North was a good father. Those words registered as true now. Their dad had been a damn good father. He loved all of his sons. According to Mason, he’d loved Cole, had known Cole loved him, had understood Cole. That would take some time to absorb, especially the part about them being alike, and Cole intended to give it some thought, see if it would sink in.

“I don’t know how to tell you to get past it,” Mason said, “but I suspect it might have something to do with what Sierra was talking about. If you could get past that fight with Dad, maybe quit punishing yourself with a crappy apartment in a crappy part of town, let yourself accept what’s rightfully yours from the company, from Dad…maybe you could give yourself permission to be happy.”

Cole jerked his head toward his brother, met his eyes for the first time tonight, because what he said, that last bit…something about it resonated. Penetrated his thick skull. Rang fucking true.

Mason stood, tossed some bills on the counter, and grabbed his coat, then slapped Cole on the back. “It seems like Sierra could make the right guy pretty damn happy,” he said, then, “Don’t forget to text Mom,” and he turned and walked out the door.

There was no doubt in Cole’s mind that Sierra was the one woman who could make him pretty damn happy. He wanted to be the guy who could make her happy too, and he was starting to think maybe it was possible. Maybe it was time to get past all his shit, enough to be the man she needed. Deserved.

Maybe, thanks to his brother, he could finally think his way through to that.

Chapter Thirty-Three