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“Half-brothers,” I correct automatically, drawing his gaze back to mine.

Revealing too damned much.

“Half-brothers,” he repeats softly.

I close my eyes against the throb in my head—it’s worse and it’s not from the migraine. It’s…my family, my brothers, my father.

“You don’t—” he begins.

But I can’t stop the words from coming free.

Can’t stop the truth from slipping out.

“They hated me—hate me,” I whisper, eyes still shut, despising that my voice is shaky. “Dad cheated with my mom. I’m the product…and was the constant reminder of his betrayal after Mom died and I went to live with them. Things weren’t…pleasant.”

He shifts slightly, but I don’t open my eyes.

“Beckie—my stepmom—never let me forget that I’m an open wound, and my dad and half-brothers took her lead.” I sigh. “I didn’t leave at sixteen, but I did leave as soon as I could legally get the hell out.”

“And now you’re on your own?”

I sigh again, peel back my lids, and look over at him. “I’ve been on my own for a long time.”

His dark brown eyes are almost black in the shadows. “How did you end up matchmaking?”

“Fate,” I say.

He snorts.

My lips turn up. “If fate is answering an ad in the newspaper to be an assistant. I was Tanya’s right-hand woman for a few years. It’s just the universe being an asshole that I ended up having to step in when she got sick and I took on her clients. One of whom happened to be a hockey player. He was really happy with my work so he recommended me to a friend.” I shrug as well as I’m able, considering I’m horizontal. “Pretty soon I’d matched my second and third hockey players…and it all spiraled from there. My name got around and pretty soon you guys were my entire client base.”

“Who did you match?”

I shake my head, mouth curving. “That’s not how my business works, and you know it. They share if they’re happy with my services. I don’t ever talk about my clients,” I say. “And certainly not with other clients.”

Iron-clad NDAs make that possible.

My clients trusting me to do my job helps as well—except, apparently, Ace, who turned down my matches.

Then chose me, so…

I rub at my forehead.

He frowns.

“I’m not like Tanya was,” I say, dropping my arm back to my side and returning my focus to the conversation. “I don’t put ads in papers or online. I don’t search people out. They come to me, and”—my lips quirk—“if I decide to work with them, I put my services to good use.”

“For a hefty fee.”

Now, yes.

After years of scraping by.

After finally feeling comfortable enough to invest in expensive shoes and a home base and an apartment, facials and weekly DoorDashes and an assistant of my own.

Who needs a raise, and…rent that’s doubled.

My temple throbs again.