Juan’s eyes are wide when I catch him looking at me. “Everything okay?”
Nope.
Everything is not okay.
Chapter 5
Preston
I’m going to fucking kill him.
As if it wasn’t bad enough that my pinhead brother moved next door, I’m watching him jog back and forth in front of the driveway of Kit’s house, like some kind of creepy voyeur.
When his dog raises his hind leg and takes a piss on the gate blocking them from entering and Asher praises him, I’ve decided I had enough of his shenanigans and storm out there.
“Get the fuck off my property before I call the cops.”
Never in a million years did I think I’d become one of those, get off my lawn sissies, but here we fucking are.
My brother—who doesn’t look at all offended—smiles and waves. “Howdy, neighbor.”
“Don’t howdy neighbor me, dipshit. Get the hell off my property.”
He rubs his chin, pretending to think about this for a second. “Last I checked, this isn’t your property. It’s Kit’s.”
“And last I checked, Kit was my wife,” I remind him. “Or have you taken one too many hits to the head?”
“Your fake wife,” he grits out.
I cross my arms and stare him down. “Legally our marriage is very real.”
“So real you keep lying to her about being in contact with Mom when you’re really getting your rocks off with some other chick?”
Here we fucking go.
Last time we saw each other it resulted in a full-blown fistfight, given he put two and two together and figured out I lied to Kit about the woman on the phone being our mother when it was actually Charlotte.
However, my brother must still have a sense of loyalty to me because he hasn’t spilled the beans to her.
Yet.
“What I tell my wife is my business, not yours.” I point. “Now go.”
His expression turns solemn. “Kit’s a good person. She doesn’t deserve to get hurt.”
I hate that he’s right.
But if I tell her the truth, I won’t just hurt her…
I’ll obliterate her.
“You seem to have forgotten Kit’s a lesbian. Ergo, she doesn’t give a shit where I stick my dick. You shouldn’t either.” I pull my phone out of my pocket. “I wonder how quick the cops are in this town.”
“Dammit, Preston. Why do you hate me so much? What did I do?” His face falls. “How do we get past this?”
That’s the thing. We can’t.
“You can start by moving back to New Orleans, you fucking stalker.”
He feigns offense. “I am not stalking you. I’ve been looking into acquiring some more property during my off-season, and this house was a great deal.” He wags a finger. “You can thank your wife for asking us to help her move in because that’s when I saw it was for sale.”
Bullshit. Knowing Asher, he probably knocked on the door and offered the previous owners triple what it was worth just to ensure he could keep tabs on me.
I point to my face. “Do I look like I was born yesterday?”
“No, but you look like someone who keeps pushing away his brother. A brother who would do anything in the world for him.” His shoulders slump. “I’m begging here, man. Just tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it.”
It takes everything in me not to punch him in order to let out all the anger and frustration his presence is causing me.
“I don’t want you to fix it. I want you to go back to your new house, pack up your shit, and take your ass back to New Orleans.”
Hurt splashes across his face and he turns on his heel. “Come on, Picasso.”
I’m relieved. Until he stops walking.
“Fine. You want me gone? Done. But I want something in return. Actually, make that two somethings.”
“This isn’t let’s make a deal, asshole.”
Snorting, he turns back around. “Bullshit. Everything is a deal with you.”
He has me there.
“Start talking.”
He ticks things off with his fingers. “One—you have to tell Kit the chick she heard on the phone wasn’t our mother. And two—you have to tell me why you’re so angry with me.”
I can’t do either of those things…especially the latter.
“Fuck off.”
He holds his arms out wide. “I guess you’re stuck with me then, little brother. Or should I say…neighbor.”
Chapter 6
Kit
“You should have told me you moved, Breslin.”
“I was going to, but it was supposed to be a surprise.”
I pin the phone between my ear and shoulder as I finish typing up a scheduled Facebook post for Pretty Kitties. “Mailing a box of cupcakes to my house is a surprise. Sending me flowers is a surprise. Lighting a bag of dog poop on fire and leaving it on my front stoop is a surprise.” Albeit a shitty one. “Deciding to move to a different state and into the house next door to me isn’t a surprise.”
I can tell I’ve hurt her because she goes silent.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m happy I’ll be able to see you more often now…it’s just. Prest—” I catch myself and go with our secret code name instead. “Princess Monet isn’t happy about it.”
“Oh well. Maybe if he wasn’t using my best friend for her inheritance and refusing to tell his brother why he disappeared for three years without a trace—and then came back acting like said brother was lower than scum—we wouldn’t have to keep an eye on you two.”
I really shouldn’t be surprised by her statement, but still. It hurts that she thinks I can’t handle Preston on my own.
“I don’t need a babysitter, B.”
I’m expecting her to argue, but she doesn’t. “Asher wanted to move back so he could look out for his brother. Because he’s his family.” Her voice fills with trepidation. “And I agreed because you’re my family, Kit. We might not be blood, but you’re my sister.”
My heart squeezes because I feel the same way about her. I just hate that she feels like she has to watch my every move.
I’m about to tell her this, but then she says, “And because I love you, I want to be there to pick up the pieces after he hurts you. Because he will hurt you, Kit.”
He already has.
It’s hard not telling her what happened the night before I left for New York, but I know it will only make her hatred for Preston worse.
And seeing as she’s living next door now, I wouldn’t put it past her to march over there and castrate him.
I clear my throat. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore because we’ve decided to put the kibosh on it.”
Her voice is entirely too happy for the next words she delivers. “You’re getting divorced?”
“No. We’re just…” I glance across the room at Juan who’s listening intently given the curious expression on his face. “Not doing the extra stuff anymore.”