“You done?” I bite out, because her question hit a nerve.
Asher, my brother—the one who shielded me from our father’s fists whenever he could—wouldn’t have. Hell, he would have killed the bastard long before he died.
But Asher, the self-centered star quarterback he’s now become? Maybe.
Either way, I’ll never know.
“Yeah,” Kit says with a little bite of her own. “I’m done.”
She starts to walk away, but I call her back. “Kit.”
“Yes?”
I tell her the truth, because she’s the only one I can be one-hundred-percent honest with. “I don’t know.”
She ambles over to me. “Then don’t you think it might be worth finding out?” Her gaze holds mine. “I will never force you to do anything you don’t want to. Ever. But Asher’s extremely upset. He keeps begging me to tell you he’s sorry and to please talk to him.”
I don’t know what to do with that information.
Or rather…I do. But I don’t want to.
Sometimes holding on to the illusion is better.
Convincing myself that Asher was just like our father enabled me to put him in a box marked do not open and tuck him away on a shelf.
Because it was easier than admitting that what he did hurt me.
Or telling him why it did.
Leaning down, she kisses me on the cheek, but I turn and kiss her mouth.
Her lips part and I explore her deep, taking everything she has to offer because I’ve never needed anything the way I need her.
Visions of me fucking her on the kitchen table fill my head, but just when I’m about to act on the fantasy, she breaks the kiss.
“Sorry. I think that pancake is messing with my stomach.”
Mine too.
I love when my wife is right…said no man ever.
Do I want to talk to Asher? No.
The thought of hashing shit out not only makes me uncomfortable…it will require me doing something I absolutely fucking loathe.
Being vulnerable.
But he’s my brother. Which means if I ever came down with a disease that necessitates me needing a new kidney or part of a liver…he’s the best match.
That alone warrants a conversation.
Breslin answers the door after I knock. Usually, she doesn’t bother hiding her disdain for me. Nor do I for her.
“Hey.”
There’s a softness in her expression that I’ve never seen before. Well, not toward me. It’s freaking me the fuck out.
I know Kit didn’t tell her, because I asked her not to. Which means whatever this is has to do with her front row seat to my psychotic breakdown.
She gestures for me to come inside. “How are you?”
“Is Asher ho—”
“Can I get you something to drink or eat?” she says at the same time.
Goddammit. “Don’t do that.”
She blinks. “Do what?”
Make shit weird. “Be…nice.”
The only thing worse than coming here to talk to my brother is Breslin acting like we’re besties.
I gesture between us. “You’re the bitch and I’m the asshole. That’s how this relationship works.”
Odd thing is? Kit is my soul mate and the woman I love…
But it’s Breslin and I who are terrifyingly similar.
Not only do we both know how to hold one hell of a grudge against Asher…we’re both stubborn, standoffish people who would burn the world to the ground if anyone hurt someone we loved.
It’s probably why there’s mutual dislike between us. We cancel each other out.
Breslin’s mouth drops open. “You’re not an ass—” I give her a look. “Okay, yes you’re an asshole.” She crosses her arms. “Whatever, I was just trying to show you a little kindness and compassion. Won’t happen again.”
Thank fuck for that.
“Where’s Asher?”
“In his office.”
I look around. I’ve only been inside the house twice and didn’t pay attention either time, so I don’t really know the layout.
“You gonna show me where that is, Big Red, or do I need to break out a compass?”
“Follow me, prick,” she grits through her teeth.
Atta girl. Much better.
We pass Landon in the living room on the way. He flies off the couch when he sees me. “Preston, hey.” Breslin stops walking and he jogs over. “How are—”
“Unlike your girl here, I actually like you. Granted it has more to do with you saving my life than your personality.” I slap his back. “Don’t fuck up this friendship thing we got going, okay?”
He exchanges a glance with his fiancée. “Okay.”
With a huff, Breslin continues leading me to Asher’s office.
“I need you to do something for me.”
“Swear to God if you tell me to go fuck myself, I will slap you.”
“Nah, not that.” I smirk. “Not today anyway.”
“Fine. What can I do for you?”
“I need you and Landon to get lost for a little while. And just so we’re clear, by get lost? I mean leave the premises.”
I don’t want a single soul overhearing my conversation with Asher.
I’m expecting to have to fight her on this, but to my surprise she agrees. “Landon and I were gonna take Picasso for a walk.”
“Great. Go now.”
She knocks on the door when we reach Asher’s office, but I turn the knob. “I can take it from here.”
Throwing up her hands, she walks away.
Asher’s on the phone when I walk in, but his eyes nearly pop out of his head when he sees me. “I have to go, Joe. I’ll call you back. Fix that contract in the meantime.” He hangs up. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
I look around his office. It’s loaded with football memorabilia, but unlike our father’s office, there are also pictures of Breslin, Landon, and Picasso lining the walls and his desk.
My eyes snag on a picture of us from back when we were kids.
I remember it well. Asher was thirteen, and I was eleven. It was the day he won his first football game.
Everyone was trying to get his attention after the game, but he made a beeline for me who had been watching him from the sidelines…rooting as loud as my lungs would allow me to.
Walking over to the desk, I pick up the frame.
Asher was sweaty as hell and stunk like shit when he put his arm around me, but I didn’t care…because he was my first exception.
We weren’t just brothers.
We were best friends.
All each other had in that hellhole.
Funny how things change.
“That’s my favorite picture of us,” Asher states.
Given we have less than a handful together, that isn’t saying much.
But I know what he means. It was a good day. The first win of what would be many throughout his lifetime.
“Thirty-five to twenty-one,” I declare, recalling the score. “You creamed them.”
He laughs. “Yeah, but they came back next season and made us their bitches.”
“Only because your offense sucked.” I place the frame back down. “You were good—great in fact—but you didn’t have any protection.”