“I’m here for business.”
“You have no business with my family! You have no right to fuck with my family.”
“I’m not fucking with anyone!” she argues back. But her eyes, tawny, innocent, and beautiful, flash with guilt. “I’m here for work, and trust me, when I didn’t see your car in the lot, I was happy.”
“You tried to sneak in, literally the day after we met. That’s not business. That’s you trying to be a sneak bitch.”
Her eyes spark with temper. And maybe a little hurt.
“You and I can go a million rounds,” I seethe. “I’m young and have energy for days. If you wanna fling your drama at me, then I’m here to play. If you wanna send Jackson my way, then fuck knows I take pleasure in hurting him. I’ll play,” I nod. “I’ll fuckin’ play with you both. I’ll take pleasure in making you both cry, just like he made my sister cry. But coming to my family is not fucking okay!”
“I heard your sister is a stuck-up bitch.” Her words are a whisper. But a dare. “I heard she said yes to everything he was offering. Then was butt-hurt when he sent her home.”
My fist clenches. Opens. Closes. “My sister is a fucking angel. She’s the woman that was literally here two seconds ago. Yeah.” I nod when her eyes widen. “You didn’t even know that was her, because you don’t know her. Brooklyn isn’t perfect, no one is. But she’s caring. She’s kind. And she has a tendency to search for the best in everybody. So even though she would have heard me bitch about Jackson a billion times, she’d have been determined to be kind to him. He knew that, he got her alone. And then he sent her home crying, all because he was pissed at me.”
“You mean like what you did to Jackson’s sister?” She straightens her spine, swallows, and meets me glare for glare. “You figured you’d do the same, trick his caring sister, his kind sister, into a night of debauchery, then send her home to face a broken engagement?”
“If she was in love with her fiancé, then she wouldn’t have given me a second look.”
“You didn’t even want her!” she snaps. “You just wanted revenge. You used Jenna, just like he used Brooke. How are your actions any better than his?”
“They’re not,” I growl out on a low timbre. “My actions were no better. But that doesn’t mean he gets a free pass. Jackson had a problem with me, which means he should have dealt with me. He took it to my family, and now we know how far I’ll go to protect my family.”
I press a hand to her chest, and push her back until she has no choice but to fold against the car. “Think about that, Madilyn. If you wanna have beef, then we can go a few rounds. I’ll fight fair. But now you’ve brought it to my family. Think about what that means for you, your safety, and your mental health. Because I don’t stop. I won’t stop. I will die to protect my family.”
The moment I step back inside my gym, I snatch Lyss from Brooke’s arms and bring her to my chest.
She’s a big girl, way too big to be lifted and carried around, but I do it anyway. I’ll do it when she’s ten, if she lets me. And when she’s twenty, she’ll still be small enough that I’ll pull her to me rather than let her be hurt by men the way Jackson hurt Brooke…
And the way I hurt Jenna Price.
“Are you okay?” she whispers. She pulls back, and works to cup my face. “Uncle Bry?”
I nod. “I’m sorry if I scared you, baby. Uncle is sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She grins. “I wasn’t scared. You were mad, huh?”
“Little bit.”
Behind her, I catch my mom’s fiery gaze. Her flexing fists. And because I’m going to die today, I place one last kiss on my niece’s cheek and set her on her feet.
The second I release her, I incline my head. Shame. Pure shame.
“Mom… I’m sorry for speaking to you that w—”
I expect a blow. I expect to be knocked on my ass. But what I don’t expect is for her to run at me and wrap her arms around my stomach so tight that I might pop.
She presses her face to my chest, buries her face against my sweaty shirt.
Then her breath hitches.
“Oh god. Mom?” Tears rush to my eyes. Because when Kit Kincaid cries, the whole world is dying. “Please don’t cry, Mom. I’m sorry.” I brush her hair back. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to cuss at you.”
“I don’t care that you cussed, stupid.” She squeezes me tighter. Tighter. Tighter. “Baby, I just…” She shakes her head.
“Mom?”
She pulls back. “You race?” Bright blue Reilly eyes study me with tears sparkling in them. My mom was a Reilly; they came with blue eyes and a single dimple. I’m pure Kincaid; dark hair, dark eyes, dark, dark, dark. But those blue eyes, they’re heartbroken now as they look into mine. “Baby, that’s dangerous. Have you learned nothing? You don’t understand the curse on this family when it comes to cars?”
“I just…” I swallow. “I’m careful. And I’m good at it.”
“Grandpa Bry was good at it too, baby. Hell, Grandpa Charlie was good too. They both raced. They were both idiots that liked the smell of burning rubber.” She reaches up and wipes a hand over my cheek. “They’re gone, baby. They’re both gone, and losing you is not an option.”
“Grandpa Charlie didn’t die from racing, Mom. You’re smudging the truth.”
“He’s still gone,” she says. “Grandpa Bry is gone. Steph is gone. Aunt Tina and Aunt Iz almost died in a car. Cars and this family do not mix, so why would you tempt the world like that? Why would you do that?”
“What do you think I’m doing on the weekends, Mom? I have a racing car, it comes home dusty every Saturday and Sunday. It’s basically a neon sign saying that I like to hang out at Piper’s Lane.”
“Uncle Jack has a fast car too,” she counters. “Doesn’t mean he’s out racing it. I trusted you to do the right thing, Bryan. I trusted that you were smarter than that.”
“You done?” My dad steps up behind Mom. He stands so close that his chest touches her back… and I’m dead meat. “Baby? You done?”
She stares into my eyes, steels her spine, then nods.
“Right.” Dad removes her. He literally picks her up, moves her, then he gives me only a second to prepare before he slams me to the floor and reminds me what happens when I pop off at the mouth and disrespect his wife.
Madilyn
The Second Stage of Regret
“Did you do it?”
The second I step into Jenna’s basement bedroom, I’m bombarded with her smiling face. Her excited arm-flapping. And sitting on a comfortable chair in the corner, Jackson reclines back and extends a booted foot.
His face is bruised, swollen. His lip is split. His eye darker now than it was when I left a couple hours ago. He picked a fight with Bryan Kincaid last night. He didn’t want to hand his car over when he lost a race, so he decided to settle it with fists…