He crossed his long, thick, ink-covered arms over his barrel chest. “Not my fault you’re so damn tiny.”
“I’m not tiny,” I countered on a scowl. “Five seven is above average for a woman in this country. You’re just freakishly big.”
That wasn’t an exaggeration. Growing up, Stone had always been the biggest kid in school by a lot, and he’d only gotten bigger over the years. Standing six and a half feet tall, his long body packed solid with muscle everywhere, he was a powerhouse of a man. Uncle Scooter was nothing to sneeze at, but as the years passed, it became obvious that my big brother must have favored the man who helped make him—not that any of us knew who that man was.
“Says you, squirt.”
“Says science, Gavin,” I drew out exaggeratedly.
His smile instantly fell into a harsh frown at my use of his legal name. No one had called him Gavin in years. It wasn’t necessarily that he hated the name. After all, I’d made it my son’s middle name in homage to him, but it was the name our mom had christened him with, and he didn’t want any reminder of that woman, not that I blamed him.
The nickname had come into existence not only because of his size, but also because of his tendency to glower at everything and everyone who so much as looked in his direction. Gavin Hendrix was hard as stone, at least to those people on the outside. The few of us he let in knew the truth. He was just a big teddy bear.
“Fine,” he grunted, that scowl of his in full effect, even though it never worked on me. “Truce?”
I nodded my head resolutely. “Truce.”
“So . . .” he started, looking around the house, “where’s the munchkin?”
“He’s with Caro,” I answered. “Now stop avoiding my question. Why are you here? And don’t feed me that shit about just wanting to visit your little sister, because we both know that’s a crock.”
His glower intensified for a second but drifted away when he saw it wasn’t going to work on me. “I heard you were lookin’ chummy with that dick for brains at the wedding the other night.”
“Gah!” I shouted, throwing my arms out in frustration. “This freaking town! Who told you?”
“Doesn’t matter. Is it true?”
Slapping my hands on my hips, I glared at Stone in the hopes that flames would come shooting out of my eyes and melt the skin right off his stupid face. “It was one dance—”
“I knew it!” he exclaimed, jabbing his finger at me accusingly.
“Get your finger out of my face before I break it,” I threatened.
Knowing I meant it, he quickly pulled his hand back, but didn’t lay off. “Christ, Shane. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was thinking it was my best friend’s wedding, and I didn’t want to make a scene. It was one freaking dance, Stone, nothing to get your boxers in a twist about. It didn’t mean anything, and I walked off the dance floor before the song was even over.”
“That’s not the point, Shane,” he said in a low, menacing growl. “The point is you shouldn’t have let him get that close in the first place. You know how you get when it comes to that asshole—”
“Don’t,” I snapped. “You have no right to come in here and tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. I’m an adult, Stone. You have no say in how I live my life, so back the hell off.”
“Well someone needs to tell you when you’re making stupid-ass decisions,” he threw back. “That guy fuckin’ wrecked you, Shane.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I barked, my words slicing through the air like a white-hot blade. I hadn’t expected things to get so heated between me and Stone, but, even days later, I was still feeling raw and exposed after my run-in with Jensen, and the last thing I needed was my own brother jumping down my throat. Especially when he hadn’t even been there the last time my world had been turned upside down. “I’m the one who lived through it.”
“Then why in the fuck would you let that son of a bitch anywhere near you?”
“Because! As much as I might hate him, he’s still the father of my kid. It tears my heart to pieces, but Brantley loves him, and I won’t do anything to mess that up for my boy. I’m doing everything I can to make the best out of a shitty situation, and I won’t stand here and let you make me feel bad for that!”
“I’m just trying to protect you,” he replied, his light brown eyes, the same warm amber shade as mine, filled with worry.
“I don’t need you to protect me, Stone. I’ve been taking care of myself for a really freaking long time.”
I might have been known to have a stubborn streak, but Stone’s was leaps and bounds worse than mine, and to add fuel to that fire, my jerk of a brother was also a complete hothead who had a nasty habit of saying things without thinking, usually hurting the person he was fighting with in the process. Something he did right then when that glower came back into effect and he looked around my tiny house before stating, “Well, from the looks of it, you aren’t doin’ a very good job. For fuck’s sake, Shaney, you’re letting a man into that boy’s life that’s just gonna turn around and leave him. Explain to me how the fuck that’s smart.”
It was a low blow that caused maximum damage. I felt a familiar burn form behind my eyes. As much as I hated it, I was one of those unfortunate people whose tear ducts started working overtime whenever I got pissed. The angrier I got, the worse I’d cry. Any screaming match I ever got into was done while I blubbered uncontrollably. It was humiliating.
Blinking back the tears before they had a chance to form, I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. “You can show yourself out,” I gritted between clenched teeth.
“Shane, wait,” he called when I spun on my heel and started out of the kitchen. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
I didn’t want an apology, I just wanted him to leave me the hell alone so I could lick my wounds in peace. So I didn’t give him so much as I backward glance as I stomped down the hall to my bedroom, shouting, “And leave your key on the counter before you go.”
With that, I slammed my door shut, threw myself onto the bed, and screamed into my pillow.
Chapter Seven
Shane
The rage tears had finally dried up. After I was certain my brother was gone, I threw my hair into a knot on the top of my head, changed into my workout clothes—a tight pair of yoga pants with a matching cami—and headed out to the detached garage.
The thing was too small to fit my car inside, so I’d hung a heavy bag from the rafters. I’d started taking kickboxing classes a couple years back as a form of exercise, but quickly discovered that there was something incredibly cathartic about beating the hell out of an inanimate object.
I already worried that Brantley was predisposed to violence because of his father’s anger issues, so I kept my little guilty pleasure to myself, only used my punching bag when he wasn’t home. It worked wonders. I’d grown up holding firmly to the control in my life only to lose my grip and have it slip through my fingers. These little sessions out in the garage helped me feel like I was getting some of that power back.