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“That he’ll be my brother-in-law soon.” And no, he doesn’t sound like someone who’s thrilled with the idea.
Liam actually said that? I can’t stop the smile from twitching at the corners of my mouth. “Did he now?”
“How long’s this been going on, Bree?” he asks, wiping the smile right off my face. “Since high school?”
I move closer, sitting at one end of the couch and drawing my legs up, turning to face him. “No, you ruined that for us the night of my graduation.”
He stares at me for a few minutes. “I thought he was taking advantage of you. I didn’t know what was going on.”
“You think that little of Liam?”
“No.”
We’re silent for a few minutes. Quietly watching each other. “I freaked out, Bree. You were so fragile. I knew how much you needed to get out of this house, out of this town. Away from mom. And Liam—fuck, I love the guy, but he’s never had any ambitions beyond that badge.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“No, there isn’t. But I didn’t want you getting trapped here because of him.”
“I—” I can’t think of a response. I kind of see where he’s coming from, even if I’m mildly insulted.
“If I’d know you were going to hook up with that asshole and this was going to happen, I would’ve kept my damn mouth shut.”
“Don’t go there.”
His hand edges closer to mine. “I’ve missed you, little sis.”
I can’t meet his eyes so I gesture to the rest of the house. “The house is amazing. Liam said you did the work yourself.”
A hardened look crosses his face. “Had to.”
“Why didn’t you come home sooner?” I don’t know why I bother asking.
“Figured Liam would take care of you.” His mouth turns down. “Didn’t know he’d seduce you too.”
I snort with laughter. “Get over it.”
My brother doesn’t laugh with me. He’s stiff, almost angry. He’s always held in a lot of anger. Especially after our father died. But he was never that way with me. “What’s wrong, Vinny? We used to be able to talk more than this.”
“You’ve barely been home in four years, Bree.”
“What do you care? You’re always traveling, Mr. Big Construction Project Manager.”
He huffs a laugh. “Yeah.”
“I’m proud of you, Vince. I know how hard you work. How hard you’ve worked to get where you are.”
“Thanks. Even if I’m not here, you can still come home, you know.”
“This isn’t my home anymore.”
“No, I guess not.” He tilts his head, whatever fondness we just shared disappearing. “How long was this going on?” he asks, pointing at my bruised neck.
I don’t even pretend that I don’t know what he’s asking. “Too long.”
“Why didn’t you call me? Or if you didn’t want to tell me, why not call Liam?”
“I was too embarrassed.”
His fists ball up at his sides and he squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck. I can’t do this with you, Bree. Already been through it with mom.”
Tears prick my eyes. “Maybe that’s why I didn’t tell you,” I snap back. “I didn’t want you to think I was like her.”
“And yet—”
“Fuck you!” My fist slams into one of the couch cushions. “That’s not fair.”
“For fuck’s sake, look at you!”
“He didn’t drink.” I think of how to explain why I didn’t see the similarities between our parents’ turbulent relationship and my relationship with Chad. “There were times when he was so sweet. Good to me. It wasn’t like… It didn’t feel the same. At first,” I add.
“You should’ve left him sooner.”
“Thanks, I hadn’t thought of that.”
We stare at each other for a few seconds.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says.
“I didn’t know what to do,” I explain. “He always said it would never happen again.” I shake my head and stare at our almost-touching hands. “I couldn’t come back here.”
He snorts. “Yeah. Got that loud and clear.”
“You’re mad at me?”
“No.” He squeezes his eyes shut again. “Yes. I wanted you out of here as much as you needed to be out of here. But fuck, that first year after you left? Mom was a fucking nightmare to deal with. Then she got sick.” He shakes his head. “I wanted you away at school. Was happy you were doing so good. But I was also pissed as hell I was the one who got stuck taking care of her. And I know that’s unfair. It’s not your fault.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was that bad.”
“I didn’t want you to know.”
“Do you want to talk about it now?”
“Not really.” He looks around the house. “I gutted this place. Erased it all.”
“But it still haunts you.”
“Don’t fucking head-shrink me, smartass.” The corner of his mouth pulls into a half-smile. “You been up to see Liam’s parents yet?”
“Yes.” My eyes water. “A couple times. I missed them a lot.”
“Yeah.” He smiles fondly. “Amanda was a big help toward the end. Helped me get mom into hospice care. Made sure I was eating.” He huffs out a laugh. “Mom stuff.”
“I always wished she was our mom.”
“I know.” After a second he adds, “So did I.”
Speaking of things that haunt us, I have a question for my brother. “Did she ever ask for me?”
He rolls his lip and closes his eyes. “No.”
“I figured.”
He turns my way, dark-blue eyes snapping with fire. “She was a bitter, angry drunk, Bree. The woman drank herself to death and blamed everyone else around her for her bad decisions right until the very end.”
It all clicks into place. Why Vince didn’t call me to come home until my mother had slipped into a coma and was close to death. He knew there would be no loving, I’m-sorry-I-wasn’t-a-better-mother-but-I-loved-you moment between us. He knew she’d only tear me down. My big brother wanted to protect me from the additional heartache seeing my mother would have caused, even though it meant he had to shoulder the entire burden on his own.
“I’m so sorry, Bree.” His voice breaks and that’s when I can’t hold the pain in any longer.
He pulls me into his arms, rubbing my back, and lets me cry on his shoulder until I’m drained. “I’m sorry it all fell on you,” I whisper.
His hand never stops moving over my back. “That’s what big brothers are for.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
What I didn’t tell Bree and Vince was that I wasn’t called in to my unit. No, I was summoned to headquarters to meet with the Chief Deputy.
I arrive at the station on time and am immediately directed into his office.
Chief Deputy Cain greets me with a grim smile and nods at the chair across from him. “Have a seat, Hollister.”
I haven’t been in here in a while, so obviously this has something to do with Bree.
“We got a problem,” he starts.
I don’t answer because I don’t think he expects me to.
He taps the folder on his desk. “How well do you know this Avery girl?”
“Very well. We grew up together.”
“Are you involved now?”
“Yes, sir.” I’m not hiding our relationship from anyone.
“That why you went down to the jail and roughed up her ex?” He drops the question in a casual way, expecting me to be surprised he knows about my visit.
“I didn’t rough him up,” I explain. “I told him to stay away from Bree. That’s it. I had to get a restraining order against his brother because he wouldn’t leave her alone.”
“I saw that. Entitled little prick that one.”
Thank God this is finally going my way.
Or so I think.
“The victim—” he starts.
“He’s not a victim. He’s the attacker,” I correct.
Cain raises an eyebrow. “The deceased’s family,” he continues. “have raised concerns.”
“I’ll bet they have,” I grumble. “Maybe they should’ve been more concerned about raising their sons to respect women instead of turning out two psychos and unleashing them on society.”
He ignores my outburst and continues. “They claim Bree lured Chad to the house. Then shot him in cold blood.”
Fury shoots through my veins and I jump out of my chair, knocking it backwards. “That’s fucking bullshit. You saw her. You saw what he did to her.”
“Sit down.”
I stare at him for a few seconds before taking my seat. “Where’s the proof? A text? Phone call? How did she invite him over? Telepathy?”
Ignoring my sarcasm, he flips open the folder. “They haven’t said yet.”
“Right. They’re not going to either, because it’s a lie. A million pictures of her injuries were taken.”
“They contend she got those injuries when he fought for his life.”
“Oh, please. Nothing. Not one thing at the scene supports that.”
He sighs and sits back. “I know. They won’t get far, but until they accept reality I think you need to keep your distance from this girl.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“No. I’m not abandoning her when she needs me the most. Absolutely not.”
“Hollister—” he warns.
I unsnap my gun from its holster and set it on the desk. It’s not meant to be some dramatic gesture. I’m dead fucking serious. I set my badge down next to the gun.
