“Callie doesn’t belong to you,” I said. My voice stayed even. “She never did.”
His expression flickered. Just for a moment.
I didn’t move. Didn’t let the anger touch me. This wasn’t about me. It never was. Leo had always needed someone to blame. Someone to spit venom at when the world didn’t bend the way he wanted it to.
“Go home,” I said. “Before you say something you can’t take back.”
That got him. Not because it was a threat—but because I meant it.
And he knew I always did.
Leo’s smile twisted sharp, cruel. He narrowed his eyes, feeding off the tension like a man starving. “Hero at my expense, right? That’s what this is about? You think playing the good Samaritan makes you better than me?”
I didn’t answer. Didn’t blink. I turned, the gravel crunching beneath my boots, his voice trailing behind me like the echo of a past I’d already buried once.
But Leo wasn’t the kind to let silence win.
“You think you can just swoop in and play savior while I’m gone?” he said, closing the gap again. “Just because you’ve got a little hero complex doesn’t mean she’ll forget who really hurt her.”
I stopped. Slowly turned. My fists didn’t rise, but the restraint in them was loud enough.
“This isn’t about you,” I said, voice low and firm. “And it sure as hell isn’t about playing hero. It’s about Callie. She deserves better than the wreckage you left behind.”
He raised a brow. Smirked like it was all a joke. He always did enjoy the sound of things cracking—glass, bones, people.
“I’m not your enemy,” I added, holding his gaze. “But I’m not going to let you drag her down again.”
Leo’s grin widened, smug and sharp-edged. “You sure about that?”
I didn’t reply. No point.
The worst kind of fight was the one that dragged you backward. Into old habits. Old wars. He wanted to bait me into something ugly. Something familiar.
But I’d learned the hard way—some battles weren’t won by drawing blood. Some were won by walking away.
So I turned again. Stepped toward the truck. One step, then another. Grounded. Calm.
“Don’t walk away now!” he shouted. “You think she’ll want someone who plays second best?”
I kept walking.
She deserved peace. And I wasn’t about to hand her another war.
“You think because you followed in Father’s footsteps, you’re better than me,” Leo snapped. His words were sharp, meant to cut. He always aimed for the softest spots.
I didn’t blink. My jaw tightened, but I held the line. “I enlisted because it was the right thing to do.”
He laughed—a bitter sound. Hollow. “Right thing? No, you ran. You couldn’t face the wreckage back home. You got out. I stayed.”
The words landed. Not like a blow—more like an echo. One I’d lived with for years. I didn’t need him to say it. I’d told myself worse.
“You think I wanted to be at home with Mum and Brad?” he asked, not shouting, not calm either—just tired. “Dad’s best friend…” My voice thinned. “He should’ve been loyal. But the second Dad was in the ground?—”
“Don’t,” I warned, low and sharp.
Leo stepped closer, feeding on the edge I tried to keep buried. “Why not? You’re still hiding from the truth. Just like always. Only difference is, I’m not your buddy. I’m your brother.”
The word hung heavy. It used to mean something.
