"That is absolutely not how science works, Tia," he laughs.
"It is." I pat his arm sympathetically. "It's okay that you didn't learn it properly, Mr. Engineering Degree. At least you have hockey to fall back on."
He laughs so loud, he startles a couple one row over. They shoot us an odd look, but it doesn't faze him any. Nothing ever really does. He's just…Briggs.
We stop for burgers on the way to his place because I'm starving, and end up cuddling in the back of a fast-food restaurant until the staff basically kicks us out.
By the time we make it to his place, it's dark. But not even the night hides how fucking massive his house is. I'm pretty sure it has its own zip code.
I look over at him as he hauls my stuff out of the back. "You overcompensating for something here, Briggs?"
"What?" His brows furrow, his gaze following mine when I nod toward the house. And then he laughs, the confusion clearing from his gaze. "You've had your hands all over it, beautiful. You know damn well that I'm big everywhere."
"Yes, and so is your house."
"It was on sale," he says with a shrug.
"You're the reason people want to eat the rich," I say sweetly.
He just shakes his head at me, pointing toward the giant stone porch. "Take your gorgeous ass inside before I eat something rich."
"You aren't talking about me," I mutter, starting up the sidewalk. "I could never afford a house the size of a city."
"It's not that big."
"It is, but I'll let you keep thinking that if it makes you feel better," I call over my shoulder as I step onto the porch and peer around. What I can see of the house is beautiful—a French Provincial with classic stucco and casement windows—but it's a little surprising. I've never put much thought into what kind of house he lived in, but I guess I just thought it'd be something more practical, not an actual fucking mansion.
He carries my bags onto the porch a second later, juggling them while he unlocks the door. "Does it bother you?"
"Hmm?"
"The house," he asks, and he actually sounds worried about it, like he's afraid I hate it.
"Not really," I admit. "I guess I'm just surprised. You don't seem like the mansion type."
"I'm not," he mutters. "But I drafted at eighteen, with one brother already in the league and another playing professional football." He swallows. "And a fourteen-year-old sister who hated being home alone with our mother. I needed somewhere safe for her to go when she needed to get away. Since Tye was playing in Colorado at the time, and Harlan was in Oregon, I figured this was as good a place as any. It has a library, pool, and gardens, plenty of space for her to breathe. Since it's a gated community, she'd be safe here on her own, even if I were out of town."
My heart stutters as I place a hand on his arm, feeling how rigid it is. "I'm sorry," I whisper, guilt rushing through me. "I didn't know. I shouldn't have teased you about it."
He looks at me—really looks. "I'm not mad, beautiful. And you're right, the house is ridiculous. But Hattie felt safe here, and we made a lot of good memories, so I've just…kept it." He shrugs like it's not a big deal, but it is. Most eighteen-year-olds wouldn't have had the foresight to choose a home with their little sister's safety and comfort in mind. He did.
That's just who he is. I think it's who he's always been. And it breaks my heart a little bit to know that he's the man he is because of everything he and his siblings went through with their own mother. At least my crap came at the hands of someone not meant to protect me. Theirs came from the woman who birthed them, the one they never should have needed protection from.
Sometimes, the world is a fucked-up, awful place. People like Briggs make it better.
"You're pretty amazing, you know that?" I murmur, staring at him in awe. "You just…protect everyone around you. You never let anything break you. You just keep going, keep fighting, keep being this force for good."
"Jesus," he mutters, startling slightly.
"I'm serious, Briggs. You never let it harden you or make you bitter. You just keep being you. You know how rare that is?" I ask, staring at him. God knows, I didn't do that. I hid for a year. And then, even when I started finding some new normal, it was different. I didn't date. I didn't trust. I looked at everyone sideways, just waiting for the next shoe to drop, waiting to be the next bet. I was turned into a game, and it made me fearful. He was raised by a literal fucking monster, and it just made him…good.
He is so fucking good.
"You're one of the best men I—"
He's on me before I even finish the sentence, dragging me into his arms. I gasp, and then squeal when the world turns upside down, my hair falling into my eyes.
"Put me down!" I cry.
