Page 23 of Last Man Standing

“Or spend all of your time in the living room,” he counters savagely. “Or the kitchen, or the yard. Be wherever you wanna be, but if you’re in the communal spaces, you’re gonna have to practice shutting the hell up.”

“Lincoln!”

He steals his hand from mine and starts the car. “I have to go. If we don’t get on the road now, we’ll miss our flight.” Fierce, dark, almost black eyes pin me in place. “You’re not in prison, Scarlett. But you’re gonna need to exercise a modicum of common sense. You know he’s a dick, you know he enjoys being the biggest asshole in the room⁠—”

“And you know Castros are easily baited,” Nova inserts. “It’s seriously easy.”

“Mind your business,” Linc continues. “Keep your trap shut. Stay in contact.” He slips the car into reverse and backs up slowly. “Be a good girl.”

“Please don’t do this.” My bottom lip trembles as I walk alongside the car. “Please don’t make me stay with him, Linc. He scares me.”

“He won’t hurt you.” Slowing to a snail’s pace, he searches my eyes. “Your feelings, maybe. But not how he hurt Nova. And not how Roy hurt you.”

I hate the tears that slip onto my cheeks. I hate the way my hands shake and my heart thunders. Most of all, I hate how my weakness torments my brother.

“I’ll call and text every step of the way,” he rasps, swallowing so his Adam’s apple bobs with the movement. “I’ll check in every single day. If this goes to shit—” He steals a glance toward the porch, “—If he crosses the line from douchebag to abuse, I’ll come right back and deal with him myself. In the meantime, I need you to stay here. I need you to stay safe. And I need you to not piss your guard off too much.”

“Linc…”

“I love you.” He presses his foot to the brake and yanks me in for a hug. It’s rough, it’s bordering on painful, and then it’s over. Settling back into his seat, he drags a ballcap on, shielding himself from the glare of the afternoon sun, then he backs out of the driveway and onto the road.

My breath turns choppy and bounces on a choked sob, while my lungs squeeze with desperation and, beneath that, shame.

I’m better than this.

I’ve worked my ass off to overcome the things Roy did to me.

I’m not his victim anymore.

For every step of my growth, my brother walked right beside me. He held my hand when I needed it held, and when I needed encouragement, he was the one who clapped and cheered me on. Lincoln worked his ass off, too. But instead of showing him that strength, I show him tears. I repay him with weakness.

“Ugh.” I swipe the moisture from my cheeks and exhale one last shaky breath. Standing taller as Linc sets his vehicle into gear and starts along the road, I broaden my shoulders and wave.

He’s protecting me, just like he always does.

It’s my duty, my fricken obligation, to show him I’m not that girl anymore. The one who cried in the rain, locked out of my apartment because I asked my boyfriend to put his dishes in the dishwasher, and, instead of doing that, he picked a fight.

Our argument turned into: “I’m not sure I can do this anymore, Scar. I think you’re just too controlling. Too naggy. Too needy.” Ridiculously, he convinced me to beg him to stay, and then he kicked me outside and made me sleep in the street.

I close my eyes, since that’s better than watching my brother’s taillights fade into the distance, then I lower my hand and wait. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. I give him and Nova long enough to disappear into the distance, but before I’m ready to open my eyes and face my new reality, heavy footsteps stomp down the porch stairs. On to crackling grass. Closer, until I feel his body warmth prickling against my back.

Shaking my head, I swipe my cheeks and turn on my heels, determined to be strong. To be brave. To be the woman I worked so damn hard to become.

Tank flashes an irritatingly obnoxious grin. “We’re finally alone, Princess. Wanna brush each other’s hair? Or should we get straight to the angry fucking, so we can decide if we legitimately don’t like each other, or if you’re just a victim of chronically repressed sexual frustration?”

Not a word. Scarlett. Not a single friggin’ peep.

I draw a deep breath and move around his too-wide frame. Silently, I cut across the yard and up the porch steps. Through the front door, past the living room, and into the hall.

I push my bedroom door open and step inside before I’m tempted to go searching for Linc’s cache of weapons, then shutting it again at my back, I slide to the floor and press my face into my hands.

“It’s not the same,” I whisper to myself. “Not all men are like Roy. Some are just assholes. It’s not the same.”

“Princess?”

I jump at the ricochet of the front door slamming, then right after it, Sebastion’s throaty chuckle. “Where’d you go, Princess? I miss you!”

10