Page 79 of The Secret of Emerald Cottage

Chapter Forty-Three

What just happened? Flipping the deadbolt after Sloan left, Molly sagged against the front door, forehead pressed to the wood. How on earth was she going to handle this?

Yes, she knew Brec was jealous of Sloan. And okay, yes, she might possibly be part of the reason. But in her mind, what happened a few minutes ago went way beyond jealousy, all the way to rivalry, teetering on the edge of what appeared to be the onset of war.

Which is exactly why she hadn’t told Brec about the attack when he’d called because Sloan was already on his way. After all, there was no need for Brec to miss soccer practice with the kids, and she certainly didn’t need any complications between the two men. But when Brec had instantly homed in on the nasal tone in her voice to discover she’d been crying? There was no stopping him from coming home, assuring her his assistant coach could manage the practice on his own.

She issued a silent grunt. Maybe the assistant coach could handle things on his own, but Molly sure couldn’t, which is why she uttered a silent prayer.

Slam. Thud. Bang! Glancing over her shoulder, she watched Brec crashing around the kitchen like he played ice hockey instead of soccer, banging drawers left and right while he fixed himself lunch. The fact that he hadn’t asked her if she’d wanted any just underscored his anger, because if she’d learned anything about Brec, it was that he was both considerate and protective.

Except for today.

Expelling a weary sigh, she turned around and slogged into the kitchen. “Can we talk?” she said quietly, not a lot of energy left after her exhausting ordeal. “Please?”

He peered up beneath thick black lashes, stormy eyes all but pinning her to the wall. “Oh, I see. You talk with me and snog with him—is that how it is?”

“What?” She blinked, not exactly sure what “snogging” was, but it didn’t sound good.

He slammed a block of cheese down on the cutting board, glaring her down. “Smash face, tonsil hockey, smacking, or do I need to spell it out further?”

She took a step forward, her gaze as gentle as her tone. “It was just a hug, Brec, but what I do need you to spell out, is why you’re acting like this?”

He muttered under his breath as he gouged fingers through his hair, then huffed out a heavy blast of air while he leaned over the island counter with head bowed and palms braced. “Because I don’t like him touching you, Molly,” he said in a tone weighted with fatigue. He looked up with a shuttered gaze, a mix of jealousy and hurt in his eyes as his voice lowered to a hoarse whisper—“not when I can’t.”

Her heart squeezed at his defeated admission and all at once, despite all the precautions they’d both taken, she realized they were dangerously close to being where neither had wanted to be.

Falling in love.

Tears welled as she stared at the man she’d tried so hard not to care for and knew it had been all for naught. “Brec,” she said quietly, her eyes as weary as his own, “can we please sit down and talk?”

Some of the anger faded from his eyes as he gave a dull nod and passed her by on his way to the great room, sitting down on the edge of the sofa with his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, Molly.” He scrubbed his face before he flopped back with a repentant sigh. “I’m acting like an eejit, and I apologize. It’s just that”—he looked away with a duck of his throat—“I don’t like Kennedy around.”

She sat down next to him and laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Well, unfortunately, he had a good reason to be here today because I called him.”

He glanced up, a tinge of hurt in his eyes. “You called him? Why?”

Sucking in a deep draw of air, she shifted to face him, hand still on his arm. “Because I was attacked at Pete’s house and—”

“What?” He shot straight up, eyes wide as he clutched both of her arms. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine—now—but it was pretty frightening, so naturally I had to call the police”—she ducked to peer up into his eyes—“so I called Sloan.”

He swallowed hard as he gently massaged her arms with his thumbs. “Of course. I’m glad you did, but what happened?”

She repeated the same horrifying details all over again, and when she finished with a shudder, Brec pulled her into his arms, wrapping her in his wonderful warmth and scent while he tucked his head against hers. “I’m so grateful you’re all right,” he whispered, his voice gruff and tender at the same time. Suddenly, he pulled away with fire in his eyes. “But I’m going to make bloody sure that scumbag never lays a hand on you again.” Planting a quick kiss to her hair, he bounded up to head to the door.

“Brec—no!” She jumped up to halt him, fingers gripped tightly to his arm.

He patted her hand. “I’ll be right back, Molly, I promise, but I want one shot at that—”

“No—please?” He hesitated, and she leaned in to gently knead his arm. “Sloan asked us to stay away. He said he’d update us as soon as he could.”

At the mention of Sloan’s name, Brec’s jaw stiffened.

She twined her hand in his, resorting to brows tented in a plea. “Please? I don’t want to be alone, Brec.”

A tic flickered in his jaw as he stared at her before he finally blasted out a noisy sigh. He aimed a blunt finger, but she saw the affection in his eyes. “You, my friend, are taking advantage of our friendship.”