Page 44 of Silver Brewer

“Was it really that bad? The camping?”

“I survived,” I joke before reaching up to cup his scruff-covered jaw. “Actually, I really enjoyed myself. Surprisingly, I miss the place.” I might not be able to live in a tent eating food from a skillet the rest of my life, but I do miss being with him and enjoying the experience with him.

“I heard you’re no longer interested in the property.”

“Giant.” I sigh. “I lost interest the first night you made me a hot dog.”

“Who knew that’s all a girl needed to change her mind? I thought it might have been when I washed your hair.”

“That too.” I laugh, thinking of Marcus. “And when you taught me to throw an ax.”

He leans forward and kisses me, soft and delicate.

“How did the ax throwing go?” he smirks. “Heard a master ax thrower taught you?” He winks at me, and my skin heats as I recall the things I said to his brother.

“I didn’t win, but I hit the mark enough times to scare Hudson. I told him I’d learned to chop wood as well.” I mimic the motion of chopping by knocking the sides of my hands together. Giant shifts to his side, perching up on an elbow and looking down at me.

“As long as he knows his wood is off-limits.”

My lip crooks. “Not interested in anyone’s wood but yours. And I’m not talking about the trees on your property.”

Giant chuckles and draws a line along my collarbone with the tip of a thick finger. His expression darkens, and I know what’s coming. We need to talk.

“We never talked about your brother.”

Owen isn’t who I expect us to discuss first, and my lips twist as I bite the corner. “Do we need to talk about him now?”

“I think we have a few things to discuss that shouldn’t wait any longer.” Giant isn’t wrong, but we’re jumping into the deep stuff by tackling Owen first. I swallow the lump that always forms in my throat before I talk about him. I nod and explain again the circumstances of my younger brother and his gang affiliation.

“Owen was only four when our father died, and he hated Uncle Frank. Being six years younger than me, I was like a second mother to him. He was a little lost with our mother working, and Dayna acting as second parent but never doing a good job.” Some parent she turned out to be. “Gangs are prevalent everywhere in and around Chicago, but it’s not all colored bandanas and acid wash jeans hanging off a kid’s ass. Kids with means can just as easily get hooked up with the wrong people, and Owen did. We struggled with money for a bit, and he was a worrier. He’d lost his way around middle school and got in with a rougher crowd in seventh grade. He suggested he sell drugs to help us meet ends.” I chuckle with the memory of Owen telling our mom he wanted to help out. Be the man of the family. “He wanted Mom out from under Uncle Frank’s controlling nature. Mom couldn’t handle budding-teenage Owen.” I recall how babyish his face was while his body was growing into the makings of a young man. He was smarter than he gave himself credit. Smarter than our mother recognized. He just needed guidance, and I tried to be there for him, but it wasn’t enough. I was only eighteen. “I was his older sister, but I couldn’t protect him.” Liquid fills my eyes, and I blink back the pain as the memories fill my head. Giant reaches out with a thumb and swipes at the tear before it falls.

“I mentioned he was shot on the sidewalk outside his school. I was there to pick him up and give him a ride home. I didn’t see them coming.” Loud cars with trashy music are common around a school. It could have been any car with any group of kids, but this car was looking for Owen. I leave out the details of screams and blood and holding my brother in my arms.

“When I heard James’s gun, I freaked out. It’s also triggered by thunder.” My eyes close, embarrassed by admitting such a weakness. Giant cups my cheek, forcing my eyes to open.

“I totally understand. I’ve seen my share of surprise attacks, and the horrific results in the military.” His voice drops. “But on a sidewalk in a city with a kid, it seems so unthinkable.”

I brush aside the robe and point at the wound near his left shoulder. “Is that how this happened?”

He huffs with his own set of memories.

“We were on a mission, and one of our men was injured. I was shot lifting him into a helicopter. The soldier friend needed to be helivaced out, and suddenly, so did I.”

I lean forward to kiss the wound.

“You have a new appreciation for life once you almost lose it,” he states. However, I remember what he told me—how he didn’t know where he fit when he came home. How his wife had a routine. How he joined the brewery business. What’s been in his life for him?

The mountain. A gift from a beloved grandfather.

“I’m sorry about the land.” Should I tell him why I wanted it? Will he understand? It’s a lot to take in from someone he just met.

He stares into my eyes, twirling a piece of my hair between his thumb and forefinger “I’m sorry for what I said.”

My head shifts on the mattress, and I roll my body to my side. My hand rests on his chest, feeling his heart rhythmically pulsing under his warm skin. “Did you really believe I slept with you for your land?”

“What I said was a knee-jerk reaction. Why else would you be interested in sleeping with me?” His throat rolls as he swallows, and I open my mouth to speak, but a few fingers of his cover my lips. “You seemed too good to be true and wanting me didn’t seem like enough of a reason to give yourself to me.”

“Giant,” I softly whine, reaching up to cover the trimmed scruff on his jaw with my hand. “I’ll give myself to you a hundred times if you’ll take me. Of course, I want you.”