Page 105 of Blue Jeans in Low Beams

“Bren!”

I call out again, finding my footing and picking up the pace. I angle toward her, trying to cut her off, but she zags, ignoring my pleas. I can’t see her face—she’s turned away and letting her hair hang in front of it—but I don’t need to see it to know that she’s crying. I can tell by the hunch of her shoulders.

And my heart breaks even more.

“Brenna, what happened?”

Beating me to the door, she lets it slam behind her, not bothering to acknowledge me at all. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

My insides clench, a gnawing ache settling in my chest. But there’s no time to register that. To understand the what or why.

A hand clamps down on my shoulder and whips me around. My head spins, giving me no time to register anything before a fist connects with my jaw, pain radiating through it.

Crack!

Fuuuuuuck…

I don’t think. I just react.

I hit back.

Here’s the thing about being from a family whose business includes an entire branch on personal safety—you know how to fight. You might never use it. You might hate it. But you know it. The basics anyway. You have them filed away, just in case. Because personal safety includes self-defense.

So yeah, I can throw a punch.

My right hook lands perfectly, connecting exactly where I want it to—my attacker’s temple. Followed by left, which finds his ribs.

That is, until my brothers intervene.

“Whoa!” both Gus and Hux scream simultaneously.

They weasel themselves in between us, Gus wrapping himself around me to contain my actions, just like we were taught in the Hayes classes. It takes a moment, but they get us separated. Then I see it. Him.

I knew who hit me. There wasn’t really a question. But looking him in the eye, my heart hurts all over again.

Brandt.

“Fucking seriously?” Gus growls. “Are you really going to do this?”

“You fucked my sister!” Brandt screams.

“Good to see you too,” I say. “Welcome home. Wasn’t expecting you for a few more days.”

Brandt lunges for me, but Hux steps in, stopping him.

“Fine, but we’re taking this outside. Too many assets in here, and insurance doesn’t cover hissy fits,” Gus grumbles.

Glad to know that’s where Gus’s head is. Assets. My best friend and I are throwing punches at each other, and Gus is worried about something getting broken and having to file an insurance claim. I have half a mind to ask him if my jaw counts as an asset, but opt to keep it to myself. No need to push my luck twice in one afternoon.

Hux opens the garage style door in the back corner behind the bar, the rattle of the metal filling the awkward silence. It’s not much, but at least it’s something. Stops us from having to suffer through it as we make our way to the grassy area between the tap room and the brewhouse, past the new picnic shelter structure we had installed this summer. Hux and Gus lead the way, like two reluctant prison guards on their first day of work.

“You two sure you wanna do this?” Hux asks, looking between us. He’s to my right, Gus to my left, with Brandt directly across from me, the four of us making a weird diamond shape, like we’re the Jets versus the Sharks and about to burst into song. “You’re really both more lovers than fighters.”

Love’s what got me into this mess…thank you very much…

“I took Hayes self-defense,” I say, as if it somehow justifies my actions. It doesn’t. Not in the least.

“Me too,” Brandt adds.