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“You dog.” Brennan slapped my shoulder. “Hollingsworth’s sister? Damn, man. She’s the hottest chick I’ve ever seen.”
I’d kept my temper in check the entire time Teague and Lincoln were here, mostly because they were right to be mad. But it skyrocketed when Brennan talked about Beau like that. Like she was an object.
“Watch your mouth.”
He stepped back and held up his hands. “I wondered if Hollingsworth had it wrong; you played it so cool with him. If he’d seen that reaction, he’d know you’ve most definitely been sneaking around with her.”
“I don’t blame you, dude.” Vigiano gave me aright ongesture. “An ass beating from Hollingsworth would be worth it for her.”
Scopetta punched his shoulder and laughed. “Hollingsworth would knock out Cal in one punch.”
“My money’s on Hollingsworth too.” Brennan pulled out a ten-dollar bill and waved it.
They all placed bets like it would be the rumble of the century.
“You’re all idiots,” I grumbled. “I’m not fighting Hollingsworth.”
“You might not have a choice.”
“There are ways to settle things like men,” I said. Except with Alex Davenport. He’d put his hands on Beau. And he was going to feel my hands on him.
Captain came back in, a cloud of smoke following him. He pulled me aside. “You better go, Cal. PD just hauled in your brother.”
Damn it, Joe. What have you done now?
I just prayed no one was hurt this time.
“He at the station down the street?”
“Yeah.” Captain lowered his voice. “I’ll clock you out when your shift’s over.”
I wanted to hug the man. “Thanks.”
“Bobby would have my ass if I didn’t.”
I nodded. “Do you know if it’s another DUI?” I dug my keys out of my pocket.
“Not DUI. Arson.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Beau
“My dear,dear daughter. Have you forgotten the consequences of your behavior?”
I sat stiffly in the chair across from Father’s desk in his study. Lincoln and Teague hadn’t stayed for dinner. Teague had been on a warpath when he’d stormed out of the house. Lincoln had been right behind him.
I didn’t mean for you to find out that way. I didn’t mean for you to find out at all.
Our father was strategic. He hated the sight of his children in a united front. So he did what any general would against his enemy. He divided us.
And I felt that chasm between my brothers and me acutely.
“No,” I finally answered.
Dinner with the Davenports had been filled with Mr. and Mrs. Davenport chattering on about nothing as if my brothers hadn’t ever been there. I’d always found it odd how people in my father’s world were masters at keeping the outer shell looking perfect. No blips, no bumps in the road, never ruffled. But inside the walls was drama and chaos and imperfection they’d never allow anyone else to see.
Father, too, had behaved as if Lincoln and Teague didn’t exist.
