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“No,” he snaps, his arm pulling away from my hand. “I’m not fuckingashamedof my brother.”
“Will.” I put my hand on his waist instead. He doesn’t pull away, but his shoulders round, like he finds this massively uncool. “I’ll stop touching you, if you want.”
“Don’t.”
“You look like you hate it.”
“I’ll pay you back.”
That sends a hot shiver of shame and desire through my spine. But I will not be distracted from this conversation. It matters. I can tell.
I keep my hand at his waist. “I’ve met Sinclair, but I’ve never met Emerson. Why are you being weird about him?”
“I’m not.”
“You’re beingsuperweird. Protective, maybe? Definitely defensive. It’s…” I mean to be serious, but I can’t help smiling at him. “It’s kind of cute, actually. Strange, but cute for a guy who’s sodangerous.”
My air quotes earn me a glare. “We’re all dangerous.”
“Sinclair seemed like a sweetheart.”
Will rolls his eyes so hard I think they’ll fall out of his skull. “Sinclair is not a sweetheart. We all grew up in the same house.”
My pulse ticks up. He’s never spoken about this, and I think—
I think it might explain everything.
“What was that like?”
His face closes off. “I’m not telling you.”
I hold his gaze. “Yes, you are.”
The green in his eyes deepens to a blue like slate. Like a storm. “You want to talk about that shit? Prove you can handle it.” I open my mouth to insist that I can. “Tonight. In my bed. I’m warning you, Bristol, I’m not going to be nice.”
19
WILL
The twins have beenasleep for an hour when I shut the bedroom door and lock it.
I’ve lost my mind. I’ve made a deal with Bristol that I can’t keep. I’m not telling her anything about my family. Not a damn thing.
Emerson’s last text said the baby was born, everyone was healthy, and they were going home. He didn’t have a panic attack at the hospital while the family was gathered there. He’d been worried about it. That wasn’t how he wanted Daphne’s family to find out aboutherpregnancy. And I didn’t want all of them to witness that.
Not because I’mashamed,but because I don’t know all those people. Not well enough, anyway. In general, I spend my time antagonizing Emerson, but that doesn’t mean I want a bunch of rich assholes seeing his weak spots, for fuck’s sake.
All those thoughts fly out of my head.
Bristol stands at the foot of my bed. She’s naked.
And the look on her face.
I’m fucked. I’m completely fucked. All the money in the world couldn’t keep me from wanting her like this. Like a monster. I want to unbutton my shirt, claw through my own chest, and hand my heart to her. It’s a bruised, bloody mess, and I’d show her.Here. Look. Now you can see everything. Do you still want this? No one wants this.
The terrifying part is, she would. She would examine it in her palms and lift her green eyes to mine and say that she liked it. That she wasn’t afraid. She’d claim she had proof. That I let her sleep in my bed. That I washed her hair. Those things had to have meant something.
And they did. They did. Fuck.
