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When the back door began to swing shut behind him, Cage knocked it open so hard it crashed into the opposing wall, then slammed home with a teeth-rattling thud. “I’m talking to you, fucker.”
“I’m not obligated to listen.”
“For Brea’s sake, you should.”
That made him pause and glance back over his shoulder. “Why?”
“I don’t pretend to know everything that happened between you and that girl, but I can guess. The best thing you can do for her is to keep walking and let my brother handle things from here.”
As long as he was breathing, Brea would never be Mrs. Bryant. “Why the fuck would you think that?”
Cage gaped at him like he was an idiot, before he rolled his eyes into some smug-ass, superior glare. “Did you grow up in a small town?”
“Nope.” He was from San Diego, and with a million fucking horrible memories there, he hoped never to set foot in the city again.
“Then you don’t understand. That stunt you just pulled? The town will talk about nothing else for days, maybe weeks. That’s not good for Brea’s reputation or her future. If you keep coming here, you’ll only make things worse for her.”
“All we did was talk.”
Cage snorted. “You might as well have announced to the whole damn town that you’ve fucked her. I’d love to roast you for that, asshole, but Sunset has an ordinance that prevents me from burning trash.”
Was his barb supposed to be clever? “Fuck you.”
“No. Fuck you. You said you didn’t force Brea into bed, but I’ve known that girl her whole life. And I think you’re a liar.”
“I don’t care what you think.” He and Brea knew the truth.
“You should, just like you should get over yourself and start giving a shit what everyone around her thinks. She is the preacher’s only daughter. She’s adored by this town. They look at her like she’s one step away from the Virgin Mary. She’s worked hard to maintain that spotless reputation. You might well have destroyed it in three minutes—and dragged her daddy through the mud with her.”
“Because she’s not a virgin anymore? None of them are, either.”
“None of them are the reverend’s kid. And you’re not only an outsider, but you’re obviously trouble.”
“Because I don’t dress like you? Or talk like you? Because I’m not one of you?”
“No, because your attitude is shitty, and you have a huge chip on your shoulder. God knows you don’t give a rat’s ass about anyone but yourself.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the prick that he loved Brea and had from the moment he’d set eyes on her. That he intended to fight for her until she was his. That he’d gladly give up his happiness—his life, even—to keep her safe. But he didn’t see the point of wasting his breath and he refused to put a target on her back. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”
“What did you think confronting her in front of God and everyone would accomplish?” Cage shook his head. “Fuck it. It’s done now, and your stupid-ass stunt flopped. So why don’t you do Brea a favor and steer clear? She’s got a solid future mapped out now, no thanks to you. Stop trying to ruin it. I don’t love that she roped my brother into mopping up your mess, but the very least you could do is leave them in fucking peace.”
Only about half of Cage’s bullshit made sense. “What does that mean?”
The other man’s brow furrowed before his eyes widened with shock. Then he shut it all down. “Nothing. Forget it. I’m going to check on Brea.”
When Cage made a beeline for the back door, One-Mile jerked him around by the elbow. “Not until you tell me what the fuck you meant by my ‘mess.’”
The elder Bryant brother yanked free and sneered. “You’re supposed to be the shit. You figure it out.”
Then he disappeared inside the salon again, and One-Mile stood staring at the door.
What the fuck? Was this about Brea’s reputation? Or something more?
Did everyone in this goddamn drama know something he didn’t? It sure as hell felt that way. And if he wanted to keep her from marrying Cutter, he needed to figure it out—fast.
As Brea plastered on a false smile for Mr. Davidson and scheduled his two-week follow-up so he could maintain his precise banker’s cut, she sensed Rayleigh hovering nearby. The woman had swept and cleaned every surface in the salon, despite the fact a crew came in overnight to do that, and her last customer had left hours ago. Brea could guess why.
Her boss wanted the scoop.
Exhaustion tugged at Brea. As her pregnancy progressed, heartburn was beginning to replace nausea. It especially gave her fits at night. Sleep didn’t always come.
But that’s not what had her on the brink of stupid tears now. Life as she’d always known it was tumbling down around her like a house of cards. Until lately, she hadn’t realized how often or deftly Cutter or her father stepped in to bear the brunt of her difficulties—before she even realized they were doing it. Long before she ever asked for their help.
