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“So for damn near six months, you, Pop, and my so-called best friend have been keeping a secret from me? Fuck!” With nothing further to add and with no reply from me, he shakes his head and stalks out the house, slamming the door behind him.
I grab my phone and open the text string with Eli.
Me: Not that there will be a next time… but next time, let’s get our stories straight before I almost reveal our secret affair to my brother. I was just ambushed. I survived, but it was touch-and-go for a minute.
Eli: Next time we have a secret affair, I’ll be sure to do that.
My phone rings and Eli’s sleepy voice comes through the line. “What happened?”
“I guess you told him about the conservancy but not us?”
His voice is muted, and the sound of bristling whiskers meets my ears. I picture him scrubbing his hand down his face. “I couldn’t get it out, so I blurted out the developer’s plans, and he lost it. I told him there was more. He declined to hear it and left. I didn’t think he’d come at you over it.”
“He didn’t. He came for Pop. I was just the fortunate gatekeeper who took the brunt.”
“I’m sorry, baby. That wasn’t my intention. You should never be the bulwark of anything directed at me.”
“Elias Finchley, don’t you dare assume you’re with a weak woman. I can handle my own shit, and I can certainly handle my brother.”
“Darlin’, I don’t doubt your strength, intelligence, or your ability to handle anyone, much less Braxton. I’m just saying that’s my job. I know you can. I don’t want you to have to. There’s a difference.”
“But—”
“But nothing. I take care of you… not because you can’t but because I want to, and because you deserve it.”
I like that. A lot. “Thank you. That means more than you know.”
“You know what else it means?”
“What?”
“That we still have to tell Brax about us.”
“Shit.”
TWENTY-ONE
AS SUBTLE AS A NUCLEAR BOMB
ELIAS
“And the hits just keep on coming,” I mutter to myself as my phone rings in mid-November.
Crap day—take one hundred.
What the fuck?
I stare at my phone with a photo of an envelope that has Grand Jury Summons: Brighton A. Ranger typed across the front as I answer the call.
“When did you get this?”
“Just now,” Bright responds.
“This makes no sense.”
“Eli?” The tremble in her tone belies her fear.
“Darlin’, it makes no sense. Grand juries are generally brought to discuss additional charges beyond the arresting charge. You weren’t arrested.”
