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“Working.” I glared at him, giving him a taste of his own medicine. “You haven’t fired me, so I am working.”
Refusing to say another word, I pushed past him as I stormed towards the trailer.
“Have a good day, darlin’!” I heard Scribe yell. “I’ll miss you!”
Turning, I looked at the man, who smiled and waved happily as the brothers all laughed while Chase fumed.
I had no idea what the hell was going on, but when Chase grabbed Scribe by the scruff of his neck, I hurried back over to them, stepping between them.
“Stop!” I shouted angrily. “Right now.”
“Get out of my way, Skylar Rose, before you get hurt.”
“Oh, I think you’ve done enough of that already. I won’t have you hurting anyone else. Leave Scribe alone. I mean it.”
“Yeah, you heard my darlin’. Leave me alone.”
“I’m gonna kick your ass,” Chase seethed, itching to get his hands on Scribe. “And stop calling her your darlin’!”
“I’ll call her anything I want, brother,” Scribe taunted.
Placing both my hands on Chase’s chest, I whispered, “Stop. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I won’t allow you to hurt him. All he did was give me a ride to the site.”
Stepping away as if I burned him, he cursed, walking away, kicking the dirt as he did so. Rounding on Scribe, I sighed. “Did you have to do that? It’s bad enough he hates me and doesn’t want me around. You didn’t have to aggravate the situation.”
“He doesn’t hate you, Sky. He’s confused and scared. He’s hidden behind his grief for so long, he doesn’t know any differently. I’m showing Chase that actions have consequences.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he needs to pull his head out of his ass before he loses a good thing.”
“Scribe,” I sighed. “He was crystal clear. He doesn’t want me. He’s still in love with Ellie. I can’t compete with a dead woman.”
“Not about competition, Skylar. Chase needs to understand that life moves on. That he’s not only hurting himself but others with his actions. Got love for my brother, but I won’t let him destroy two lives.”
With that, Scribe revved his engine and slowly backed away before riding away.
I spent the better half of the morning finishing up the boxes and organizing the mounds of paperwork that were piled up, stacked high on the desk, when he entered the small trailer.
Refusing to look up, I asked, “Can I help you?”
“It’s lunchtime.”
“And?”
“You need to eat, Skylar Rose.”
“Why do you care? You were crystal clear about how you felt last night.”
“Why do I feel like I’m always apologizing to you?”
“Maybe because you are.”
“I really mean it, Skylar. I am sorry about everything. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I was an ass.”
“Yes, you were,” I said, finally looking up at him.
“Would you let me take you to lunch and make it up to you?”
