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Though that Owen is here gives me both pause and hope. I’m sure they both know how I felt about Owen when I was younger — they made no secret of the fact that they’d occasionally steal my diary; I even found a few entries in it, written in Dixon’s hand but my voice, talking about how I wanted to run off and join a pack of circus freaks so I could finally feel among my own kind, typical big brother stuff — and Owen’s always kept a respectful distance from me. He’s always acted in a way that says I’d never, in my wildest dreams, have any of those things I fantasized about as a teenage girl actually happen between us. Nor any of those things I still dream about as a woman, either; teenaged me dreamed about holding hands, sitting together under a tree by the bluffs outside Costa Oscura, watching the sunset over the Pacific while listening to Taylor Swift —because it was the early 2010s, I was sixteen, and Taylor was, and still is, a fucking queen— but the woman I am now has much more refined needs: wine, a shared shower, a bed that gets used so hard the mattress screams for mercy and the frame shatters into a hundred pieces; simple things, that’s where the joy is.
These are things I know will never happen between Owen and me, because he’s absolutely loyal to my brother — they’ve been friends since high school, they both served in the Marines together, Owen owes Dixon his life, and my brother has a habit of chasing away any men who even give me a second glance.
“We’re here to talk about the wedding and setting you up with someone to watch your back,” Dixon says.
Morgan gives me another look;are you sure? Why don’t you shut him up with a sixty-mile-an-hour fastball right at his head? Make him respect you.
I answer Morgan first with a look;one, I throw way a fastball that’s faster than sixty. Two, he’s my brother, and I don’t want to hear his whiny bitching at Christmas if I knock him out with a baseball.
“I don’t need a date, Dixon. I can take care of myself. You know that.”
He isn’t the only one who gave boys who bothered me black eyes and bloody noses back in high school. And in college? When high school boys turned into entitled, college-aged ‘men’ who though they were god’s gift to every woman they saw at a party and the word ‘no’ was just a ‘yes’ that needed convincing, I may have broken more than a couple greedy fingers that tried to slip into the wrong places.
After a moment, I add, “Hey, Owen.”
He smiles at me. For a second, I forget about my idiot, over-protective brother and all the stress that sits on my shoulders. It’s just Owen and me in this field, the setting sun shining on us, making his blue eyes sparkle and highlighting the vibrant colors of the tattoos that mark his body.Those are new, I note.New, but not unwelcome. They look good on him.
“Hey, Dani.”
“It’s the Vertucci wedding, sis. Those people are monsters. You need someone there.”
“Yeah, bro, I know whose wedding I’m a bridesmaid at. I know who Michael Vertucci is. He’s Riley’s fiance. Stop worrying so much.”
“They’re criminals.”
“So are you,” I shoot back.
Dixon frowns, but he doesn’t fire back, even though his jaw quivers like he’s aching to say something. But he can’t. He knows it’s true. Ever since he got out of the Marines, he’s struggled to stay on the straight and narrow. Not that I blame him too much, because we still talk, and even though he tries to hide it behind bravado and a cocksure grin, the things he’s confessed to seeing — things that I know are only a fraction of the horror that went on during his multiple deployments abroad — have made me cry on more than one occasion. I hate that my brother’s carrying such pain, hate that there’s nothing I can do about it except support him, hate that every time I even manage to cajole him into seeing any of the shrinks or counselors the VA is able to set him up with, whatever relationship he establishes with those shrinks usually ends pretty quickly. And in flames.
“Your brother just cares about you, Dani. We both know what we’re talking about with this. The Vertuccis are bad news,” Owen says. There’s concern in his voice. Honest concern.
My eyes go to him in an instant, zero in on that handsome face, striking blue eyes — both clearly concerned, caring, captivating. I’ve heard rumors about what he’s been involved in, and the evidence of that is clear as day with the biker’s cut he’s wearing right now; a cut that fits him just right and shows off just how deadly powerful his arms are.
“I know,” I answer. “This isn’t something I’m going into blind.”
“But you don’t have to go into it alone, Dani,” Owen says. “We care about you.”
“You know what type of people will be at the wedding, sis,” Dixon adds. “They’re people you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley at night, and yet you want to spend a weekend alone at some compound with them, surrounded by alcohol and who knows what else, without someone to watch your back? If something happened to you, it’d kill me.”
What is this, some kind of intervention?
Is that why he brought Owen?
My brother thinks that by bringing the man I’ve had a crush on since I knew what crushes were is the way to sway me into accepting one of his military buddies as a bodyguard?
Not a chance.
No way I’ll have that adrenaline addict, Hawk, or that prickly phantom, Ghost, shadowing me the entire time I’m at the Vertucci compound. With them watching me, there’d be no way I can do what I need to do to support Riley, and there’s a ninety-nine percent chance the weekend would end with at least a couple murders.
“So, what, I need a babysitter? A minder? It’s fair that you’re concerned about me, Dixon, and I appreciate it, but you need to respect my decision.”
A glance at Morgan brings an easy pitch right where I need it, and a cracking swing sends a softball skipping right between Owen and Dixon. They both leap out of the way with combat-honed reflexes, dodging my warning shot.
“And you, Owen,” I say as he stands and dusts off his jeans. “I expected better from you. I know you owe my brother from what happened in the Marines, but playing a little tag along on his intrusive intervention? Doesn’t that feel a little beneath you?”
Owen twists his lips in the most handsome frown I’ve ever seen. He and my brother trade a look and, just like between me and Morgan, a wordless conversation passes between them. Bullets and blood have built their bond just as strong as the one I share with my best friend.
“That’s not why I’m here.”
