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“Wasn’t he a stranger when you married him?” Ian asked with a tilt of his head.
Greer’s smile fell, her eyes narrowing.
“Can I leave the table now?” I asked under my breath.
“No,” Mom and Dad said in unison.
I blew out a slow breath.
Poppy ignored everyone, keeping her focus on Ian. “Because you’re a man with good hair and a passable face—” I snorted. Ian made an affronted noise, but Poppy kept rolling as if neither of us made a sound. “Society is more forgiving if you act like an ass. But when a woman is reserved and closed-off, she’s a bitch. We pass it off as a personality flaw when, in reality, she probably has every reason to be closed off, and we just don’t know what her story is.” She stabbed the grilled chicken on her plate. My chest clenched at the truth of her words. “You could kick puppies, and everyone would swoon because you’re so damaged and broody.”
“Only in fiction,” Greer pointed out. She eyed our baby sister meaningfully. “Real-life men who kick puppies are giant walking red flags. Please run away from someone like that.”
“Obviously,” she said. “Not that anyone is kicking puppies for the chance at me, but still … I do know better than that.”
My dad shook his head, poking at his meal. “This entire conversation is the perfect way to ruin a man’s appetite,” he said.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed.
Poppy didn’t get riled up often, but when she did … we all knew to take cover.
“What’s your point, Poppy?” Ian asked.
“My point is you’re a dick to people all the time, and you say things like, I just don’t trust people,” she mimicked his deep voice.
“That’s not what I sound like,” he grumbled. “And what’s wrong with not trusting people? People are assholes.”
She gestured toward him like thank you for proving my point.
“You assume people are assholes,” Greer said. “There’s a difference.”
“I like you guys.”
“Which is so apparent by how nice you always are,” I said.
He gave me a long, dry look, then raised his middle finger to scratch his nose. “We can’t all be a saint like you,” he added.
There was an edge to his words that had my hackles up. “What are you trying to say?”
Mom held her hands up. “All right, enough.”
“Not trying to say anything,” Ian said. “Just stating a fact. You’ve always had a touch of White Knight syndrome, and you know it. You’re always the first one to swoop in when someone needs saving or defending. You don’t give anyone else a chance to step up.”
My eyebrows arched slowly. “You ever think about therapy, Ian? You could use it. Of course I stepped up. I live half a mile away, not hours away like Parker and Erik, or half a world away like you. Am I supposed to wait for you to hop a plane to fix the damn roof?”
“Boys,” Mom said, her voice firmer.
Greer and Poppy traded a look, but I refused to drop Ian’s stare.
He’d always been the brother with an edge. A sharpness that came with our upbringing.
“No, and that’s not what I’m saying,” Ian continued. “Come on, Cameron, you’ve got this woman you’ve known for ten minutes, and you’re already defending her like it’s your own personal mission to fix whatever daddy issues made her such a bi?—”
I leaned forward, eyes locked on his. “Don’t call her that,” I warned.
He held his hands out. “I’m your brother. You going to defend me the same way?”
“I did when she told me you were about as friendly as an ice pick, so how about you stow the martyr routine.” I stood from the table, tossing my napkin down onto the table. “You want to talk about behavioral patterns, Ian? Every time you come home, you have to find someone in this family to pick a fight with. You did it with Erik when you came home last time, and you’re doing it with me now.”
