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I feel myself crumbling onto the cracked sidewalk next to my bottle of wine, which I grabbed as a security blanket as I left the house. A part of me, I guess, knew I’d need a drink soon. Now that my suspicions are confirmed, it’s the last thing I want. Someone’s arms are around me, scooping me up. Something else shatters against the concrete.
“Witare ye doing, girl?”
I glance over at Brody, numb to his strong arms, holding me close.My nemesis. I almost nuzzle into his strong, warm, welcoming body. Leith always smells so good. Brody does too. But I glance down. He’s dropped twoBevMo!bags. A holiday's worth of alcohol has crashed onto the walkway.
I slap his face. That smug beard of his cushions most of the blow. Still, he regards me in confusion. “Witthe—”
“You were here, celebrating!” I glance at the fragments of bottles. There’s a lot more than my Chianti. There’s a fifth of Resnov Water and a gallon of gin and other bits that didn’t have half a chance of making it.
“Wit?” He reaches toward my tear-streaked face.
“You, Leith,Erika!” I point to the kitchen window where Erika’s arms are wrapped around my husband. My view stops at his shoulders. Yet, it doesn’t appear he’s wearing a shirt.
Brody attempts to manipulate my torn feelings with his handsome face stained in confusion. Brody wraps me in his arms. “Och, that’s notwitit looks like.”
I try pushing at the brick, but he won’t move. Blinded by fury, I kick, scream, and hit.
My teeth sink into the mass of muscle at his bicep.
Brody yelps. “Feck! Chevelle,witthe hell?”
Desperate as a caged bird, I bite down again. Brody stops holding me, putting space between myself and his muscular body by gripping my arm instead. “Wait, lass!”
“No! I’ve always hated you. This has your name all over it. So, how long have you brothers been sharing her?”
“I’ll explain if ye stop biting me, aye?” Brody grabs my face, bringing me into a bear hug. With his calloused palm against my mouth, I struggle. “Chevelle, we met whenye were a lassie. Right?”
When he stops applying pressure to my mouth, I wrestle in his arms. “I hate you, Brody! Abhor you!”
“I’ve nae ideawit’sgoing—”
“Okay, then answer one question for me. A long time ago,” my tone fractures into a segment of inaudible sobs, “Brody, you hired prostitutes—”
“High-class escorts.” He slowly surrenders each word in an attempt to place a Band-Aid over a gunshot wound.
“Whatever,” I retort through gritted teeth. “After Leith beat you down, you came to me, tossing a sorry ass apology. You told me that the ladies were just a joke.Did you hire professional whores to fuck my future-husband as ‘just a joke?’ ”
Several disconcerting beats pass between us.
“Your lack of response speaks volumes. Nevertheless, tonight, you’re Benevolent Brody. Let me tellyousomething. My daddy murdered my mom!” I glare into his eyes as he calmly attempts to subdue me. “She was a cheating whore, just like him.” I point toward Leith in the window. “You don’t let me go, I’ll- I’ll serve the same treatment to Leith!”
“Well, I’ll not release ya until ye calm thefeckdown,” Brody grumbles in Gaelic. A split-second later, humanity spreads across his chiseled features. “Okay! The truth, eh?”
“Yes!” I gasp.
“I missed mybrathair!”
“We friggin grew up together, Brody. I always had such a good relationship with Cam. Then when your little brothers started popping up, Jamie, Lachlan, all of them, too! But never you, so that’s a lie.” With one arm loose, I attempt to shove Brody. But his hands are all over me, pulling me back into a bear hug.
“Ye weren’t cl . . . Ye weren’t—” Brody stumbles over his attempt to explain. This time, he’s spared a response when Leith shouts my name from somewhere behind us.
Brody and I stop tussling as I glare at my husband through the window. An unreadable expression burns across his jaw. My gaze flickers back to my enemy. “Haven’t you hurt me enough, Brody MacKenzie?”
His marbled face crumples with shame. The brawny bastard lowers his ropy arms, backing off. “Ye have a right to hate me, Chevelle, but . . .”
A cry bubbles up through my throat as I scurry to the Chevelle SS. I’m in my car when Leith sprints out the front door, clutching a towel around his waist. I wipe my tears and put the key in the ignition as his palms slap at the window.
“Hen, wait!” Leith jumps back as I drive away.
