Chapter 20
Brax
The smell of pancakes has never done unholy things to my blood pressure.
But my wife's standing barefoot in my kitchen, wearing nothing but my T-shirt, watching me flip a hotcake with hawk eyes.
Her hair is a mess of dark curls down her back, wild and sleep-rumpled, and her long, bare legs gave me another raging hard-on the minute she stepped into the kitchen.
She points at the dark edge. "You're burning them."
"No I'm not. That's called carmelization," I claim, but she's right. Her damn legs distracted me for too long.
She snorts, "You're stubborn."
"And you're bossy," I retort.
"It's called being correct." She grabs the flipper out of my hand and slides several pancakes onto plates with a flick of her wrist like she's on a cooking show.
I slather butter all over them and grab the syrup. I drown my pile in it.
She grabs the syrup. "Save some for me."
I stare at her, deadpan. "I will drown you in the bottle if you ever take my syrup away again."
Her lips twitch. "This is a better option anyway." She reaches for the whipped cream.
I order, "Put that down!"
"Why?" She shakes the can, the sound far too erotic for early morning. "You scared I won't leave any for you."
I wrinkle my nose. "Whipped cream doesn't belong on pancakes."
She gapes at me. "Take that back."
"I can't. It belongs on a few things," I claim.
She arches her eyebrow. "Which things?" She adds a heap on her pancakes.
I gesture down at the obvious tent in my sweats.
She slowly follows my gaze. Then she smirks. "What's that about, dear hubby?"
I lean closer, drag my knuckles down her arm, and grin. "It's about you doing whatever the hell you want and me dealing with the consequences."
She lifts the can of whipped cream and gives it a single shake. She threatens, "You really want to test me, O'Malley?"
"Be careful, Minx," I warn.
She beams with defiance. "I'm always careful." She presses the nozzle and leaves a cold strip of whipped cream across my forearm.
I blink at it.
She covers her mouth to hide a laugh and fails miserably.
"Really?" I ask.
"It looks good on you," she sings.
I close the space between us. She backs up a step, and I snatch the can from her hand.
She gasps. "Don't—"
I spray a perfect dollop onto the center of her collarbone.
She freezes, glances at it, then bursts out laughing.
I taunt, "Keep laughing, Minx. I haven't even started."
She lunges for the can. I hold it above her head. She jumps, and my shirt shifts up her hips.
"Give it back!" she demands, stretching on her toes.
"Try harder."
Her hands slide up my torso, and her body presses into mine. Her breath hits my throat.
Chuckling, I give in to a moment of weakness and relax an inch.
She snatches the can out of my hand like a thief. She shakes it.
I reach for her wrist, but she's quicker than I am. She sprays a line down the center of my chest.
"Shit, that's cold!" I blurt out.
Her laugh echoes in the kitchen. "Now you look ridiculous."
"Funny," I growl, stepping forward and grabbing the can.
She steps back, straight into the counter.
I cage her in and hold it over her head.
Her breathing quickens, but her smirk doesn't budge. "You wouldn't dare."
"I've been daring since the second you walked in here wearing my shirt."
Her voice drops. "Don't even think about—"
I swipe whipped cream off my chest and smear it on the tip of her nose.
She gasps. "Brax!"
"Valentina!"
Her eyes light up. She tugs my sweatpants toward her and, with her other hand, swipes the whipped cream down my torso and into my pants.
"Now you're in trouble," I warn.
She grabs the can, tilts her head, smiles, and sprays more in my pants. "Wouldn't want to be stingy."
I stare at her, unable to stop smiling.
She stares right back.
I grin. "Now's the point you get on your knees—"
The door shakes from a brutal knock.
We both whip our heads toward it.
Another round of pounds fills the air. "Brax! Open up!" Finn orders.
I mutter, "Perfect."
Valentina's eyes widen.
The pounding intensifies. "Brax! Don't make me tear this door down!"
"Shit." I rush to the door and yank it open. "Where's the fire?"
Finn storms past me without answering, shoving the door so hard it ricochets off the wall. "Don't give me your sarcasm. You've been missing for days. Scratch that. You've not been yourself for months."
"Sorry," I offer, feeling guilty like always.
He jabs a finger into my chest. "Don't give me sorry. You didn't show up for the meeting this morning. You've been blowing off training. You haven't answered a single goddamn call. Not from me, not from Liam, not even from Brenna."
I shut the door and state, "Shit. I forgot about the meeting."
"Forgot? What the hell has gotten into you? Liam's going nuts between your and Sean's disappearing acts."
My chest tightens. I never shirked my obligations before the Underworld sank its claws into me. I give a weak excuse. "It's been busy."
"Busy?" Finn steps so close that his breath hits my face. "Busy doing what? You've vanished off the grid more than once. You think you can disappear without consequences?"
My jaw ticks. "Finn—"
"No." He slices the air with his hand. "Don't 'Finn' me. I've been hunting your ass for forty-eight hours. We thought maybe you were dead in a ditch. Killian wants your head. Brenna's blowing up my phone asking if she should be planning a funeral."
I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Jesus Christ."
He adds, "You didn't show up to the gym. Again."
Finn paces with more fury rolling off him. He seethes, "You don't vanish unless shit's gone sideways. So enlighten me, Brax. What the hell is going on? Did someone come after you? Did someone threaten you? Are we at war? Because you sure as hell didn't—" His eyes snap toward the kitchen.
Shit.
Valentina stills in my T-shirt. Whipped cream is still on her nose and collarbone. Her hair is just as wild as before.
Finn's head tilts like a wolf catching movement in the dark. They stare at each other.
"Good morning," she says sweetly.
His eyes turn to slits. He spins back toward me and stares at my chest. His gaze lowers, and he looks at me as if he's just realizing I have whipped cream all over me.
"Listen, I'm sorry I missed the meeting. It won't happen again," I declare.
His gaze narrows further, and he peers at Valentina.
Tension explodes.
Her face turns red, and I slip between them.
No time like the present.
"Finn, this is Valentina."
"You have got to be fucking kidding me. You missed a meeting to get a piece of ass?" he says through gritted teeth.
Anger hits me. "No. She's not a piece of ass."
He turns toward Valentina. "Sorry, I didn't mean to insult you. I'm pissed at Brax. I'm sure you're a nice—" He freezes, then his face pales. His hand lifts, shaking. "What is that?"
"What?" I question.
He lunges toward Valetina, grabs her hand, and snarls, "That!"
Fuck!
I step between them, pushing him away from her. I warn, "Finn, calm down."
"Calm down?" His eyes blaze red. "You got engaged?"
I don't say anything.
He scowls, then pins his gaze past my shoulder and back on Valentina. A few seconds pass, then he pushes me aside. His voice comes out lethal. "You're Valentina Abruzzo. Aren't you?"
Her lip shakes. She nods and answers, "Yes."
I step between them again. "Back off, Finn."
"Back off?" Finn shouts. "Back off? You're half naked with an Abruzzo in your kitchen after ghosting your entire family. And you asked her to marry you? Are you insane? Are you cursed? Did you hit your head? Are you—"
"We're not engaged, we're married," I interject.
Finn staggers back like I stabbed him. His eyes widen.
My stomach twists. I quietly offer, "I'm sorry you're finding out this way."
He takes a deep breath, then slowly releases it. "You married an Abruzzo?"
I stand taller. "Yes. And once you get to know her, you'll see that she's not a threat—"
"Not a threat? Did that just come out of your mouth?" he shouts.
I cross my arms, scowling. My heart pounds so hard I think it'll explode.
Disappointment fills his expression. He softens his tone. "I thought I raised you to make smart decisions."
My jaw twitches. I hate hurting him. I knew eventually he'd find out; I just wanted it to be on my terms. I take a closer step. "Finn—"
"No, Brax." He holds his hands in the air and steps backward. He shakes his head. "Don't say anything else." He turns, opens the door, walks out, and slams it shut.
I stare after him, my insides quivering, my fists clenched at my sides.
Valentina steps next to me. She puts her hand on my arm and softly says, "I'm sorry."
I take several breaths, then glance down.
Her expression brings me as much pain as disappointing Finn. Guilt riddles it. Her eyes are glassy.
I tug her into me. "It's not your fault."
"It is," she states.
I shake my head. "No. It's not."
"I don't want your family to hate you."
"He just needs some time," I assert, though doubt knots in my chest.
Valentina keeps her hand on my arm, her thumb brushing once before she lets it drop.
She glances toward the door as if Finn's anger might seep back in under the frame, and something in her shoulders shifts.
It isn't fear. It's the kind of resignation people carry when they've been blamed for things long before any fault existed.
She states, "He looked like he wanted to tear my head off."
"He looks at everyone like that when he's pissed." I try for ease, but my voice doesn't lift the way I want it to.
She tilts her head.
I add, "You weren't the reason he came here swinging."
Her brow arches. "But I was the reason he stayed swinging."
I snort despite everything. "Okay. Maybe that part is your fault."
Her expression softens, and her lips curve.
"You should eat," I tell her, gesturing at the discarded plates on the counter.
"I'm not hungry anymore," she says.
"Me either," I affirm.
We quietly clean up the kitchen, then take turns showering. I slide into a pair of jeans, and my phone buzzes.