Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
B rock knew that he’d walked in on something the moment he stepped up because the air was thick and sharp, like the crackle before a lightning strike.
Deb’s face said it all. Her jaw was tight, her eyes still burning from whatever had just gone down, and she looked like she was one breath away from launching herself across the counter. The woman standing before her had the smug, polished look of someone used to throwing punches with words instead of fists, and from the fire in Deb’s eyes, she’d landed one too many.
He stood there, hands loose at his sides, reading the energy like a man who knew when a room could turn explosive. Either his timing was perfect... or it was unlucky as hell.
Still, when Deb looked at him, something in her expression shifted slightly. The steel was still there, but behind it, he caught a glimpse of something softer. Relief, maybe.
And just like that, he knew—whether he meant to or not, he’d just stepped into a battle that didn’t belong to him. But he was in it, and truth be told, he didn’t mind. Because if it meant standing between Deb and whatever venom Linda was spitting, then so be it. A few of the men had warned him about Linda and another woman named Sadie. Brock definitely didn’t need that kind of trouble.
He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected her . Her pull on him wasn’t logical, and it sure as hell wasn’t convenient. Not only was it real and raw, but it was dangerous in the way she made him feel .
Damn, he thought, watching the tension still coiled in her shoulders. This woman’s gonna be the end of me—and my dumbass will go down smiling.
His gaze never left her, not even as Linda and her little shadow turned and made their exit, heels tapping in retreat. He didn’t bother trying to remember the friend’s name.
Deb didn’t watch them go. She didn’t look shaken, didn’t let anything slip, just stood there with that quiet fire in her eyes.
“Great timing,” she said, her voice even, unreadable. She didn’t explain or open up, and that only made him respect her more. She wasn’t one to hand out pieces of herself, not easily.
He gave a slow nod, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. “Seemed like you had it handled… but figured I’d give you an out if you wanted it.”
“Oh, I wanted it,” Deb said, her voice low and steady, laced with that quiet fire he was starting to recognize as pure Deb. Controlled but dangerous when pushed too far.
Brock tilted his head, something like a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth, but his eyes stayed serious. “Then I’m glad I could help.”
She crossed her arms, her eyes still fixed on the door Linda had flounced through. “She’s been dying to push me. I’ve let it slide. Gave her space. Tried the whole rise-above-it thing.” She turned her gaze back to him, steady and unflinching. “And today, she tried to strike, but my strike is much more dangerous. I’ve had to learn the hard way to stand my ground...unfortunately. I’m doing my best to stand my ground without taking someone else’s out from under them, even Linda’s.”
Brock didn’t say anything right away. He didn’t have to. He just looked at her like he saw every crack she tried to hide, every scar she’d stitched over with grace and grit. And damn if that didn’t make something tighten in his chest.
“I do have to warn you, though,” Deb continued, now looking up at him. “Linda doesn’t take too kindly at being dismissed, especially by men.”
“Warning heard,” Brock said with a low, thoughtful chuckle, though there was no real humor behind it. His eyes never left hers, steady and sure. “I’ve handled worse.”
But Deb didn’t smile. Her expression didn’t even flicker. Instead, her brow knitted together, and something behind her eyes dimmed. “But has your sister?” she asked quietly.
That stopped him cold.
Brock’s smile vanished as quickly as it had come, his body tensing. “Why would she go for Tammy?” he asked, voice sharper now, clipped and protective in a way that came naturally when it involved his sister. “What the hell does Tammy have to do with any of this?”
Deb hesitated, and that pause hit harder than any words. She looked away, her jaw tightening, eyes drifting toward the floor like she was searching for something there—some steadiness, maybe. And when she spoke again, her voice was softer, almost a whisper, but every word cut deep.
“Because,” she said, pain flickering across her face like a shadow she couldn’t quite hide, “it’s what I would’ve done.”
That admission hit Brock like a punch to the gut—not because he believed Deb capable of that kind of cruelty, but because he knew she wasn’t saying it out of malice. She was speaking from a place of experience. A place he hadn’t been, but one he suddenly wanted to understand. To protect her from. To protect Tammy from.
He stepped a little closer, his voice low and rough. “You’re not her, Deb.”
“I know,” she whispered. “But I used to be.”
“That’s hard to believe,” Brock said as he studied Deb closely.
Deb let out a dry snort, the kind that held no real amusement—just a bitter edge of truth she was still learning to live with. But before she could say anything else, the kitchen door creaked open and Clare’s head popped through, eyes wide with hopeful dread.
“Please tell me she’s gone?” Clare asked, her voice hushed like saying Linda’s name might summon her back.
“It’s clear,” Deb replied, a smirk tugging at her lips now, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Then she turned to Brock, mischief laced with something heavier simmering beneath her words. “Clare, tell Brock what I used to be like,” she said, lifting a brow. “I don’t think he believes I used to run with Linda. Don’t hold back. Let the truth rip.”
Clare raised both brows, blinking at Deb like she wasn’t sure if this was a trap. Deb only gave her a nod, subtle but firm, indicating she meant it.
“I think it’s time he hears from a reliable source what a bitch I used to be,” Deb added with a quiet laugh, the kind that had more regret than humor in it.
Clare stepped fully into the room then, wiping her hands on a towel and eyeing Brock with the kind of fond warning only someone who’d seen it all could give. “Oh, you have no idea,” she said with a half-smile. “Deb was a hurricane. Gorgeous, sharp-tongued, and absolutely terrifying when she wanted to be. Linda was the match, but Deb? She was the wildfire.”
Deb didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. She stood there and owned it—her past, her mistakes, all of it. And somehow, that honesty made her look even stronger.
“I burned a lot down,” she said quietly, her voice steady. “But I’ve been learning how to rebuild.”
Brock looked at her, something soft flickering behind the steel in his gaze. “Yeah,” he said. “I can see that.”
“And who was I the hardest on?” Deb tossed in, still looking at him as if daring him to disagree with what Clare was saying.
“Emily,” Clare said after a minute of hesitation.
“My own sister, so when it comes to Linda, I know exactly how she works,” Deb said, then turned to walk back into the kitchen. “Next time you want to know anything about me, instead of asking Hunter, just come to the source.”
“She’s changed,” Clare informed him. “She’s not the same person she used to be. I wish she realized that.”
Brock gave Clare a nod, his eyes still on the door where Deb had disappeared. “Do you mind boxing me up some brownies for Ben?” Brock asked Clare, pulling out his money and placing it on the counter. “I’ll be right back.”
He stepped through the door his gaze finding her instantly. The air smelled like vanilla and sugar, but all he noticed was the woman standing at the sink, sleeves pushed up, hands in the water, shoulders tense beneath the soft fabric of her shirt.
“Clare, why don’t you go ahead and clock out,” Deb called over the gentle hum of running water, not turning around. “I’ve got the closing since I was late. I owe you one.”
Her voice was calm, maybe even casual—but Brock heard the exhaustion laced in it.
“Have dinner with me,” Brock said, his deep voice filling the kitchen. He had every intention of talking to her about his questions to Hunter but instead asked her out. What the fuck was happening.
Deb froze, her hands still submerged in the water. Slowly, she turned to face him, water dripping from her fingers, confusion flickering across her face.
He hadn’t meant to say it—not now, not like that. He’d walked back there with every intention of explaining his questioning about her, but when he saw her... Have dinner with me... popped out of his damn mouth.
But as she stared at him, brows slightly raised, lips parted between surprise and disbelief, he realized he didn’t want to take it back. Not even a little.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She finally answered and then shook her head. “Yeah, definitely not a good idea.”
“Why?” Brock asked, stepping closer to her, arms crossed as he waited for an answer.
He bit back a grin when confusion flickered across Deb’s face before it morphed into full-blown exasperation.
“I think that’s obvious,” she said, flipping her suds-covered hand toward the door. “Did you not hear what was said? Linda’s got her claws out and ready. If you and I have dinner, hellfire is going to rain down, not just on us, but on your entire family.”
“Never took you for a coward.” He intentionally threw it out there, knowing exactly how she’d react. He wanted her fired up, not shutting down and running like she’d been doing.
“Excuse me?” Deb snapped, planting a soapy hand on her hip.
Brock struggled to keep his expression neutral, but damn, that was the reaction he was looking for.
“You heard me,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Is the evil Linda the only reason you won’t have dinner with me?”
“Absolutely not,” she shot back with a snort—but said nothing more.
“I’m waiting.” He was enjoying this, maybe a little too much.
She sighed. “Why in the world would you want to have dinner with me?” she deflected, folding her arms. “You don’t even know me... not really.”
“Well,” Brock said with a slow grin, “if you won’t have dinner with me, I guess I’ll just keep asking Hunter my questions.”
That did it. He watched the flicker of panic, then frustration, then resolve shift across her face. He almost felt bad...almost.
“Okay, how about lunch tomorrow?” he offered, backing off just enough. “With me, Tammy, and Ben at the farmhouse.”
She hesitated, clearly weighing her options. Finally, she gave a reluctant nod. “And if I say yes, you’ll stop bugging Hunter?”
“Yes.” He knew he had her now.
“Fine.” Deb said, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation.
“Good.” Brock smiled. “Breathe, Deb. It’s just lunch. We’ll work up to dinner.”
With a wink, he turned and strolled out of the kitchen, grinning to himself. He didn’t have a clue what he was doing—but it felt right. He liked her. Maybe more than he was ready to admit.
At the door, Clare stood waiting, a box of brownies in her hands. He took it with a nod.
“Thanks.”
“Hurt her,” Clare said sweetly, patting his arm as he passed, “and Linda will look like an angel compared to what I’ll do to you.”
Brock chuckled, watching Clare disappear into the kitchen. It looked like Deb had more people in her corner than she realized. It was time she started realizing it too.