Chapter 5 Brothers And Battles #3
Rafe's jaw clenches. Cal has the decency to look embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck with his uninjured hand.
I frown, looking between them more closely.
Now that I am paying attention, I can see more signs of a recent scuffle.
Rafe's knuckles are red and slightly swollen.
There is a tear in the collar of Cal's hoodie.
Both of them smell like adrenaline, barely suppressed aggression, and the aftermath of physical confrontation.
"What happened?" I ask, genuine curiosity overriding caution. "Were you two fighting?"
"It is none of your damn business," Rafe snaps, his storm-gray eyes flashing with irritation. His arms cross tighter over his chest, defensive and hostile.
Ah. There is the asshole I remember. Good to know he has not completely changed.
I should probably let it go. Should probably just walk inside and pretend I did not notice anything. That would be the smart thing to do. The safe thing. The thing that would not poke the already-angry bear.
But the scared little girl inside me is still trembling from Bastien's grip on my wrist, and I am feeling petty.
So instead of backing down, I smirk.
"Let me guess," I say, letting my voice drip with false sympathy. "You lost, huh? Sucks."
Rafe's face goes through approximately seventeen expressions in two seconds. Shock. Outrage. More outrage. Disbelief. A hint of grudging respect that he immediately smothers.
"I did NOT—"
Cal bursts out laughing, cutting off his protest.
"You fucking know it, he lost!" He claps a hand on Rafe's shoulder, dimples flashing despite his split lip.
"Mr. Big Bad Captain over here thought he could out-wrestle me and learned a valuable lesson about underestimating your pack mates.
Cannot be the defender of the team when you cannot even defend yourself. "
"It was not a fair fight," Rafe mutters darkly. "You went for the knees. That is dirty."
"All is fair in love and proving a point, buddy."
"I hate you."
"You love me."
"I tolerate you at best."
Interesting. So the pack dynamic is not as unified as I thought. Good to know there are cracks in the armor.
Etienne sighs heavily beside me, pinching the bridge of his nose in a gesture I am beginning to recognize as his dealing with idiots pose.
"Can we go inside?" His voice is tired but still tinged with that lingering protective edge. "It has been a long day, and I would rather not continue this conversation in front of an audience."
His eyes flick briefly to Bastien, who is still lurking at the edge of the group like a vulture waiting for an opportunity to swoop in and cause more damage.
"An excellent suggestion," Miss Phillip says crisply. "Everyone inside. Now." She steps aside, holding the door open with the commanding presence of a general directing troops. "Except you." She points at Bastien. "You do not live here. Leave."
Bastien's face darkens, but even he seems to know better than to argue with Miss Abby Phillip. There is something in her expression that suggests she would not hesitate to call campus security, file formal complaints, and make his life a bureaucratic nightmare.
He takes a step back, hands raised in mock surrender.
"Fine. I was just leaving anyway."
His cold eyes find mine one more time, and his lip curls into a sneer.
"See you around, Nerdy MaeBell."
The nickname drips with venom.
And I am tired.
Tired of being scared. Tired of letting people like him have power over me. Tired of the ghost of that little girl with frizzy hair and braces holding me back from being who I want to be.
So I do something I have never done before.
I turn around.
Look Bastien Laurent dead in his cold blue eyes.
And flip him off with both hands.
Maximum disrespect. Full commitment.
The kind of gesture that would have made sixth-grade me faint from sheer audacity.
His face contorts with rage. A growl rumbles from his chest, low and threatening, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
"This is not over," he snarls, the words practically a promise. "Not by a long shot, Nerdy MaeBell."
I open my mouth to respond, but Etienne beats me to it.
He steps up beside me, placing himself partially between his brother and I. His posture is rigid, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. That protective growl is back, vibrating through the air like a warning.
"Call her that again." His voice is quiet, controlled, and somehow more dangerous for its softness. "One more time. And I will actually box your fucking ass." He pauses, letting the words land. "Not a threat, brother. A promise."
The brothers stare at each other across the threshold.
Bastien, with his years of cruelty and confidence and casual violence.
Etienne, with his quiet strength and newfound resolve and something that looks a lot like devotion burning in those storm-blue eyes.
For a moment, I genuinely think they are going to start throwing punches right here in the doorway.
But then Etienne does something even more satisfying than violence.
He steps backward into the dorm.
Grabs the door handle.
And slams it in his brother's face.