Chapter 17
Seventeen
Briar
I inhale and brace before pushing through the door.
I’ve been avoiding this all week, ever since the confrontation at The Sapphire Room and I still don’t want to be here tonight.
But I also know that I need to do this.
Need to smooth things over with Dash.
And considering I was the one who told him to go, I know he’s going to give me time and space until I reach out.
So…I’m reaching out.
Partly because it’s killing me to have this gulf between us.
He’s my big brother. He’s always had my back, has always looked out for me.
I hate the idea of him hurting because of something I’ve done.
No, I don’t think he’s been reasonable about anything regarding Colt since he reappeared in our lives almost two weeks ago now.
But I also know that he took Colt’s death harder than the rest of the guys.
Then adding in the secret of Colt being Frankie’s dad…
Yes, I was frustrated and my feelings were hurt, but I understood he was right there with me too.
Is right there with me.
And the other part of the reason I’m here today is because Willow called to gently—in her sweet, kind way—tell me that aside from the hurt and frustration and the betrayal, Dash is also feeling guilty as hell about hitting me.
That was an hour ago.
Now, I’m here.
And I would have been here sooner if not for L.A. traffic.
If it had happened before—if Dash had hurt me before—I might feel differently. But he hasn’t ever been the type of big brother to put his hands on me, not even when we were kids. More like hover beneath me when I was doing the monkey bars and cyberstalking my college dates.
A.K.A. smothering me with protective instincts.
Which is why I’m here.
We’re going to settle this so we can move forward.
No more raging out. No more fist fights.
No more stress and dissension and throwing chairs.
Our family is finally together again.
We’re not going to be torn apart.
Nodding sharply to myself, I use my keycard to unlock the door, turn the knob and push into Dash’s security office.
It’s quiet, most of the desks in the large open space empty, the computers shut down for the night.
Some of his employees are out in the field, acting as personal security for the rich and famous in SoCal.
Others are traveling with Dash’s clients as they work on location, shooting music videos, movies, or commercials, providing bodyguard services wherever the need is.
A lucky few are in a tropical location, escorts as the client vacations.
And several unlucky fellows—the ones still at their desks this late in the evening—are watching security feeds.
Boring as hell.
But probably one of the most important aspects of the services Dash provides.
Because they don’t do full twenty-four hour a day monitoring unless someone is in danger.
So, those watching the screens need to be on top of their game.
They are—or Dash wouldn’t have hired them.
Dash, whom I can see from my position just inside the door, is pacing back and forth in his office, phone pressed to his ear.
Stressed.
Frustrated.
And this shit between us isn’t helping.
I wave at the guys scouring those monitors then head to Dash’s office, knocking at the glass door.
He spins around, a scowl on his face.
Then freezes, his expression smoothing out.
I point to the door, silently asking if I can come in, and he unsticks, nodding rapidly, moving toward me.
But the time I’m pushing inside his office, he’s hung up the phone, shoved it in his pocket, and met me three feet from the threshold.
“Thorny,” he whispers, his voice raspy with emotion, regret etched into his face.
I don’t make him wait any longer.
I throw myself into his arms.
He catches me—as I knew he would—and holds me tight. I don’t miss that his lungs hitch before he buries his face in my hair, saying, “Fuck, Briar, I’m so damned sorry.” He pulls back, cupping my jaw in one big hand, gently turning my head from side to side.
The tiny bruise I had faded days ago, but that doesn’t stop him from smoothing his thumb over the spot, from pressing his lips there.
“You’re good, Dash,” I whisper. “We’re good.”
“I hit you,” he mutters, dropping his hands and pacing away from me. “I'm such a dick.”
“Was it my favorite thing?” I say, moving toward him. “No. But it was an accident, and it’s done now.”
“I hit you.”
Damn.
He really is beating himself up.
“I shouldn’t have walked into the fray. That was dumb.”
“It was,” he says, shoving a hand through his hair. “But I still hit you.”
“You did. But you also hit Colt, who is injured and recovering from being in a Russian prison for four years.”
His face screws up into a scowl. “The bastard deserved it.”
“Dash,” I warn.
“He left us, made us think he was dead”—his scowl deepens—“and he fucked my baby sister.”
Right, I’d breached the gulf, but he’s seriously pissing me off.
“It wasn’t like that,” I snap, “and you know it.”
“What I know is the man who was supposed to be my best friend, betrayed me. Huge. Twice.”
“Can I punch you this time?” I say, and it’s half-sarcastic, but only half. Because the rest of me wants to shake some sense into him.
He rolls his eyes.
I take a deep breath, shove down my temper.
“Look,” I say. “I wasn’t a child when Colt and I got together.”
“You were still too young.”
Breathe. Don’t murder your brother.
“Dash, please.”
He stares at me for a long moment, and I swear to God, I can see him mentally crossing his arms, even if he doesn’t do it on the outside.
Still, I keep trying.
I have to. It’s Dash.
“We fought the attraction for a long time,” I say. “And you know he fought it for longer. I wasn’t very sly about keeping my crush hidden and by the time I was old enough—”
He snorts, but I ignore it.
“By the time I was old enough to be with Colt in that way, we were on more equal ground. We were close friends and that grew into something deeper, something special.”
“If it was something so special, why’d you hide it?” he asks recalcitrantly.
“Because you’re acting like this.” I sigh. “If he was alive and you found out, we’d be exactly here, but I thought he was gone, honey. And you’re Dash and he was Colt, I didn’t need to do anything to tarnish that memory.”
I pause, waiting for him to reply, to meet me at least part way.
Unfortunately, he just keeps scowling at me.
“So, we’re here,” I say quietly.
A terse nod. “We’re here.”
“Are you going to hold on to this grudge so long, you’re going to alienate yourself from me?” Something flickers across his face, and I push. “From Frankie?”
Silence, long and tense.
Then he exhales and I finally see some of the stubborn fade away.
“No,” he mutters, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Relief pours through me. “Good.”
“But I need a little time to sort this shit through.”
“I can give you that, big bro,” I say softly.
We hug, and then, disappointed but not hopeless, knowing that time is the least I can allow him, I let him walk me to my car.
I’m just turning onto my street when my cell rings.
I jab at the screen. “Hello?”
“Hey, baby.”
I still, lungs hitching. Then murmur, “Hey, West. How are you?”
He fills me in on the road trip. I tell him the latest with the family and Frankie.
It’s not easy, not like it normally is.
There are too many pauses, and I stumble over Colt’s name more than once.
Just a hiccup, I know.
We’ll get back to normal.
“I should probably go,” I say after I sit parked in my garage, my car still running for a solid five minutes.
“Are you and Frankie still coming to the game tomorrow?”
Right. The game I promised both West and Frankie we’d be at.
The game I forgot about because my life is a shitshow.
“Yeah,” I tell him softly. “We’ll be there.”
He pauses, long enough that I think I’ve lost him.
But before I can ask if he’s still there, his voice comes back on.
“Is Colt coming too?”
I suck in a breath. “Is—would that be okay with you?”
Another pause. Then, “Of course. You’re my girlfriend, and he’s Frankie’s dad and Banks’s friend. We should spend some time together.”
“Oh,” I whisper. “Right.”
“I trust you, baby.”
The thing is…
What if I don’t trust myself?